Don't even know where this came from. It kind of started out as a dream I had the other day, but then I remembered a question I had about this story and decided to explain how Amelia died.
I shouldn't be up this late…it does weird things to my brain.
A sudden jolting impact shook the car. Headlights flashed, blurry in the corner of her widening eyes, rendering her temporarily blind. The screeching scream of metal against metal rose above the wails of pain ripped from her throat, mingling terribly with the horrified gasps arising from onlookers’ cars.
Sudden fiery pain raced through her body, accompanying the sudden collision. Limbs locked and knuckles white, she released a terrible, agonized scream into the night.
The tense tranquil of the hospital room was nearly too much to handle. Hannah stared, wide-eyed and shocked, at the disastrous mess that was Amelia. Her face was sunken and sallow, giving her a lifeless appearance. Protruding from her skull unnaturally, Amelia’s roughly repaired jaw only added to the skeletal aura about her.
A weak, tearful hiccup disrupted the taut silence, making Hannah jump. It took her a moment to realize that it was she who had made the noise. Her face felt oddly wet, and she put a hand to her cheek to discover a steady stream of tears drizzling down it. Inhaling in a choking sort of way, she lowered her shaky hand and resumed her silent vigil.
Beep, beep, beep. The monotonous chime of the heart monitor was a welcome relief from utter silence to Hannah, an incessant reminder that there was still hope for her misfortunate friend. The only additional sound was an occasional raspy exhale from Amelia herself, to which Hannah’s heart leapt hopefully. Time after time, however, her shaky optimism was unrewarded. Seconds, minutes, hours passed with no change in Amelia’s condition.
After what could have been either centuries or merely a few scarce moments, a gentle touch to her shoulder startled Hannah out of her horrified trance. She stared, eyes wide and wet with tears, into her mother’s comforting gaze.
“Come on, sweetie,” she murmured softly. “We have to go home.”
“N-no,” Hannah tried to protest. “Amelia’s…”
“I know.” Mrs. Jones half-smiled in an attempt to persuade her. “I know, sweetie. But staying here and losing sleep won’t help her get better. You have to stay healthy, too.”
“But —”
“Listen, sweetheart. Amelia’s gonna be okay. You’ll see her again tomorrow. Just trust me on this, alright?”
Reluctantly, Hannah allowed herself to be led into the elevator, through the lobby, and into her father’s white Sedan. She stared unblinkingly at the back of her mother’s headrest, wishing that life would be simple and happy. Her wish went unnoticed, apparently, as her father chose that moment to swerve and consequently knock her head against the window next to her.
A horrible, pounding headache resonated behind her eyes, threatening to worsen Hannah’s day even more. She closed her eyes in a desperate attempt to escape the distressing world around her, and allowed the soothing sway of the car to lull her into a restless slumber.
“Hannah…Hannah, baby, wake up.”
The teenager groaned pitifully, rubbing at her eyes to ward off the light. “Dun wanna. Sleepy.” She had been having a wonderful dream, where everything was back to normal and Amelia was healthy as ever. Upset at having to leave her dreamland, Hannah managed a grumpy pout. “Go ‘way.”
“Hannah Grace Jones, wake up now!”
Surprised at the urgency in her mother’s voice, she opened her eyes and sat up. “Mom?”
Mrs. Jones was wide-eyed and wild-haired, a fearful expression etched across her graceful features. She looked horribly upset, and Hannah felt her stomach drop with apprehension.
“Hannah, sweetie, I’m sorry, so sorry…” her mother mumbled, jaw shaking.
“Mom!! What’s wrong? What happened??”
“Amelia. She’s dead.”
With those three simple words, Hannah’s world abruptly stopped.
Life blurred indistinctly, vague images flying around her at a speed to great for her to comprehend. The only escape from the tumultuous cyclone was anger.
“You promised I’d see her again!! You promised!!” she screamed, fingers clenching into fists.
“Sweetie, I’m sorry, I know…”
“It’s your fault, Mom. Somehow, it’s your fault, I swear.”
“That’s not fair! How was I supposed to know she wouldn’t make it through the night?!!”
“Shut up!! Just shut up, please.” Hannah’s voice lowered to a croaking whisper, her eyes squeezed shut to hold back the tears.
“Hannah…oh, baby, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, but there’s nothing we can do…Hannah?”
There was no response. No words would do at that moment. Instead, Hannah meekly embraced the silence.
Sunday, December 30, 2012
Tuesday, December 18, 2012
Goodbye
Wow. This is even more depressing than usual. Did you guys like it? Leave a comment, please!
A heavy silence spread over the graveyard, broken only by the scuffling of small animals as well as the occasional despondent sniffle. Thick as the dreary fog that shrouded the area, the sinister quiet dug its stubborn way into the hearts of those present.
The freshly laid gravestone was surrounded by an ocean of black; the dark clothes were an attempt to demonstrate the misery felt by the family and friends of the newly deceased. Bulky black coats were little protection against the aura of sorrow and lifelessness that filled the graveyard.
Hannah Jones’s hands were shaking, eyes wide and fearful. Never before had she experienced such strong feelings as this. Her best friend had passed. The beautiful and caring Amelia Braddock, once jovial and free-spirited, was no more.
Just three days prior, the closest of friends had been planning and plotting their next slumber party together. They had anticipated a weekend of careless fun, of blindfolded makeovers, of truth or dare and gossiping about the new hot transfer student.
It was hard to believe that Hannah would never share a sleepover with Amelia again. She shivered, wanting, no, begging for the misery and shock to be gone. Her heart felt hollow, as if she’d never fully recover from the horrible sight of seeing her best friend in a coffin, pale as snow.
She squeezed her eyes shut. No, she couldn’t take the agony. Amelia wasn’t dead. She couldn’t be. She was merely fifteen; the two of them were supposed to go to college together, and dorm together, and grow up together! This nonsense about Amelia’s being dead was a lie. It couldn’t be true. Amelia wasn’t dead.
A lone tear slipped from her squinted eyes, triggering a sudden but steady flow of teardrops streaming down her cheeks. Her hands shook. Her lip shook. Amelia wasn’t dead.
A speaker’s voice, mournful and low, shattered the quavering silence that had cloaked the graveyard. His words were unfamiliar to Hannah; the man spoke of paradise and better places. He lied, Hannah knew. Nothing could be happy right now.
The world seemed to blur around her. When she finally forced herself to return from her numb world of dreary comfort, Hannah found that she had been left alone with the corpse. No, not the corpse. Amelia. Amelia wasn’t dead.
Trembling, the teenager took a hesitant step towards her friend. Amelia’s face was very nearly blue. She looked as if she were merely sleeping, and Hannah wished she could believe so. Amelia looked tranquil and content. It was almost unnatural seeing her best friend without a hyper grin stretching across her face.
“Amelia?” Hannah whispered, voice hoarse and grating. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so, so sorry that we couldn’t grow up together. Take care of yourself, okay? I’ll be praying for you.
“I have to go now. My mom is probably going crazy looking for me, but you know how she is. She’ll have forgotten about it by dinner.” She released a dry, lifeless laugh. “I’m gonna miss you, Amelia.”
Blood roared in her ears. Every instinct in her body told Hannah not to leave, to stay by Amelia’s side forever, but she knew she couldn’t do so.
Heart pounding, soul empty, she got to her feet and left.
A heavy silence spread over the graveyard, broken only by the scuffling of small animals as well as the occasional despondent sniffle. Thick as the dreary fog that shrouded the area, the sinister quiet dug its stubborn way into the hearts of those present.
The freshly laid gravestone was surrounded by an ocean of black; the dark clothes were an attempt to demonstrate the misery felt by the family and friends of the newly deceased. Bulky black coats were little protection against the aura of sorrow and lifelessness that filled the graveyard.
Hannah Jones’s hands were shaking, eyes wide and fearful. Never before had she experienced such strong feelings as this. Her best friend had passed. The beautiful and caring Amelia Braddock, once jovial and free-spirited, was no more.
Just three days prior, the closest of friends had been planning and plotting their next slumber party together. They had anticipated a weekend of careless fun, of blindfolded makeovers, of truth or dare and gossiping about the new hot transfer student.
It was hard to believe that Hannah would never share a sleepover with Amelia again. She shivered, wanting, no, begging for the misery and shock to be gone. Her heart felt hollow, as if she’d never fully recover from the horrible sight of seeing her best friend in a coffin, pale as snow.
She squeezed her eyes shut. No, she couldn’t take the agony. Amelia wasn’t dead. She couldn’t be. She was merely fifteen; the two of them were supposed to go to college together, and dorm together, and grow up together! This nonsense about Amelia’s being dead was a lie. It couldn’t be true. Amelia wasn’t dead.
A lone tear slipped from her squinted eyes, triggering a sudden but steady flow of teardrops streaming down her cheeks. Her hands shook. Her lip shook. Amelia wasn’t dead.
A speaker’s voice, mournful and low, shattered the quavering silence that had cloaked the graveyard. His words were unfamiliar to Hannah; the man spoke of paradise and better places. He lied, Hannah knew. Nothing could be happy right now.
The world seemed to blur around her. When she finally forced herself to return from her numb world of dreary comfort, Hannah found that she had been left alone with the corpse. No, not the corpse. Amelia. Amelia wasn’t dead.
Trembling, the teenager took a hesitant step towards her friend. Amelia’s face was very nearly blue. She looked as if she were merely sleeping, and Hannah wished she could believe so. Amelia looked tranquil and content. It was almost unnatural seeing her best friend without a hyper grin stretching across her face.
“Amelia?” Hannah whispered, voice hoarse and grating. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so, so sorry that we couldn’t grow up together. Take care of yourself, okay? I’ll be praying for you.
“I have to go now. My mom is probably going crazy looking for me, but you know how she is. She’ll have forgotten about it by dinner.” She released a dry, lifeless laugh. “I’m gonna miss you, Amelia.”
Blood roared in her ears. Every instinct in her body told Hannah not to leave, to stay by Amelia’s side forever, but she knew she couldn’t do so.
Heart pounding, soul empty, she got to her feet and left.
Saturday, December 15, 2012
Send Help to Your Children, Oh God
To the man who ended nearly thirty lives yesterday, including those of many young children:
Are you satisfied with your deeds, I ask? Has your lust for blood been sated with the murder of many innocents?
You were not in your own right mind when you committed this abhorrent crime, I realize. But who, save for yourself, is to blame for consuming the drugs and medication that weakened your resolve and allowed the Devil to control your actions?
There is a woman who, until yesterday, served as a kindergarten teacher at the school you assaulted. Her name was Victoria, and she sacrificed herself in order to keep her students safe from you. After the school had executed lockdown, she ordered the children in her classroom to hide in the cubbyholes where they stored their jackets. She herself did not try to hide, but instead accepted her fate as she protected their lives. You shot her, but did not discover even one of her students who heeded the brave woman's advice.
As if these monstrosities were insufficient, you even took the lives of your own parents. Your mother, a worker at the school you rampaged, was shot to death at your own hand.
I wonder what thoughts ran through your mind before you put a bullet through your own head. Did you feel regret? Were you horrified at the tragedy inflicted by your own self? Were you still too high on drugs to realize what abominations you’d committed?
May God bless your soul, no matter what sins Satan has perpetrated through you. You are His own, and that which He creates cannot be evil. However, due to His decision to grant you the responsibility of free will, your mind is still vulnerable to the Devil’s vice. It is only by His mercy and love that we are ever free from the Evil One’s grip.
To my almighty Father in Heaven, Jesus Christ,
Jesus, our Savior, bless the many families influenced by this calamity. Soothe their shocked and miserable hearts with Your loving kindness. Speak words of comfort to them and those close to them, and graciously escort the souls of those killed to Your wonderful kingdom.
Amen.
Okay. I heard about the shooting in Connecticut from my mom yesterday, and I just HAD to write something as a tribute to those poor families. This is more of a prayer than a story, but I just kind of jotted down what I was thinking and fixed it up into a post.
About the title. I don't even know, I couldn't think of anything and that's what I was saying in my head, so yeah.
Comment, please!!
Are you satisfied with your deeds, I ask? Has your lust for blood been sated with the murder of many innocents?
You were not in your own right mind when you committed this abhorrent crime, I realize. But who, save for yourself, is to blame for consuming the drugs and medication that weakened your resolve and allowed the Devil to control your actions?
There is a woman who, until yesterday, served as a kindergarten teacher at the school you assaulted. Her name was Victoria, and she sacrificed herself in order to keep her students safe from you. After the school had executed lockdown, she ordered the children in her classroom to hide in the cubbyholes where they stored their jackets. She herself did not try to hide, but instead accepted her fate as she protected their lives. You shot her, but did not discover even one of her students who heeded the brave woman's advice.
As if these monstrosities were insufficient, you even took the lives of your own parents. Your mother, a worker at the school you rampaged, was shot to death at your own hand.
I wonder what thoughts ran through your mind before you put a bullet through your own head. Did you feel regret? Were you horrified at the tragedy inflicted by your own self? Were you still too high on drugs to realize what abominations you’d committed?
May God bless your soul, no matter what sins Satan has perpetrated through you. You are His own, and that which He creates cannot be evil. However, due to His decision to grant you the responsibility of free will, your mind is still vulnerable to the Devil’s vice. It is only by His mercy and love that we are ever free from the Evil One’s grip.
To my almighty Father in Heaven, Jesus Christ,
Jesus, our Savior, bless the many families influenced by this calamity. Soothe their shocked and miserable hearts with Your loving kindness. Speak words of comfort to them and those close to them, and graciously escort the souls of those killed to Your wonderful kingdom.
Amen.
Okay. I heard about the shooting in Connecticut from my mom yesterday, and I just HAD to write something as a tribute to those poor families. This is more of a prayer than a story, but I just kind of jotted down what I was thinking and fixed it up into a post.
About the title. I don't even know, I couldn't think of anything and that's what I was saying in my head, so yeah.
Comment, please!!
Thursday, December 6, 2012
Ring, Ring
Ring, ring.
“Hello?”
“Megan!! Megan, s-something really bad has happened. I don’t know what to — I just — I—”
“Kayla! Is that you? Calm down. What happened?”
“I c— I can’t, I won’t let them do it —”
“Kay-! Kayla. It’s okay. It’ll be okay, but you have to tell me what’s wrong. Calm down.”
“……”
“…Better?”
“…Okay. I’m okay now. Sorry…”
“It’s alright. Now tell me; what’s wrong?”
“I just got the news…Megan, I have to have an amputation. Tomorrow.”
“……”
“Megan?”
“I’m here. I just…Oh, Kayla, I’m so sorry…”
“I-it’s okay, it’ll be fine. I already met the doctor and he’s really good.”
“Okay. Great. Wh…What happened??”
“Well, yesterday my l-leg gave out when I tripped down the stairs. It felt like it had broken in four or five different places…It hurt so bad…Mom took me to the hospital and it turns out I have severe osteoporosis. My leg is so shattered it won’t function anymore.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“…I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry, Kayla…Would it be okay if I go to the hospital with you so I can be there when you wake up?”
“I’d love that. Thanks.”
“Of course.”
“…Megan?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m scared…”
“It’s okay. That’s perfectly okay, Kayla. In fact, if you weren’t scared, I’d be afraid for your sanity, heheh. Don’t worry. I’m here, it’ll be okay.”
“I just, I don’t want to lose my leg…What’ll I do about tennis?? I can’t play tennis with a prosthetic leg. How will I exercise? How will I take showers? How will I go for a run? What’s gonna happen to me, Megan?”
“I don’t know what’s going to happen. I just know that whatever happens, I’ll be here and I’ll be praying for you.”
“Megan, I c-can’t—”
“Shhh. Shhh, Kayla, don’t cry. It’s okay. It’ll all be okay in the end. Don’t worry.”
“But—”
“Shhh…”
“…Megan?”
“Yes?”
“…Thank you.”
I woke up this morning and decided I wanted to write something made up entirely of dialogue. Thus, this story was born. How did I do? Let me know :)
“Hello?”
“Megan!! Megan, s-something really bad has happened. I don’t know what to — I just — I—”
“Kayla! Is that you? Calm down. What happened?”
“I c— I can’t, I won’t let them do it —”
“Kay-! Kayla. It’s okay. It’ll be okay, but you have to tell me what’s wrong. Calm down.”
“……”
“…Better?”
“…Okay. I’m okay now. Sorry…”
“It’s alright. Now tell me; what’s wrong?”
“I just got the news…Megan, I have to have an amputation. Tomorrow.”
“……”
“Megan?”
“I’m here. I just…Oh, Kayla, I’m so sorry…”
“I-it’s okay, it’ll be fine. I already met the doctor and he’s really good.”
“Okay. Great. Wh…What happened??”
“Well, yesterday my l-leg gave out when I tripped down the stairs. It felt like it had broken in four or five different places…It hurt so bad…Mom took me to the hospital and it turns out I have severe osteoporosis. My leg is so shattered it won’t function anymore.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“…I’m sorry. I’m really, really sorry, Kayla…Would it be okay if I go to the hospital with you so I can be there when you wake up?”
“I’d love that. Thanks.”
“Of course.”
“…Megan?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m scared…”
“It’s okay. That’s perfectly okay, Kayla. In fact, if you weren’t scared, I’d be afraid for your sanity, heheh. Don’t worry. I’m here, it’ll be okay.”
“I just, I don’t want to lose my leg…What’ll I do about tennis?? I can’t play tennis with a prosthetic leg. How will I exercise? How will I take showers? How will I go for a run? What’s gonna happen to me, Megan?”
“I don’t know what’s going to happen. I just know that whatever happens, I’ll be here and I’ll be praying for you.”
“Megan, I c-can’t—”
“Shhh. Shhh, Kayla, don’t cry. It’s okay. It’ll all be okay in the end. Don’t worry.”
“But—”
“Shhh…”
“…Megan?”
“Yes?”
“…Thank you.”
I woke up this morning and decided I wanted to write something made up entirely of dialogue. Thus, this story was born. How did I do? Let me know :)
Tuesday, November 27, 2012
Necklace
I’ve had it for as long as I can remember. A cold, lifeless reminder of the family I never had — that’s all it is, and all it should be. Yet somehow, it’s so much more.
The humble little necklace with its lone jewel embedded at the bottom is all I have to remind me of my roots. It was my first and only significant present, having been given to me by my dying mother, desperate to give her newborn child something special before she passed from this world. My apathetic father took no notice of the trinket as he passed me along into foster care. I have no memoire of him, nor do I want one.
As soon as I was released from the hospital after my birth and entrusted to foster families, my life became an unstable enigma of atmospheres — some kind, caring; some indifferent and even negligible. I have traveled the nation in a search for a family who will accept me permanently. So far, however, my pursuit has been in vain.
My mother’s necklace is the one possession I have had my entire life. It is the only part of my life that has not changed, or left, or been torn from me altogether. Its weak, thin loops are frail in themselves, but when chained together they form a sturdy support for the jewel they bear. I like to imagine my life in an analogy to that necklace. My life has been segregated into uneven portions, due to my constant change of scenery, yet all of the segments add up to create something strong, resilient, and hopefully impregnable — my past. That in itself offers a secure mainstay for me, so that I can grow and prosper.
Sometimes, the weaker links of the chain of my past give out, sending my life into tumult. Whether it’s a psychological issue like childhood neglect stepping forward to bruise my present world, or something more extraneous like mundane temptations, somehow my past always finds a way to haunt me. I simply repair the chain and keep living.
Perhaps someday I will become as vibrant and lively as my necklace’s jewel. Until that day comes, however, I’ll dangle endlessly from the bottom of a chain of fragile bands.
You guys, I don't even know what this is… *dies* Gosh, this is just some weird inspiration thing I got while staring boredly at my laptop screen. I'm a failure at writing X.X
On a happier note, it seems I've finally recovered from my horrible case of writers' block. Which means more stories.
The humble little necklace with its lone jewel embedded at the bottom is all I have to remind me of my roots. It was my first and only significant present, having been given to me by my dying mother, desperate to give her newborn child something special before she passed from this world. My apathetic father took no notice of the trinket as he passed me along into foster care. I have no memoire of him, nor do I want one.
As soon as I was released from the hospital after my birth and entrusted to foster families, my life became an unstable enigma of atmospheres — some kind, caring; some indifferent and even negligible. I have traveled the nation in a search for a family who will accept me permanently. So far, however, my pursuit has been in vain.
My mother’s necklace is the one possession I have had my entire life. It is the only part of my life that has not changed, or left, or been torn from me altogether. Its weak, thin loops are frail in themselves, but when chained together they form a sturdy support for the jewel they bear. I like to imagine my life in an analogy to that necklace. My life has been segregated into uneven portions, due to my constant change of scenery, yet all of the segments add up to create something strong, resilient, and hopefully impregnable — my past. That in itself offers a secure mainstay for me, so that I can grow and prosper.
Sometimes, the weaker links of the chain of my past give out, sending my life into tumult. Whether it’s a psychological issue like childhood neglect stepping forward to bruise my present world, or something more extraneous like mundane temptations, somehow my past always finds a way to haunt me. I simply repair the chain and keep living.
Perhaps someday I will become as vibrant and lively as my necklace’s jewel. Until that day comes, however, I’ll dangle endlessly from the bottom of a chain of fragile bands.
You guys, I don't even know what this is… *dies* Gosh, this is just some weird inspiration thing I got while staring boredly at my laptop screen. I'm a failure at writing X.X
On a happier note, it seems I've finally recovered from my horrible case of writers' block. Which means more stories.
Saturday, November 24, 2012
The Shooting
A gunshot booms through the Jenson Middle School’s broad hallways, triggering screams and yelps of terror. As the reality of the noise creeps into the minds of the students, a deafening silence sweeps the building.
In Classroom 14A, Maddie Hopkins crouches alongside her twin sister, Ansley, among twenty other students. Her body rigid with fear, Maddie allows her wide eyes to scan the room in search of some form of condolence.
Footsteps echo outside the classroom, the sound magnified by the painful quiet that cloaked the school. Maddie glimpses a shadow flitting in the corner of the room. She swallows, terrified.
The door creaks slowly open, pausing for an ominous, dramatic effect. The frightened tension in the air is nearly tangible as the young students await their impending fate.
A shady figure, eyes bloodshot and surrounded by dark circles, enters the room with gun in hand. Maddie emits a tiny squeal of terror.
The armed teenager’s eyes swivel toward her. His eyebrows furrow, and in three short strides he is looming over her threateningly.
He leans down, and with his gun-free hand hoists her none-too-gently to her feet. She scrambles backward, petrified, but the teen pursues her.
A rough, blistered hand seizes her throat, and the cold barrel of a gun is pressed to her temple. Maddie freezes.
“W-what do you want…?” she whispers.
“I want you to confess something,” the deep, cold voice of the assaulter answers. “Tell me that there is no such thing as a God.”
Maddie’s heart falls. There’s no way I can say that, she thinks to herself. Jesus, help me be strong and bring You glory.
Out loud, she hesitantly replies, “I’m sorry, but I c-can’t —”
“There is no such thing as God. Admit it!” her attacker demands. “Admit it, or I’ll shoot!!”
Her eyes wide, Maddie swallows apprehensively. Her hands clutch at the man’s hands around her throat. Voice hoarse and rough, she begins to speak.
“I feel b-bad for you, you know.”
The silence that fills the classroom is overwhelming. The teenager’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t interrupt.
“You don’t need to be doing this. I don’t know how or why, but somehow you’ve tricked yourself into believing that murdering us will help you. I can’t and won’t judge, because I don’t know what’s going on in your life, but I do know that this will solve none of your problems, no matter what they may be.”
She swallows again. Her throat is drying up from explicit terror, but Maddie knows she has to continue, for the sake of her and her peers’ lives.
“Please, listen to me. What do you think you’ll accomplish by ending my life? All you’ll do is earn yourself a reputation as a murderer, and set the police on your tail for the rest of your free life.
“This,” she gestures widely with her hands, “all of this is an idea that is not your own. Satan is trying to ruin both of our lives and I guess this is a perfect solution.”
Tears are streaming down her face now. She’s sure she’ll die for her impertinence, but the words won’t stop.
“Jesus, Jesus Christ our savior, wants your life to be meaningful. He created you to do wonderful things, but you can only accomplish them if you follow Him.
“My life is entirely in your hands. You can take my life, but I’ll just be reborn in a perfect world. God is all-powerful.”
She squeezes her watery eyes shut. “Jesus, I beg that you’ll steer this young man toward the light. He has been led astray, but you alone can save him. I know that his life has a purpose and that you want him to live a wonderful life brimming with happiness. I pray that you protect him from evil, and that you’ll bless him with a long life. Amen.”
When she opens her eyes, the man’s face before her is unreadable. He still clutches the trigger of his gun, his finger wavering ominously.
Maddie gazes at him with wide eyes, her expression not one of fear but of worry. She’s accepted her fate.
Suddenly, the gun is averted from her head to her forearm, and a thunderous boom echos through the classroom. Maddie screams as the bullet tears through her flesh, but bites her lip and does not cry.
The entire room has been thrown into pandemonium. Students are cowering behind chairs and desks, desperate to be shielded from the fresh threat.
The teenager has stuffed his gun into his front pocket and dashed toward the door. After throwing it open, he swivels to meet Maddie’s eye for a fleeting moment, and then he is gone.
Her arm is coated in a red, sticky substance. The girl tries not to be sick as she glances downward, and sinks to her knees. The initial shock of the pain has not yet faded, but she can feel its effects beginning to wear off. A horrible burning agony races through her arm, and she curls her fingers in pain.
Ansley leans over her, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her expression is locked in a horrified wail, and she dabs desperately at the blood seeping from her twin’s wound.
Maddie’s sight is wavering. Black splotches begin to fill her vision, and she can sense that her consciousness is short-lived, but through the anguish a grim smile forms on her lips. Thank you, Jesus, she prays silently. You saved my life.
In Classroom 14A, Maddie Hopkins crouches alongside her twin sister, Ansley, among twenty other students. Her body rigid with fear, Maddie allows her wide eyes to scan the room in search of some form of condolence.
Footsteps echo outside the classroom, the sound magnified by the painful quiet that cloaked the school. Maddie glimpses a shadow flitting in the corner of the room. She swallows, terrified.
The door creaks slowly open, pausing for an ominous, dramatic effect. The frightened tension in the air is nearly tangible as the young students await their impending fate.
A shady figure, eyes bloodshot and surrounded by dark circles, enters the room with gun in hand. Maddie emits a tiny squeal of terror.
The armed teenager’s eyes swivel toward her. His eyebrows furrow, and in three short strides he is looming over her threateningly.
He leans down, and with his gun-free hand hoists her none-too-gently to her feet. She scrambles backward, petrified, but the teen pursues her.
A rough, blistered hand seizes her throat, and the cold barrel of a gun is pressed to her temple. Maddie freezes.
“W-what do you want…?” she whispers.
“I want you to confess something,” the deep, cold voice of the assaulter answers. “Tell me that there is no such thing as a God.”
Maddie’s heart falls. There’s no way I can say that, she thinks to herself. Jesus, help me be strong and bring You glory.
Out loud, she hesitantly replies, “I’m sorry, but I c-can’t —”
“There is no such thing as God. Admit it!” her attacker demands. “Admit it, or I’ll shoot!!”
Her eyes wide, Maddie swallows apprehensively. Her hands clutch at the man’s hands around her throat. Voice hoarse and rough, she begins to speak.
“I feel b-bad for you, you know.”
The silence that fills the classroom is overwhelming. The teenager’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t interrupt.
“You don’t need to be doing this. I don’t know how or why, but somehow you’ve tricked yourself into believing that murdering us will help you. I can’t and won’t judge, because I don’t know what’s going on in your life, but I do know that this will solve none of your problems, no matter what they may be.”
She swallows again. Her throat is drying up from explicit terror, but Maddie knows she has to continue, for the sake of her and her peers’ lives.
“Please, listen to me. What do you think you’ll accomplish by ending my life? All you’ll do is earn yourself a reputation as a murderer, and set the police on your tail for the rest of your free life.
“This,” she gestures widely with her hands, “all of this is an idea that is not your own. Satan is trying to ruin both of our lives and I guess this is a perfect solution.”
Tears are streaming down her face now. She’s sure she’ll die for her impertinence, but the words won’t stop.
“Jesus, Jesus Christ our savior, wants your life to be meaningful. He created you to do wonderful things, but you can only accomplish them if you follow Him.
“My life is entirely in your hands. You can take my life, but I’ll just be reborn in a perfect world. God is all-powerful.”
She squeezes her watery eyes shut. “Jesus, I beg that you’ll steer this young man toward the light. He has been led astray, but you alone can save him. I know that his life has a purpose and that you want him to live a wonderful life brimming with happiness. I pray that you protect him from evil, and that you’ll bless him with a long life. Amen.”
When she opens her eyes, the man’s face before her is unreadable. He still clutches the trigger of his gun, his finger wavering ominously.
Maddie gazes at him with wide eyes, her expression not one of fear but of worry. She’s accepted her fate.
Suddenly, the gun is averted from her head to her forearm, and a thunderous boom echos through the classroom. Maddie screams as the bullet tears through her flesh, but bites her lip and does not cry.
The entire room has been thrown into pandemonium. Students are cowering behind chairs and desks, desperate to be shielded from the fresh threat.
The teenager has stuffed his gun into his front pocket and dashed toward the door. After throwing it open, he swivels to meet Maddie’s eye for a fleeting moment, and then he is gone.
Her arm is coated in a red, sticky substance. The girl tries not to be sick as she glances downward, and sinks to her knees. The initial shock of the pain has not yet faded, but she can feel its effects beginning to wear off. A horrible burning agony races through her arm, and she curls her fingers in pain.
Ansley leans over her, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her expression is locked in a horrified wail, and she dabs desperately at the blood seeping from her twin’s wound.
Maddie’s sight is wavering. Black splotches begin to fill her vision, and she can sense that her consciousness is short-lived, but through the anguish a grim smile forms on her lips. Thank you, Jesus, she prays silently. You saved my life.
Sunday, November 11, 2012
One Last Day
A silvery cloud of rain shrouded the city, choking out the sun and discharging a general dreary atmosphere over the area. The morning was still, damp, and silent, as a very small percentage of its population had risen from bed to recommence a daily routine. What little light was provided was bleak and gray, and it seemed as though the day was destined to be gloomy and dismal.
Despite the overcast sky cloaking the town, Becca Patterson, sixteen years old, woke that morning with a light, free ecstasy fluttering in her chest. She sat up cheerily and stretched.
This is it, she mentally rejoiced. Tomorrow, I’ll be able to spend my day without worrying about him all along. Nothing could ruin this day for me.
The sophomore fell back on her bed with a plop, deciding to take a minute to meditate on the good fortune that was sure to befall her that evening.
The young girl’s father, an older man of fifty-seven years of age, had finally decided to retire from his position as head of the local police force. For years, Mr. Patterson had clung to his standing, considering it a substantial honor to risk his life daily for his beloved town, where he had been born and bred. Becca agreed wholeheartedly, but day after day of worrying for her wonderful father had eroded at her spirit, until she’d become nervous almost constantly. He’d miraculously managed to elude injury his entire career, but that didn’t stop her from fretting. When her father announced his decision to retire, her relief had been momentous. Her mother had died when she was four, and she and her dad were exceptionally close, most likely due to her mature nature.
Suddenly spurred on with energy-inducing enthusiasm, Becca leapt from her bed and scrambled to locate some decent clothes. She swabbed her face with a few dabs of makeup, hurriedly brushed her teeth, and scurried down the stairs.
Ryan Patterson, his dark hair streaked with gray, sat at the kitchen table with a steaming cup of coffee in hand. A sizable plate of bacon and pancakes was perched on the table before him. Becca’s stomach growled hungrily.
“Daddy!” she squealed, bounding across the room to glomp her father with a generous hug. Mr. Patterson tensed, taken by surprise, and then set his drink down to return the energetic embrace.
“Good morning, Becca,” the man smiled. “Did you have a good sleep?”
She bobbed her head enthusiastically, beaming. “Yeah, I did, but what about you? How are you feeling?”
His grin faded slightly, but quickly recovered. “I’m feeling great, sweetie. Thanks for asking.”
Becca frowned, her expression inquisitive. “What’s wrong?”
He leaned back slightly, breaking the wilting hug, and ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. “Oh, nothing. Just a gut feeling, but I’m sure it’s no big deal.”
“Your gut feelings are never wrong, Dad. What is it?”
“I dunno, I just…It’s the weirdest sense of foreboding. I certainly hope it’s nothing.” Suddenly, he glanced up at the ticking clock and froze. “You’d better hurry if you don’t wanna miss your bus.”
“Shoot!”
Becca’s school day passed in a blur; all the classes and monotonous lectures seemed to blend until they were no more than an indiscernible smudge. The hardworking teen usually paid more attention than that, but she was just too hyper today. I hope I didn’t miss anything important.
As the dismissal bell rung, signaling her release to freedom, Becca hurriedly stuffed her books into her bookbag and raced through the quickly filling hallways. She was the first to evacuate the building, and impatiently tapped her foot in wait for the bus.
In the distance, a police siren wailed. The girl stiffened warily, her mind immediately expecting the worst for her father, but she soon shook herself from her scare. The alarm slowly faded into no more than a memory as the police car passed out of hearing range.
The old, paint-chipped bus creaked to a stop in front of her. Becca scrambled inside and curled up on a seat in the back, mentally willing the driver to hurry.
Thus began the long, tedious drive home. Becca rolled her eyes at the immature hooligans whooping wildly and talking in unnecessarily loud voices, and tried to shut out the noise. A spitball whizzed past her head, but she paid it and its origin no heed.
Ten minutes into the ride, a sudden vibration jolted her from her daze. The sophomore pulled her cellphone out of her jeans pocket, curious as to who would call. The number was blocked. Eye twitching irritatedly at the clamor surrounding her, Becca plugged one ear and held the phone to the other.
“Hello?”
“Miss Patterson?”
“Um, hi.”
“This is Molly, from your father’s police station. I hate to inform you that there has been a serious issue, and we will need you to be present at the station in thirty minutes. Is that alright with you?”
Becca’s stomach plummeted. What had happened? Why was she wanted at the station? Her voice croaking, she mumbled, “Y-yes ma’am. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, sweetie.”
Thirty minutes later, Becca sat in a chair in the station, her father’s most trusted accomplice before her. The officer’s cheeks were streaked with tears, cued by the news she’d just told delivered, but Becca felt no sadness. She felt nothing. Her brain was not working.
“Y…you’re saying he’s…”
The officer, a Delia Jones, swallowed visibly. “He’s in the hospital now, but they told me there’s not much hope. He w-was hit right in the throat, and people rarely recover from injuries like that…”
Her mind could not register the fact. Ryan Patterson could not be dead. He had survived his job all these years, why would he get hurt today?
“Becca, I’m so s-sorry…” The woman extended a shaky hand to rest on her shoulder. “Are you okay?”
“Am I okay? Am I okay??” she screeched, lurching backwards. “My dad is dead, of course I’m not okay! You were there. You were there, why didn’t you save him? Why didn’t you save him?!!”
Becca glared up at her from narrowed, hateful eyes. Delia’s cheeks were now thoroughly soaked, and the girl knew she was probably being too hard on her father’s deputy, but she didn’t care. Her two choices were anguish and fury, and it was so much easier to be angry right now.
“It’s all your fault he’s dead. I hate you.”
With that, the tears broke free. Becca sank to her knees in front of her chair, her lip quivering wildly. Fat droplets of salty water dripped from her chin, soaking her shirt and chilling her to the bone.
“I…I c-can’t…” She shook her head, eyes squeezed shut. “He can’t be gone. It’s not true. He’s…He’s my only family!”
Her eyes reflecting her same desolation, Delia lowered herself to her knees so that she was eye level with Becca. Tentatively, she reached out to wipe a glistening tear from the other’s cheek. “Sweetheart, listen to me. I know. It’ll all be alright. Before he was carried off to the hospital, he told me that you don’t have any other living family. Now, I’ve known you and your f-father for a long time, and I think he trusts me. He told me that he wants for you to stay with me, if you want that. What do you say?” she queried gently.
Becca shivered desolately. Staying with Delia would mean living with the biggest reminder of her father that she had, but where else would she go? It seemed to be her best option to accept, but maybe after her raging outburst, it would seem insensitive to do so.
“I…” She trailed off, her throat constricting. If her father had wanted her to stay with Delia, the least she could do was fulfill his last wish.
“Okay.”
…I'm a horrible person. xP Oh my goodness, my mind is so morbid…At least I didn't write the scene where he died, though, right?
Despite the overcast sky cloaking the town, Becca Patterson, sixteen years old, woke that morning with a light, free ecstasy fluttering in her chest. She sat up cheerily and stretched.
This is it, she mentally rejoiced. Tomorrow, I’ll be able to spend my day without worrying about him all along. Nothing could ruin this day for me.
The sophomore fell back on her bed with a plop, deciding to take a minute to meditate on the good fortune that was sure to befall her that evening.
The young girl’s father, an older man of fifty-seven years of age, had finally decided to retire from his position as head of the local police force. For years, Mr. Patterson had clung to his standing, considering it a substantial honor to risk his life daily for his beloved town, where he had been born and bred. Becca agreed wholeheartedly, but day after day of worrying for her wonderful father had eroded at her spirit, until she’d become nervous almost constantly. He’d miraculously managed to elude injury his entire career, but that didn’t stop her from fretting. When her father announced his decision to retire, her relief had been momentous. Her mother had died when she was four, and she and her dad were exceptionally close, most likely due to her mature nature.
Suddenly spurred on with energy-inducing enthusiasm, Becca leapt from her bed and scrambled to locate some decent clothes. She swabbed her face with a few dabs of makeup, hurriedly brushed her teeth, and scurried down the stairs.
Ryan Patterson, his dark hair streaked with gray, sat at the kitchen table with a steaming cup of coffee in hand. A sizable plate of bacon and pancakes was perched on the table before him. Becca’s stomach growled hungrily.
“Daddy!” she squealed, bounding across the room to glomp her father with a generous hug. Mr. Patterson tensed, taken by surprise, and then set his drink down to return the energetic embrace.
“Good morning, Becca,” the man smiled. “Did you have a good sleep?”
She bobbed her head enthusiastically, beaming. “Yeah, I did, but what about you? How are you feeling?”
His grin faded slightly, but quickly recovered. “I’m feeling great, sweetie. Thanks for asking.”
Becca frowned, her expression inquisitive. “What’s wrong?”
He leaned back slightly, breaking the wilting hug, and ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. “Oh, nothing. Just a gut feeling, but I’m sure it’s no big deal.”
“Your gut feelings are never wrong, Dad. What is it?”
“I dunno, I just…It’s the weirdest sense of foreboding. I certainly hope it’s nothing.” Suddenly, he glanced up at the ticking clock and froze. “You’d better hurry if you don’t wanna miss your bus.”
“Shoot!”
Becca’s school day passed in a blur; all the classes and monotonous lectures seemed to blend until they were no more than an indiscernible smudge. The hardworking teen usually paid more attention than that, but she was just too hyper today. I hope I didn’t miss anything important.
As the dismissal bell rung, signaling her release to freedom, Becca hurriedly stuffed her books into her bookbag and raced through the quickly filling hallways. She was the first to evacuate the building, and impatiently tapped her foot in wait for the bus.
In the distance, a police siren wailed. The girl stiffened warily, her mind immediately expecting the worst for her father, but she soon shook herself from her scare. The alarm slowly faded into no more than a memory as the police car passed out of hearing range.
The old, paint-chipped bus creaked to a stop in front of her. Becca scrambled inside and curled up on a seat in the back, mentally willing the driver to hurry.
Thus began the long, tedious drive home. Becca rolled her eyes at the immature hooligans whooping wildly and talking in unnecessarily loud voices, and tried to shut out the noise. A spitball whizzed past her head, but she paid it and its origin no heed.
Ten minutes into the ride, a sudden vibration jolted her from her daze. The sophomore pulled her cellphone out of her jeans pocket, curious as to who would call. The number was blocked. Eye twitching irritatedly at the clamor surrounding her, Becca plugged one ear and held the phone to the other.
“Hello?”
“Miss Patterson?”
“Um, hi.”
“This is Molly, from your father’s police station. I hate to inform you that there has been a serious issue, and we will need you to be present at the station in thirty minutes. Is that alright with you?”
Becca’s stomach plummeted. What had happened? Why was she wanted at the station? Her voice croaking, she mumbled, “Y-yes ma’am. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, sweetie.”
Thirty minutes later, Becca sat in a chair in the station, her father’s most trusted accomplice before her. The officer’s cheeks were streaked with tears, cued by the news she’d just told delivered, but Becca felt no sadness. She felt nothing. Her brain was not working.
“Y…you’re saying he’s…”
The officer, a Delia Jones, swallowed visibly. “He’s in the hospital now, but they told me there’s not much hope. He w-was hit right in the throat, and people rarely recover from injuries like that…”
Her mind could not register the fact. Ryan Patterson could not be dead. He had survived his job all these years, why would he get hurt today?
“Becca, I’m so s-sorry…” The woman extended a shaky hand to rest on her shoulder. “Are you okay?”
“Am I okay? Am I okay??” she screeched, lurching backwards. “My dad is dead, of course I’m not okay! You were there. You were there, why didn’t you save him? Why didn’t you save him?!!”
Becca glared up at her from narrowed, hateful eyes. Delia’s cheeks were now thoroughly soaked, and the girl knew she was probably being too hard on her father’s deputy, but she didn’t care. Her two choices were anguish and fury, and it was so much easier to be angry right now.
“It’s all your fault he’s dead. I hate you.”
With that, the tears broke free. Becca sank to her knees in front of her chair, her lip quivering wildly. Fat droplets of salty water dripped from her chin, soaking her shirt and chilling her to the bone.
“I…I c-can’t…” She shook her head, eyes squeezed shut. “He can’t be gone. It’s not true. He’s…He’s my only family!”
Her eyes reflecting her same desolation, Delia lowered herself to her knees so that she was eye level with Becca. Tentatively, she reached out to wipe a glistening tear from the other’s cheek. “Sweetheart, listen to me. I know. It’ll all be alright. Before he was carried off to the hospital, he told me that you don’t have any other living family. Now, I’ve known you and your f-father for a long time, and I think he trusts me. He told me that he wants for you to stay with me, if you want that. What do you say?” she queried gently.
Becca shivered desolately. Staying with Delia would mean living with the biggest reminder of her father that she had, but where else would she go? It seemed to be her best option to accept, but maybe after her raging outburst, it would seem insensitive to do so.
“I…” She trailed off, her throat constricting. If her father had wanted her to stay with Delia, the least she could do was fulfill his last wish.
“Okay.”
…I'm a horrible person. xP Oh my goodness, my mind is so morbid…At least I didn't write the scene where he died, though, right?
Friday, November 9, 2012
Penny
Perhaps I am too old to be making wishes on pennies tossed hopefully into a “wishing” fountain, but is one ever too old to dream? Maybe my request will be granted, and maybe not, but it never hurts to try.
With that said, I’ll state my wish.
In the past, I wished for earthly, temporal things; for example, the newest toy or a few stray dollars. Sometimes my desire was less than secular, when I asked for nothing more than a couple hours of bonding time with my workaholic father, or perhaps for a friendship shattered to be mended again.
Now, my mind is more mature and knowledgeable than it was thirty years ago. To some, my wish might be considered egotistical or selfish, but, in all honesty, I mean to commit no sin when I ask this one small favor.
I wish to see.
For eleven years now, my eyes have been blind and barren, dead and useless to me in their lifeless sockets.
I wish to know.
I want to know what it is like to gaze over a moonlit scene, my unscathed eyes twinkling in the starlight.
I wish to forgive myself.
Years ago, I had plenty of opportunity to take in the majestic sights of the world. Instead of greedily scouring the world for visual beauty, I, in my ignorant youth, took my eyesight for granted. I could have imprinted the image of panoramas into my mind, could have even glanced at a couple more photos of the world’s beauty, at the very least, but instead I chose to waste my youthful health amongst empty bottles and self-implied, pointless danger.
One of those meaningless risks cost me my sight, and I don’t believe I’ll ever forgive myself for my stupidity.
With this penny, this simple copper coin, I beg forgiveness for assuming sight to be a delicacy that would always be available to me. This penny, the most inferior of coins, binds me to a promise that my ways will be changed. I solemnly swear, this penny as my proof, that the blessing of sight will never be lost on me again, if I should be so lucky as to receive a miracle.
Now, there is nothing left to do but release the single penny, which so bravely represents all my wishful hopes and dreams, into the swirling waters of the fountain.
Be strong, little penny. Thank you.
Plop.
The copper penny sinks slowly into the shallow fountain, finally stopping to rest atop a small hill of coins much like itself. It joins its coequals in their endeavor, their struggle to reflect the wishes placed upon them through the golden sun that shines brilliantly down upon them. A new flurry of light enters the jumble of dancing light, leaping to and fro along the fountain’s sides as the water moves all around. Another wish has been cast, and one more soul will, perhaps, be satisfied soon.
With that said, I’ll state my wish.
In the past, I wished for earthly, temporal things; for example, the newest toy or a few stray dollars. Sometimes my desire was less than secular, when I asked for nothing more than a couple hours of bonding time with my workaholic father, or perhaps for a friendship shattered to be mended again.
Now, my mind is more mature and knowledgeable than it was thirty years ago. To some, my wish might be considered egotistical or selfish, but, in all honesty, I mean to commit no sin when I ask this one small favor.
I wish to see.
For eleven years now, my eyes have been blind and barren, dead and useless to me in their lifeless sockets.
I wish to know.
I want to know what it is like to gaze over a moonlit scene, my unscathed eyes twinkling in the starlight.
I wish to forgive myself.
Years ago, I had plenty of opportunity to take in the majestic sights of the world. Instead of greedily scouring the world for visual beauty, I, in my ignorant youth, took my eyesight for granted. I could have imprinted the image of panoramas into my mind, could have even glanced at a couple more photos of the world’s beauty, at the very least, but instead I chose to waste my youthful health amongst empty bottles and self-implied, pointless danger.
One of those meaningless risks cost me my sight, and I don’t believe I’ll ever forgive myself for my stupidity.
With this penny, this simple copper coin, I beg forgiveness for assuming sight to be a delicacy that would always be available to me. This penny, the most inferior of coins, binds me to a promise that my ways will be changed. I solemnly swear, this penny as my proof, that the blessing of sight will never be lost on me again, if I should be so lucky as to receive a miracle.
Now, there is nothing left to do but release the single penny, which so bravely represents all my wishful hopes and dreams, into the swirling waters of the fountain.
Be strong, little penny. Thank you.
Plop.
The copper penny sinks slowly into the shallow fountain, finally stopping to rest atop a small hill of coins much like itself. It joins its coequals in their endeavor, their struggle to reflect the wishes placed upon them through the golden sun that shines brilliantly down upon them. A new flurry of light enters the jumble of dancing light, leaping to and fro along the fountain’s sides as the water moves all around. Another wish has been cast, and one more soul will, perhaps, be satisfied soon.
Sunday, October 28, 2012
Valiant
The air was nearly acidic, putrid from the stink of sickness and death. Eli coughed at the stench, ragged brown hair falling into his eyes as he did so. His chocolate eyes watered, and the Jewish boy, fourteen years of age, tried desperately to escape the fetor by covering his face with his hands, careful not to stab himself in the eye when the bus he was on jolted. To get injured right now would most certainly not do.
The bus, crammed full with anxious Jews, jounced again as it hit either a rock or some misfortunate animal. Its unwilling content was thrown across what little room there was in the vehicle. Deep in the back, a poor soul moaned in pain. Eli’s throat clenched, but there was nothing he could do without getting trampled.
In actuality, despite the impending terrors he was sure to witness in the near future, there was nothing at all for Eli to do, save stare out the window miserably and watch the grassy hills roll by. The boy had attempted to lead his fellow captive Jews in song, hoping to lift up praise to his God, but the Nazi guards had silenced him almost immediately. He’d resorted to praying quietly to himself, but it wasn’t quite the same, not in such a time when passion was so direly needed.
All the same, Eli gazed forebodingly out the window and thanked God for sustaining him thus far. Perhaps he would survive the concentration camps; that is, assuming that he ever escaped. Sometimes it seemed as though the war would never end; or worse, that the detested and feared Hitler and his followers would win. If that were to happen, there would be no hope for Eli, or any Jew for that matter.
The bus swerved abruptly, thrusting Eli’s face straight into the window. The Jew barely refrained from swearing and leaned back, rubbing his nose. The fear and apprehension were gradually boiling over into anger, and his throbbing face wasn’t helping matters.
Sourly, Eli resumed his stare out the window, but to his surprise was met with a scene different than the previous. In a valley sunken before him, an immense, vast ghost town lurked, giving off an aura of despair.
Color was fictitious in the concentration camp. From his bus’s perch atop a towering hill, Eli could see that every corner of his new home was washed over with a murky shade of brown or gray. People traveled only in groups, and their figures were slouched and hopeless.
Despite the horrible sensation of desperation flooding his soul, the young Jew felt an eerie sense of grim determination that inspired him to firm his jaw and still his shivers. He knew that, though he may perish, his Father was on his side.
As he neared the site of his impending doom, Eli felt valiant.
Hey, guys.
Long time no update. Heh.
Okay, I am SO sorry about my lack of posts as of recently. I know that there are no excuses and that this is something I committed my time to, but honestly, I don't know what to write about. It seems like, last year, I had inspiration after inspiration running through my mind. Now, my brain is like this: O. Empty.Like a doughnut.
Brave, Courageous, Valiant…Anyone else think there are too many things titled after heroic emotions?
Oh, and I do realize the ending is rushed. It's because my mind quit out on me mid-story. Will fix later.
Ciao!
The bus, crammed full with anxious Jews, jounced again as it hit either a rock or some misfortunate animal. Its unwilling content was thrown across what little room there was in the vehicle. Deep in the back, a poor soul moaned in pain. Eli’s throat clenched, but there was nothing he could do without getting trampled.
In actuality, despite the impending terrors he was sure to witness in the near future, there was nothing at all for Eli to do, save stare out the window miserably and watch the grassy hills roll by. The boy had attempted to lead his fellow captive Jews in song, hoping to lift up praise to his God, but the Nazi guards had silenced him almost immediately. He’d resorted to praying quietly to himself, but it wasn’t quite the same, not in such a time when passion was so direly needed.
All the same, Eli gazed forebodingly out the window and thanked God for sustaining him thus far. Perhaps he would survive the concentration camps; that is, assuming that he ever escaped. Sometimes it seemed as though the war would never end; or worse, that the detested and feared Hitler and his followers would win. If that were to happen, there would be no hope for Eli, or any Jew for that matter.
The bus swerved abruptly, thrusting Eli’s face straight into the window. The Jew barely refrained from swearing and leaned back, rubbing his nose. The fear and apprehension were gradually boiling over into anger, and his throbbing face wasn’t helping matters.
Sourly, Eli resumed his stare out the window, but to his surprise was met with a scene different than the previous. In a valley sunken before him, an immense, vast ghost town lurked, giving off an aura of despair.
Color was fictitious in the concentration camp. From his bus’s perch atop a towering hill, Eli could see that every corner of his new home was washed over with a murky shade of brown or gray. People traveled only in groups, and their figures were slouched and hopeless.
Despite the horrible sensation of desperation flooding his soul, the young Jew felt an eerie sense of grim determination that inspired him to firm his jaw and still his shivers. He knew that, though he may perish, his Father was on his side.
As he neared the site of his impending doom, Eli felt valiant.
Hey, guys.
Long time no update. Heh.
Okay, I am SO sorry about my lack of posts as of recently. I know that there are no excuses and that this is something I committed my time to, but honestly, I don't know what to write about. It seems like, last year, I had inspiration after inspiration running through my mind. Now, my brain is like this: O. Empty.
Brave, Courageous, Valiant…Anyone else think there are too many things titled after heroic emotions?
Oh, and I do realize the ending is rushed. It's because my mind quit out on me mid-story. Will fix later.
Ciao!
Monday, October 8, 2012
Guardian Angel
A heartwrenching scream echoed through the bustling hospital hall
as a new life began its journey. The screech was quickly followed by a
baby’s wails, and several nearby nurses cooed lovingly at the gorgeous
newborn. He was a beauty; a rarity that surely possessed the blessing of
God.
The child’s mother, smiling and drenched in sweat, held out her arms weakly for her baby boy. She was rewarded with the squealing, wet child being placed gently on her lap. Her face the image of relief, the woman beamed through her tears as she blissfuly held the boy to her chest.
Though no one knew it at the time, there was another presence in the room celebrating the birth of the child. His heavenly form was too holy to be viewed by those still bound to the world of the living, but as he wrapped his great, glowing, pearly white wings around his new undertaking, the guardian angel was as much a part of the room as if he had a mortal body.
A slowly setting sun tinted the vast sky with a pale orange hue, washing the landscape below in gentle fall colors. Generous splashes of red, orange, yellow, and brown furnished the scenery with a warm, pleasant feel. Beneath the setting sun, a gaggle of children shrieked playfully as they frolicked amidst the fallen leaves.
A young boy, his mousy brown hair harmonizing with the surrounding terrain, watched longingly from a distance. He swayed slightly on the lone swing on which he was perched. However much he wanted to join his peers in their games, he couldn’t muster the courage to ask. Rejection was too large a concern for the shy child.
He tore his gaze away from his giggling confreres, accepting that he would be forced to entertain himself. Halfheartedly, the boy gave a feeble push on the swing, but the effort barely increased its dreary movement. The boy sighed.
Unexpectedly, a pair of undersized hands that rather matched his own pressed themselves against the child’s back and gave a gentle shove. He jumped in surprise, whirling around as best he could in the confined space.
A pair of crystal blue eyes, sparkling with playful mischievousness, met his gaze. “Want a push?” the newcomer queried, her voice light and welcoming.
Bemused, the diminutive brunet nodded. “Please,” he added politely.
The blue-eyed girl smiled, her golden hair framing her face alluringly. After complying with a careful thrust, she lapsed into an awkward silence.
The boy decided that conversation was a promising idea. Unsure of another way to evoke discussion, he began, “Um, m-my name’s Elliot, by the way. I’m seven.”
The other giggled. “I know that, silly! We’re in the same class at school. I’ve been trying to talk to you for a long time now, but you keep getting away before I can find you.”
Well, that was news. Elliot hadn’t known that anyone was seeking him out; maybe his solitariness was self-induced. His surprise must have shown, because the girl frowned.
“Why do you always sit by yourself? You seem so lonely…”
Elliot blinked. “Really? Oh. I just don’t really know how to ask people if it’s okay to sit with them…”
The blonde laughed. “That’s a silly reason. You just do this!”
She went on to dodge around Elliot’s swing so that he could see her, and began to illustrate a one-person skit.
“Hi there, Bob! Is it okay if I sit here? ‘Well of course Bob, why not?’ Oh I don’t know Bob, I wasn’t sure if you were saving this seat for someone else. ‘Don’t be silly, Bob! Sit down!’” She concluded the scene by collapsing to the ground in a fit of laughter.
Elliot allowed a small smile and a chuckle. This girl was funny. Didn’t she say that she wanted to be friends with him? This could have a good outcome…
“See? It’s easy! You just have to ask!” the girl chortled. Abruptly, however, her expression changed to one more somber. “Hey Elliot, do you promise that you won’t sit by yourself anymore? It’s weird, but for some reason I don’t like seeing you looking sad and lonely…”
She was caring, too. The markings of a promising future friend. “Okay.”
“Elliot?”
“Yeah?”
“My name’s Lizzie.”
He extended a hand as he had seen his mother do when meeting a new person. “Nice to meet you, Lizzie.”
The girl stared blankly at his hand. Afraid that he’d done something weird, the boy retracted it slightly. His actions were interrupted, however, when Lizzie pushed past his arm into a hug, a new bout of laughter gracing her lips.
Elliot stiffened. He thought girls didn’t like touching boys! Didn’t they always protest that they had cooties? Evidently Lizzie was different. Hesitantly, he returned the embrace with a slight squeeze.
“You’re silly, Elliot.”
“Um, thanks?”
Lizzie giggled. “You’re welcome.”
Standing a few meters away, the boy’s guardian spirit watched contentedly. Though his appealing looks attracted the common eye, Elliot inexplicably remained under the impression that he was obliged to live a reclusive young life. He brushed introductions off as others simply being courteous, and had thus far not managed to retain any semblance of a strong friendship. The angel was beginning to worry for his child, but this new development showed promise. Perhaps Lizzie would be the friend Elliot desperately needed.
Closing his colorless silver eyes, the angel lifted his hands and wings in prayer to his God. He begged the Father to care for His child, Elliot, and to provide him with the love he was in need of to grow spiritually and emotionally. The servant of God raised his and Elliot’s troubles to the Most Divine, and as he felt the prayer leave his being and journey toward God’s being. The angel knew that the Lord would hear his prayer; He had every time before, and he had full faith in his Master.
“Help me to fulfill my duty to You and protect Your child, Elliot,” he pleaded quietly. “I am nothing without You, the same as the rest of Your creation. Give me the strength to serve You. Amen.”
The child’s mother, smiling and drenched in sweat, held out her arms weakly for her baby boy. She was rewarded with the squealing, wet child being placed gently on her lap. Her face the image of relief, the woman beamed through her tears as she blissfuly held the boy to her chest.
Though no one knew it at the time, there was another presence in the room celebrating the birth of the child. His heavenly form was too holy to be viewed by those still bound to the world of the living, but as he wrapped his great, glowing, pearly white wings around his new undertaking, the guardian angel was as much a part of the room as if he had a mortal body.
A slowly setting sun tinted the vast sky with a pale orange hue, washing the landscape below in gentle fall colors. Generous splashes of red, orange, yellow, and brown furnished the scenery with a warm, pleasant feel. Beneath the setting sun, a gaggle of children shrieked playfully as they frolicked amidst the fallen leaves.
A young boy, his mousy brown hair harmonizing with the surrounding terrain, watched longingly from a distance. He swayed slightly on the lone swing on which he was perched. However much he wanted to join his peers in their games, he couldn’t muster the courage to ask. Rejection was too large a concern for the shy child.
He tore his gaze away from his giggling confreres, accepting that he would be forced to entertain himself. Halfheartedly, the boy gave a feeble push on the swing, but the effort barely increased its dreary movement. The boy sighed.
Unexpectedly, a pair of undersized hands that rather matched his own pressed themselves against the child’s back and gave a gentle shove. He jumped in surprise, whirling around as best he could in the confined space.
A pair of crystal blue eyes, sparkling with playful mischievousness, met his gaze. “Want a push?” the newcomer queried, her voice light and welcoming.
Bemused, the diminutive brunet nodded. “Please,” he added politely.
The blue-eyed girl smiled, her golden hair framing her face alluringly. After complying with a careful thrust, she lapsed into an awkward silence.
The boy decided that conversation was a promising idea. Unsure of another way to evoke discussion, he began, “Um, m-my name’s Elliot, by the way. I’m seven.”
The other giggled. “I know that, silly! We’re in the same class at school. I’ve been trying to talk to you for a long time now, but you keep getting away before I can find you.”
Well, that was news. Elliot hadn’t known that anyone was seeking him out; maybe his solitariness was self-induced. His surprise must have shown, because the girl frowned.
“Why do you always sit by yourself? You seem so lonely…”
Elliot blinked. “Really? Oh. I just don’t really know how to ask people if it’s okay to sit with them…”
The blonde laughed. “That’s a silly reason. You just do this!”
She went on to dodge around Elliot’s swing so that he could see her, and began to illustrate a one-person skit.
“Hi there, Bob! Is it okay if I sit here? ‘Well of course Bob, why not?’ Oh I don’t know Bob, I wasn’t sure if you were saving this seat for someone else. ‘Don’t be silly, Bob! Sit down!’” She concluded the scene by collapsing to the ground in a fit of laughter.
Elliot allowed a small smile and a chuckle. This girl was funny. Didn’t she say that she wanted to be friends with him? This could have a good outcome…
“See? It’s easy! You just have to ask!” the girl chortled. Abruptly, however, her expression changed to one more somber. “Hey Elliot, do you promise that you won’t sit by yourself anymore? It’s weird, but for some reason I don’t like seeing you looking sad and lonely…”
She was caring, too. The markings of a promising future friend. “Okay.”
“Elliot?”
“Yeah?”
“My name’s Lizzie.”
He extended a hand as he had seen his mother do when meeting a new person. “Nice to meet you, Lizzie.”
The girl stared blankly at his hand. Afraid that he’d done something weird, the boy retracted it slightly. His actions were interrupted, however, when Lizzie pushed past his arm into a hug, a new bout of laughter gracing her lips.
Elliot stiffened. He thought girls didn’t like touching boys! Didn’t they always protest that they had cooties? Evidently Lizzie was different. Hesitantly, he returned the embrace with a slight squeeze.
“You’re silly, Elliot.”
“Um, thanks?”
Lizzie giggled. “You’re welcome.”
Standing a few meters away, the boy’s guardian spirit watched contentedly. Though his appealing looks attracted the common eye, Elliot inexplicably remained under the impression that he was obliged to live a reclusive young life. He brushed introductions off as others simply being courteous, and had thus far not managed to retain any semblance of a strong friendship. The angel was beginning to worry for his child, but this new development showed promise. Perhaps Lizzie would be the friend Elliot desperately needed.
Closing his colorless silver eyes, the angel lifted his hands and wings in prayer to his God. He begged the Father to care for His child, Elliot, and to provide him with the love he was in need of to grow spiritually and emotionally. The servant of God raised his and Elliot’s troubles to the Most Divine, and as he felt the prayer leave his being and journey toward God’s being. The angel knew that the Lord would hear his prayer; He had every time before, and he had full faith in his Master.
“Help me to fulfill my duty to You and protect Your child, Elliot,” he pleaded quietly. “I am nothing without You, the same as the rest of Your creation. Give me the strength to serve You. Amen.”
Tuesday, September 25, 2012
Ignorancy
Why is it that we humans believe we understand everything? Why do we continue to tell ourselves, albeit unconsciously, that there is no more to life than we can personally see, hear, or feel? The universe, God’s universe, extends far beyond our simple-minded comprehension. If we wish to understand any more than the miniscule amount we currently do, our only hope is to release all notions of logic. In God’s world, rationality is irrational. After all, why would a being as immense as He choose to be hindered by such a petty idea?
Consider this. What if our universe, our world, our everything was, in reality, no larger than a speck of dust in another dimension? What if the grains of dirt in our world in actuality house thousands, even millions of living, thinking creatures like ourselves? What if a man were to discover all the secrets of the world, to know everything and everything, and then one day wake up to discover his entire life to be no more than a dream, a trick of the mind? These ideas may seem ridiculous or puerile, but with mankind’s inability to fathom, they could easily be verities.
One day, on a day the LORD has already decided, we will be called to live with Him and the secrets of the universe will be ours to uncover. We will have millennia at our hands to learn about the world our God has constructed for us, and every new fact we discover will bring glory to His name. Until that day, we can only wait in illiteracy, ignorant of the wonder of our very surroundings and wholly dependent on God’s brilliancy to direct our lives.
Oh my goodness. How long has it been since I've given you all an actual story?? I apologize a bajilion times. School is just…a lot. And volleyball is practically consuming my life. Anyway, this was just done for practice. The idea was inspired by an essay that I helped my older sister read for AP work last night. Hope you enjoyed, even though it was short!
Consider this. What if our universe, our world, our everything was, in reality, no larger than a speck of dust in another dimension? What if the grains of dirt in our world in actuality house thousands, even millions of living, thinking creatures like ourselves? What if a man were to discover all the secrets of the world, to know everything and everything, and then one day wake up to discover his entire life to be no more than a dream, a trick of the mind? These ideas may seem ridiculous or puerile, but with mankind’s inability to fathom, they could easily be verities.
One day, on a day the LORD has already decided, we will be called to live with Him and the secrets of the universe will be ours to uncover. We will have millennia at our hands to learn about the world our God has constructed for us, and every new fact we discover will bring glory to His name. Until that day, we can only wait in illiteracy, ignorant of the wonder of our very surroundings and wholly dependent on God’s brilliancy to direct our lives.
Oh my goodness. How long has it been since I've given you all an actual story?? I apologize a bajilion times. School is just…a lot. And volleyball is practically consuming my life. Anyway, this was just done for practice. The idea was inspired by an essay that I helped my older sister read for AP work last night. Hope you enjoyed, even though it was short!
Tuesday, September 18, 2012
The Morning Challenge
Hey guys! Sadly, I don't have a story for you all today, but I did want to share with you a really awesome website, another blog called The Morning Challenge. It was started by my good friend Sarah, along with her buddy Meghan. The Morning Challenge is a daily devotional blog, updated daily by one of its many facility members. It focuses on different ideas daily that motivate its readers to live their day for Jesus. I highly encourage you all to check it out!
The Morning Challenge Address: http://www.mymorningchallenge.com/
Thanks!
The Morning Challenge Address: http://www.mymorningchallenge.com/
Thanks!
Wednesday, September 12, 2012
Ben Fielding
Sydney is lazy and is suffering from a mysterious case of writers' block, forcing her to go to desperate measures to entertain her wonderful viewers.
This is an essay I wrote for English. It's just a rough draft, but hey, it's something! The essay was supposed to be a testimony from the point of view of the main character from Safely Home. The book was written by Randy Alcorn, who by the way is an amazing author for Christ. I recommend reading Safely Home and his other stories.
Enjoy!
“If a man is called to be a street sweeper, he should sweep streets even as Michelangelo painted, or Beethoven played music, or Shakespeare wrote poetry. He should sweep streets so well that all the hosts of heaven and earth will pause to say, ‘Here lived a great street sweeper who did his job well.’”
My friend and old roommate, Li Quan, once recited that quote to me. At the time, I didn’t understand its meaning, but now I think I can grasp its significance a little better. The quote, I believe, advises people to zeal for excellence in whatever they may do, whether it be to rule a kingdom, or, well, to sweep streets. If I had known and understood that verse years ago, perhaps I wouldn’t have been so long in coming to the Lord.
I haven’t always been the best of Christians. In fact, until recently I wasn’t even a believer. My business, and my own self, was always worth more to me than a God I couldn’t see and had no reason to have faith in. However, God was not thwarted by my stubbornness and stupidity. He led me back to Him when He sent me to China.
I had visited China before; the modern-yet-ancient culture was nothing new to me. Yet, no matter how many times I’d been there, I’d always somehow been blind to the pain, suffering, and tyranny hidden beneath the busy surface. Li Quan, who I believe I mentioned earlier, slowly but surely removed the counterfeit mask China’s government had applied, and revealed to me China’s true colors. There was cruelty and hopelessness around every corner, families destroyed because of their trust in God. To be honest, when I saw what the people there put up with, I felt…insignificant. Weak. Substandard. I felt as if, even if I would be able to overcome my pride and follow the Lord, I’d be useless to Him. I’d never felt worse.
Then Quan was arrested. I fought ruthlessly for his freedom, desperate to help my faithful friend and prove my worth to someone. It turns out he didn’t need me. He had Someone by his side, caring for him just as He cared for me, even if I didn’t know it. When Quan was in prison, I changed. I evolved into something different, something with Christian potential. And then, one night, at a Bible study, I dedicated my life to Jesus.
I’ll never regret choosing life over death. It cost me everything I had, but I’ve gained all that matters. I pray that God will see you through a transformation like mine. I hope that one day, we’ll be the world’s greatest street sweepers in His name, and make this planet a better place for it. Thanks for your time, and God bless you all.
This is an essay I wrote for English. It's just a rough draft, but hey, it's something! The essay was supposed to be a testimony from the point of view of the main character from Safely Home. The book was written by Randy Alcorn, who by the way is an amazing author for Christ. I recommend reading Safely Home and his other stories.
Enjoy!
“If a man is called to be a street sweeper, he should sweep streets even as Michelangelo painted, or Beethoven played music, or Shakespeare wrote poetry. He should sweep streets so well that all the hosts of heaven and earth will pause to say, ‘Here lived a great street sweeper who did his job well.’”
My friend and old roommate, Li Quan, once recited that quote to me. At the time, I didn’t understand its meaning, but now I think I can grasp its significance a little better. The quote, I believe, advises people to zeal for excellence in whatever they may do, whether it be to rule a kingdom, or, well, to sweep streets. If I had known and understood that verse years ago, perhaps I wouldn’t have been so long in coming to the Lord.
I haven’t always been the best of Christians. In fact, until recently I wasn’t even a believer. My business, and my own self, was always worth more to me than a God I couldn’t see and had no reason to have faith in. However, God was not thwarted by my stubbornness and stupidity. He led me back to Him when He sent me to China.
I had visited China before; the modern-yet-ancient culture was nothing new to me. Yet, no matter how many times I’d been there, I’d always somehow been blind to the pain, suffering, and tyranny hidden beneath the busy surface. Li Quan, who I believe I mentioned earlier, slowly but surely removed the counterfeit mask China’s government had applied, and revealed to me China’s true colors. There was cruelty and hopelessness around every corner, families destroyed because of their trust in God. To be honest, when I saw what the people there put up with, I felt…insignificant. Weak. Substandard. I felt as if, even if I would be able to overcome my pride and follow the Lord, I’d be useless to Him. I’d never felt worse.
Then Quan was arrested. I fought ruthlessly for his freedom, desperate to help my faithful friend and prove my worth to someone. It turns out he didn’t need me. He had Someone by his side, caring for him just as He cared for me, even if I didn’t know it. When Quan was in prison, I changed. I evolved into something different, something with Christian potential. And then, one night, at a Bible study, I dedicated my life to Jesus.
I’ll never regret choosing life over death. It cost me everything I had, but I’ve gained all that matters. I pray that God will see you through a transformation like mine. I hope that one day, we’ll be the world’s greatest street sweepers in His name, and make this planet a better place for it. Thanks for your time, and God bless you all.
Tuesday, September 4, 2012
Ashley
This is an excerpt from my summer reading book report. I've been wanting to post more often, but I haven't had luck with inspiration recently, so I cheated. :)
Yes, this is true, though most of you have already heard this story. This all happened about two and a half years ago.
Two years ago, my younger sister, Ashley, was sent to the hospital for urgent brain surgery. She was suffering from a disorder known as neurofibromatosis, and an operation was needed.
The entire ordeal had been sudden and completely unexpected. The day after my mom drove her to the hospital, the day that she would undergo surgery, my two other siblings and I woke up to an empty, quiet house. We were occasionally updated on the goings-on at the hospital an hour away, but otherwise, nothing happened all morning.
The silence seemed to slowly eat away at me from inside, as I was left alone with my thoughts to wonder just what was happening to my beloved younger sister at the time. I tried to shy away from images of her in an artificial sleep, with wires and IVs protruding from her frail, vulnerable skin. That day was easily the most stressful and fear-filled day of my life.
Then, sometime later that day, came the news that the surgery had been highly successful. The triumph was largely due to the anonymous donation of a minuscule camera that had helped with the accuracy of the incision. The instrument was easily worth a lot of money. Whoever had contributed the appliance saved her from a much larger scar across her scalp, as well as made the surgery safer and easier for the doctor. My siblings and I were told that we could visit her after she woke up. In place of the cold, unknowing fear that had polluted my heart and thoughts came a relieved happiness that washed through my soul and cleansed me of all the nervous thoughts from the day. I rode to the hospital feeling impatiently euphoric.
Since that traumatic time, Ashley has made a full and complete recovery and has once again become the bouncy, fun sister that I knew. There was a difference in our relationship, however, even if she herself didn’t realize it. When I think of what exactly could have happened if something had gone askew in the operation, I value my life shared with her that much more and am motivated to strive to be a better sister. Though at the time I questioned why the incident had happened to my family, I now know that God used the near-tragedy to bring us closer to each other and to Him.
Yes, this is true, though most of you have already heard this story. This all happened about two and a half years ago.
Two years ago, my younger sister, Ashley, was sent to the hospital for urgent brain surgery. She was suffering from a disorder known as neurofibromatosis, and an operation was needed.
The entire ordeal had been sudden and completely unexpected. The day after my mom drove her to the hospital, the day that she would undergo surgery, my two other siblings and I woke up to an empty, quiet house. We were occasionally updated on the goings-on at the hospital an hour away, but otherwise, nothing happened all morning.
The silence seemed to slowly eat away at me from inside, as I was left alone with my thoughts to wonder just what was happening to my beloved younger sister at the time. I tried to shy away from images of her in an artificial sleep, with wires and IVs protruding from her frail, vulnerable skin. That day was easily the most stressful and fear-filled day of my life.
Then, sometime later that day, came the news that the surgery had been highly successful. The triumph was largely due to the anonymous donation of a minuscule camera that had helped with the accuracy of the incision. The instrument was easily worth a lot of money. Whoever had contributed the appliance saved her from a much larger scar across her scalp, as well as made the surgery safer and easier for the doctor. My siblings and I were told that we could visit her after she woke up. In place of the cold, unknowing fear that had polluted my heart and thoughts came a relieved happiness that washed through my soul and cleansed me of all the nervous thoughts from the day. I rode to the hospital feeling impatiently euphoric.
Since that traumatic time, Ashley has made a full and complete recovery and has once again become the bouncy, fun sister that I knew. There was a difference in our relationship, however, even if she herself didn’t realize it. When I think of what exactly could have happened if something had gone askew in the operation, I value my life shared with her that much more and am motivated to strive to be a better sister. Though at the time I questioned why the incident had happened to my family, I now know that God used the near-tragedy to bring us closer to each other and to Him.
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
A Game: Forgiveness
Hannah Jones opened the door to the trailer home cautiously, wincing as it creaked and groaned. Sh, sh, shhhhh, she mentally hissed. If Mom wakes up, I’m dead.
To her immense relief, she managed to slip inside without incident. The seventeen-year-old slipped off her black leather jacket and turned to slink into her room.
Fifty-year-old Mary Jones, her black hair streaked with gray, stood behind her daughter, arms crossed.
Hannah bit her lip. “Uhh…Hi, Mom.”
Mrs. Jones glared at the teenager. “Why were you out this late? It’s after three in the morning!” “You didn’t have to stay up for me,” mumbled Hannah.
“That’s not the point,” her mother snapped. “Where were you? Do you know how much I worried?”
‘Worried’? Hannah nearly snorted. Since when have you been ‘worried’ about me?
Out loud, the teen simply snorted with contempt that she didn’t feel. “I was out. Doing stuff. I’m going to bed. Bye.”
She strode toward her mom, attempting to squeeze past her, but the older woman stood firm in her path.
“Honey, I don’t want you to leave until you tell me everything. Why can’t you realize that I’m just trying to help you? I’m not trying to make your life miserable, I’m trying to make sure that you have a life!”
“Are you saying that I’m irresponsible?” Hannah hissed brusquely. “I’m seventeen years old and perfectly capable of taking care of myself.” A sudden, irrational, tempting notion crept into her mind. “In fact, I think I will.”
“What?”
“I’m leaving. I’m fed up with the way you treat me like some kid. Maybe once I’m gone you’ll be able to see how grown-up I actually am.”
“Hannah, no!”
The teen gritted her teeth. “You can’t tell me what to do.”
An unidentifiable expression overtook the older woman's face. “But, wait — Where will you go?”
“I dunno. I’ll find a place. I’m not reclusive and friendless like you, Mom.”
Hannah shoved past her mother and into her room, kneeling before her dresser and gathering her things at an inhuman speed. Once she had collected all of her crucial belongings, she tossed them into a suitcase, zipped it closed, and stood up.
Anger speeding her actions, Hannah stomped out of her room, through the trailer door, and into the black night. Had she looked back, she would have seen her mother collapsed against the wall, with fat, despairing tears oozing from her emerald eyes.
A volley of rapid gunfire exploded across the battlefield, with an echo of agonized screams following in its wake. Bombs and airplanes streaked overhead. Thunderous reverberations of artillery fire resonated around the war site.
Officer Hannah Jones, aged twenty-five, ran amidst amidst the chaos and wiped a grotesque solution of sweat and blood from her brow. Trying not to show her limp, she attempted to tune out the cries of the dying, and kept moving.
Her gun shook in her grip, more from the vibrations of nearby explosions than from her trembling hands. Never missing a beat in her travel, Hannah checked that it was loaded and cocked.
Suddenly, a screeching, high-pitched sound nearly imploded her eardrums. Hannah looked up to see that a bomb, what type she could not tell, falling fast towards the ground a few yards away from her.
Eyes wide with barely suppressed fear, she dove behind a hunk of metal and hit the ground.
A deafening wave of hot air and sound blasted over her, and the world went black.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
Hannah opened her eyes groggily, wincing at the glaring, sudden light. “Unh…” she moaned. Swaths of cottony cloth surrounded her, and she shifted uncomfortably in the linen cocoon.
Everything hurt, especially her head. A piercing migraine, mingled with the unrelenting dazzle of the ceiling lamps, wove painfully through her pulsing veins and invoked slight tears of pain.
Where am I?
Biting her lip to keep from crying out, Hannah forced herself to sit up and look around. Her body was screaming pitiful pleas for rest, but she fought the temptation and examined her surroundings.
White. White was everywhere. The walls were white, the ceiling was white, even the sky peeking in through the window was cloudy and gray. The young adult’s eyes strained from searching for color, until she resigned with a sigh and lay back down.
The next thing she was aware of was a creaky door groaning open. Hannah gave a small cough and blinked hard.
“Hello, Officer. Are you feeling alright?” A plump nurse, clad in ivory robes, bustled toward her
“Unh…”
The chubby woman smiled sympathetically. “I’ll bet you have the worst headache right now.”
“Heh…yeah.”
“Well, you did take quite a blow to the head. Do you remember what happened?”
Closing her eyes, Hannah scoured her memory for any clear image of what had befallen her. Indistinct flashes of red, brown, and green bombarded her, backed by an echoey haze of screams and sirens. Suddenly, a bellowing roar, produced from her own subconscious, nearly made her ears ring. She opened her eyes and sat up.
“Uh, I think there was some kind of explosion.”
“Yes, we know that much. Were you standing near any rocks or metal? Did any shrapnel come flying toward you? Anything that would cause you to have a concussion?”
“I have a concussion?”
“I didn’t say that. But yes.”
Shoot. “Sorry, I can’t remember…” Letting a reassuring smile soften her features, the caretaker tutted. “Don’t apologize, we can work without that information. But for now, there’s someone here to see you.” With that, she stood to bring in the visitor.
What? I don’t have any family or friends; who do I know that would check on me in the hospital?
A soft tap at the door caught Hannah’s attention. Emerald green eyes peeped around the corner, cloaked with a curly mop of black and silver hair.
Hannah froze. “Mom?”
The two simply stared for a time, each taking in the other’s haggard appearance. Hannah’s heart was thumping so wildly she thought it would leap from her chest.
Why is she here? I haven’t seen her in eight years! How did she even know that I was injured? Why does she care?
The older woman made the first move. “Hannah…” she croaked, stepping from behind the door to gain better access to her daughter. “Sweetheart…”
Hannah made no move to either shy away or move closer, but she flinched when her mother took her hand in hers.
“Oh my gosh…” Mrs. Jones croaked, her voice shaking. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry…”
For what?
“I should have followed you. Trust me, I never, ever wanted you to leave, but I couldn’t stand; I just…collapsed…”
She was that hurt when I left? I thought she was glad to be rid of me…
Mrs. Jones swallowed painfully. “Every day, I’d wake up hoping that you’d have come back overnight. I mentally rehearsed dozens of time what I’d say to you, how I’d apologize for driving you out…But words couldn’t describe my feelings, and every time I decided on something, I discarded it soon after.
“So, I won’t try to be elaborate. I just want to ask you, Hannah, will you forgive me?”
Hannah didn’t know what to say.
“I–I don’t…I…”
She tilted her head, observing her mother’s quivering lip and the genuine tears pooling up at her jade eyes.
All this time, she really wanted me to come back…
She bit her lip and made a decision. In all truth, she’d missed her caring, protective mother as well, but her stubborn pride had kept her from coming clean. She opened her mouth to answer her mother.
I forgive you…
Words failed her. Her voice broke and the tears that had built up over the years overpowered her and broke loose, streaming down her face in miniature, salty rivers.
“M-Mom…”
Unable to restrain herself anymore, she leaned forward and hugged her mom to her. She tried to convey the emotion she felt through the touch; the many years of pent-up misery and regret, all of the longing for a form of support, the repressed crave she felt to love and be loved.
“I love you, Mom.”
Holy cannoli, this is cheesy. I didn't even know I was capable of such sappiness…
Sarah, do you like it? I didn't know exactly how to put your idea to story form, so if this isn't what you had in mind, I'll re-do it.
Comments, please!!!
To her immense relief, she managed to slip inside without incident. The seventeen-year-old slipped off her black leather jacket and turned to slink into her room.
Fifty-year-old Mary Jones, her black hair streaked with gray, stood behind her daughter, arms crossed.
Hannah bit her lip. “Uhh…Hi, Mom.”
Mrs. Jones glared at the teenager. “Why were you out this late? It’s after three in the morning!” “You didn’t have to stay up for me,” mumbled Hannah.
“That’s not the point,” her mother snapped. “Where were you? Do you know how much I worried?”
‘Worried’? Hannah nearly snorted. Since when have you been ‘worried’ about me?
Out loud, the teen simply snorted with contempt that she didn’t feel. “I was out. Doing stuff. I’m going to bed. Bye.”
She strode toward her mom, attempting to squeeze past her, but the older woman stood firm in her path.
“Honey, I don’t want you to leave until you tell me everything. Why can’t you realize that I’m just trying to help you? I’m not trying to make your life miserable, I’m trying to make sure that you have a life!”
“Are you saying that I’m irresponsible?” Hannah hissed brusquely. “I’m seventeen years old and perfectly capable of taking care of myself.” A sudden, irrational, tempting notion crept into her mind. “In fact, I think I will.”
“What?”
“I’m leaving. I’m fed up with the way you treat me like some kid. Maybe once I’m gone you’ll be able to see how grown-up I actually am.”
“Hannah, no!”
The teen gritted her teeth. “You can’t tell me what to do.”
An unidentifiable expression overtook the older woman's face. “But, wait — Where will you go?”
“I dunno. I’ll find a place. I’m not reclusive and friendless like you, Mom.”
Hannah shoved past her mother and into her room, kneeling before her dresser and gathering her things at an inhuman speed. Once she had collected all of her crucial belongings, she tossed them into a suitcase, zipped it closed, and stood up.
Anger speeding her actions, Hannah stomped out of her room, through the trailer door, and into the black night. Had she looked back, she would have seen her mother collapsed against the wall, with fat, despairing tears oozing from her emerald eyes.
A volley of rapid gunfire exploded across the battlefield, with an echo of agonized screams following in its wake. Bombs and airplanes streaked overhead. Thunderous reverberations of artillery fire resonated around the war site.
Officer Hannah Jones, aged twenty-five, ran amidst amidst the chaos and wiped a grotesque solution of sweat and blood from her brow. Trying not to show her limp, she attempted to tune out the cries of the dying, and kept moving.
Her gun shook in her grip, more from the vibrations of nearby explosions than from her trembling hands. Never missing a beat in her travel, Hannah checked that it was loaded and cocked.
Suddenly, a screeching, high-pitched sound nearly imploded her eardrums. Hannah looked up to see that a bomb, what type she could not tell, falling fast towards the ground a few yards away from her.
Eyes wide with barely suppressed fear, she dove behind a hunk of metal and hit the ground.
A deafening wave of hot air and sound blasted over her, and the world went black.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
Hannah opened her eyes groggily, wincing at the glaring, sudden light. “Unh…” she moaned. Swaths of cottony cloth surrounded her, and she shifted uncomfortably in the linen cocoon.
Everything hurt, especially her head. A piercing migraine, mingled with the unrelenting dazzle of the ceiling lamps, wove painfully through her pulsing veins and invoked slight tears of pain.
Where am I?
Biting her lip to keep from crying out, Hannah forced herself to sit up and look around. Her body was screaming pitiful pleas for rest, but she fought the temptation and examined her surroundings.
White. White was everywhere. The walls were white, the ceiling was white, even the sky peeking in through the window was cloudy and gray. The young adult’s eyes strained from searching for color, until she resigned with a sigh and lay back down.
The next thing she was aware of was a creaky door groaning open. Hannah gave a small cough and blinked hard.
“Hello, Officer. Are you feeling alright?” A plump nurse, clad in ivory robes, bustled toward her
“Unh…”
The chubby woman smiled sympathetically. “I’ll bet you have the worst headache right now.”
“Heh…yeah.”
“Well, you did take quite a blow to the head. Do you remember what happened?”
Closing her eyes, Hannah scoured her memory for any clear image of what had befallen her. Indistinct flashes of red, brown, and green bombarded her, backed by an echoey haze of screams and sirens. Suddenly, a bellowing roar, produced from her own subconscious, nearly made her ears ring. She opened her eyes and sat up.
“Uh, I think there was some kind of explosion.”
“Yes, we know that much. Were you standing near any rocks or metal? Did any shrapnel come flying toward you? Anything that would cause you to have a concussion?”
“I have a concussion?”
“I didn’t say that. But yes.”
Shoot. “Sorry, I can’t remember…” Letting a reassuring smile soften her features, the caretaker tutted. “Don’t apologize, we can work without that information. But for now, there’s someone here to see you.” With that, she stood to bring in the visitor.
What? I don’t have any family or friends; who do I know that would check on me in the hospital?
A soft tap at the door caught Hannah’s attention. Emerald green eyes peeped around the corner, cloaked with a curly mop of black and silver hair.
Hannah froze. “Mom?”
The two simply stared for a time, each taking in the other’s haggard appearance. Hannah’s heart was thumping so wildly she thought it would leap from her chest.
Why is she here? I haven’t seen her in eight years! How did she even know that I was injured? Why does she care?
The older woman made the first move. “Hannah…” she croaked, stepping from behind the door to gain better access to her daughter. “Sweetheart…”
Hannah made no move to either shy away or move closer, but she flinched when her mother took her hand in hers.
“Oh my gosh…” Mrs. Jones croaked, her voice shaking. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry…”
For what?
“I should have followed you. Trust me, I never, ever wanted you to leave, but I couldn’t stand; I just…collapsed…”
She was that hurt when I left? I thought she was glad to be rid of me…
Mrs. Jones swallowed painfully. “Every day, I’d wake up hoping that you’d have come back overnight. I mentally rehearsed dozens of time what I’d say to you, how I’d apologize for driving you out…But words couldn’t describe my feelings, and every time I decided on something, I discarded it soon after.
“So, I won’t try to be elaborate. I just want to ask you, Hannah, will you forgive me?”
Hannah didn’t know what to say.
“I–I don’t…I…”
She tilted her head, observing her mother’s quivering lip and the genuine tears pooling up at her jade eyes.
All this time, she really wanted me to come back…
She bit her lip and made a decision. In all truth, she’d missed her caring, protective mother as well, but her stubborn pride had kept her from coming clean. She opened her mouth to answer her mother.
I forgive you…
Words failed her. Her voice broke and the tears that had built up over the years overpowered her and broke loose, streaming down her face in miniature, salty rivers.
“M-Mom…”
Unable to restrain herself anymore, she leaned forward and hugged her mom to her. She tried to convey the emotion she felt through the touch; the many years of pent-up misery and regret, all of the longing for a form of support, the repressed crave she felt to love and be loved.
“I love you, Mom.”
Holy cannoli, this is cheesy. I didn't even know I was capable of such sappiness…
Sarah, do you like it? I didn't know exactly how to put your idea to story form, so if this isn't what you had in mind, I'll re-do it.
Comments, please!!!
Tuesday, August 21, 2012
A Game: Results
Sarah! You have won my contest! The next story I write will be the one you suggested. Congrats, and thanks for the idea! :)
~Sydney
~Sydney
Friday, August 17, 2012
Life and Death: Part 5
YAAAAAAAAY I got it done! This may or may not be the last chapter, depending on if people want an epilogue. PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE leave comments, they are my life force and if I die, there will be no more stories :( Thanks for reading!
“And as they stepped into the roaring furnace, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abedego prayed to the Lord and praised Him, offering their lives for His sake. When they disappeared in the leaping flames, King Nebuchadnezzar peered after them, but, to his surprise, saw four forms standing in the fire. And none of them seemed to be in pain. Confused, he called out to them, asking them to come back out and explain this phenomenon.
“‘How are you still alive? What supernatural being is protecting you?” he asked, terrified.
“‘The Lord, God of the Hebrews, is the one who has sustained us,’ the three announced.”
Shawn paused for a breath. He gazed down at the eager children sitting before him, each hanging onto his words avidly, and he smiled to himself. This was what God had planned for his life, even though Shawn had doubted him in his times of trouble.
“‘Then let all in the land praise this Lord, bowing and serving no other.’ And so it was. The end.”
The audience of seven-year-olds cheered and clapped, pleased with the story’s ending. Several shouted, “Thank you, Pastor Shawn!” I felt a rush of affection at the ardent response.
“Okay, your parents are waiting, so get ready to leave. I’ll see you Wednesday. Thanks for listening! Bye!” I called, stepping off the stage and into a private room, where I sipped from a water bottle. Speeches tended to dry my throat up.
As I replaced the plastic bottle, a soft rap at the door caught my attention. “Come in,” I said.
My good friend Johnny entered the room confidently, thumping me on the back. “Hey, Shawn! How’d it go?”
I smiled. “Great. I swear those kids are angels in disguise.”
He laughed gaily, but his face quickly turned thoughtful. “I was just thinking…” “What? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I was just wondering what you would be like now if God hadn’t entered your life.”
I half-smirked. “I’d probably be in some foreign country smuggling drugs and alcohol. Either that or in jail. I just thank God that you were able to show me my mistakes so early on.”
Johnny shook his head. “God did it. I was just the mouthpiece.”
“Be that as it may, I probably owe you my life. Thanks.”
“Anytime.”
We stood in silence, not feeling awkward, but thoughtful. After a moment, Johnny looked up at me.
“We hired a new second grade teacher. Would you like to meet her?”
I blinked. “Yeah. Send her in.”
My friend nodded and exited the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I hope that none of the kids I pastor grow up to be like me before I met Johnny. Please, Lord, claim their hearts now so that they can avoid suffering.
Another light rap at the door captured my attention. A blonde, silky mass of hair with emeralds for eyes appeared around the door. “Hi, my name’s Becca Williams,” the woman beamed, eyes twinkling kindly. “I’m so glad to be working with you. Mr. Winston, isn’t it?”
I felt myself freeze. This lady was the near image of my lost love, Abbie — her green eyes sported the same gold highlights; her hair consisted of the same silken blonde wavesl her face flourished an angular form nearly identical to my beloved.
“U-uh…” I mumbled numbly.
Her grin faded slightly. “Is something wrong?”
I wanted to hold her, kiss her, tell her of my love, but I knew that this couldn’t possibly be my Abigail. I shook myself from my stupor and returned her hesitant smile.
“I’m Pastor Winston, but, please, call me Shawn,” I replied, extending my hand in greeting. Her face returned to its beaming happiness and she stepped out from behind the door to shake my hand.
I tried to discreetly inspect her without seeming suspicious. Taking a deep breath, I voiced, “You said Williams is your last name. Would you by any chance know of an Abigail Williams?”
She blinked in surprise. “Umm, yes. She was my cousin. Did you know her?”
“Becca, would you like to hear a story?”
If this ending is too cheesy, someone tell me and I'll rewrite it. This is a different ending than the other one I wrote that got deleted, but I couldn't write the other one again for some reason. It just kept turning out funny. Thanks so much for reading, and PLEASE COMMENT!
“And as they stepped into the roaring furnace, Shadrach, Meshach, and Abedego prayed to the Lord and praised Him, offering their lives for His sake. When they disappeared in the leaping flames, King Nebuchadnezzar peered after them, but, to his surprise, saw four forms standing in the fire. And none of them seemed to be in pain. Confused, he called out to them, asking them to come back out and explain this phenomenon.
“‘How are you still alive? What supernatural being is protecting you?” he asked, terrified.
“‘The Lord, God of the Hebrews, is the one who has sustained us,’ the three announced.”
Shawn paused for a breath. He gazed down at the eager children sitting before him, each hanging onto his words avidly, and he smiled to himself. This was what God had planned for his life, even though Shawn had doubted him in his times of trouble.
“‘Then let all in the land praise this Lord, bowing and serving no other.’ And so it was. The end.”
The audience of seven-year-olds cheered and clapped, pleased with the story’s ending. Several shouted, “Thank you, Pastor Shawn!” I felt a rush of affection at the ardent response.
“Okay, your parents are waiting, so get ready to leave. I’ll see you Wednesday. Thanks for listening! Bye!” I called, stepping off the stage and into a private room, where I sipped from a water bottle. Speeches tended to dry my throat up.
As I replaced the plastic bottle, a soft rap at the door caught my attention. “Come in,” I said.
My good friend Johnny entered the room confidently, thumping me on the back. “Hey, Shawn! How’d it go?”
I smiled. “Great. I swear those kids are angels in disguise.”
He laughed gaily, but his face quickly turned thoughtful. “I was just thinking…” “What? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I was just wondering what you would be like now if God hadn’t entered your life.”
I half-smirked. “I’d probably be in some foreign country smuggling drugs and alcohol. Either that or in jail. I just thank God that you were able to show me my mistakes so early on.”
Johnny shook his head. “God did it. I was just the mouthpiece.”
“Be that as it may, I probably owe you my life. Thanks.”
“Anytime.”
We stood in silence, not feeling awkward, but thoughtful. After a moment, Johnny looked up at me.
“We hired a new second grade teacher. Would you like to meet her?”
I blinked. “Yeah. Send her in.”
My friend nodded and exited the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I hope that none of the kids I pastor grow up to be like me before I met Johnny. Please, Lord, claim their hearts now so that they can avoid suffering.
Another light rap at the door captured my attention. A blonde, silky mass of hair with emeralds for eyes appeared around the door. “Hi, my name’s Becca Williams,” the woman beamed, eyes twinkling kindly. “I’m so glad to be working with you. Mr. Winston, isn’t it?”
I felt myself freeze. This lady was the near image of my lost love, Abbie — her green eyes sported the same gold highlights; her hair consisted of the same silken blonde wavesl her face flourished an angular form nearly identical to my beloved.
“U-uh…” I mumbled numbly.
Her grin faded slightly. “Is something wrong?”
I wanted to hold her, kiss her, tell her of my love, but I knew that this couldn’t possibly be my Abigail. I shook myself from my stupor and returned her hesitant smile.
“I’m Pastor Winston, but, please, call me Shawn,” I replied, extending my hand in greeting. Her face returned to its beaming happiness and she stepped out from behind the door to shake my hand.
I tried to discreetly inspect her without seeming suspicious. Taking a deep breath, I voiced, “You said Williams is your last name. Would you by any chance know of an Abigail Williams?”
She blinked in surprise. “Umm, yes. She was my cousin. Did you know her?”
“Becca, would you like to hear a story?”
If this ending is too cheesy, someone tell me and I'll rewrite it. This is a different ending than the other one I wrote that got deleted, but I couldn't write the other one again for some reason. It just kept turning out funny. Thanks so much for reading, and PLEASE COMMENT!
Saturday, August 11, 2012
Life and Death: Part 4
I have no excuse as to why I haven't posted recently. Forgive me for leaving you all in suspense?
I don't know if I've mentioned this before or not, but I practically feed off of comments, and the less hungry I am, the faster I'll update! You don't have to have a Blogger account to leave a comment. Please leave critique, suggestions, whatever…I promise I'll respond!
Life for me faded to no more than a blur, images and events zooming past too quickly for me to decipher, if I’d even had the mind to.
Once in a while, I’d become fed up with such a slow, depressed life, and try to pull myself out of it. But it always hurt my head to the point that I began to stoop to medicinal cures, taking sometimes twice as much as the doctor had prescribed. I knew that I was only messing myself up more, but I couldn’t find the strength to care.
My parents asked me to move back in with them. Since my house was to be foreclosed in a month or less(I had been ignoring my former “job” for the last month or so), I consented without a struggle. Each day was monotonous and without joy: get up, brush teeth, occasionally eat something, stare at the wall for fourteen hours, and crawl back in bed for another sleepless night.
One day, whilst I had been entertaining some particularly depressing thoughts, a sharp knock rapped at my door. Slowly swinging my line of view to the doorframe, I mumbled something meaningless and my mother’s head appeared.
“Shawn, honey? There’s someone here to see you.”
For the first time in a month, my heart rose from its reclusive hideaway at the bottom of my chest, hope flooding my spirit. Someone came to visit me? Is it Abbie? I refused to register that she was dead and would never visit me again. The laws of nature held no meaning for me.
But instead of a beautiful, cheery, slight-framed woman, a thickset, hairy man plodded into my bedroom, nodding at my mother politely as he did so. My little spark of hope vanished and left my heart to sink in my chest again.
“Mr. Winston? I’d like to have a word with you.”
I ignored the request, instead deciding to analyze his voice. In contrast to his heavy, burly features, his voice had a light, melodic tone to it that almost evoked a response from me. I managed to stamp down any emotion before it came loose, however.
When realizing that he’d get no reply, the man sighed and continued. “Mr. Winston, my name is Johnny. I’m the Pastor of Northside Baptist Church, just a few minutes away from here.”
I suddenly found myself inexplicably entranced with a spot on the carpet in front of me.
“Mr. Winston, I know that you’re suffering, but you need to find the strength to pull through. God has a bigger plan —”
I felt rage bubble inside my chest, and I was nearly alarmed at the new large amount of emotion. “God has a plan?” I snapped. “Does he now? Was it his plan to kill my innocent Abbie, who’d never hurt a fly, and just take her life because he felt like it? Was it part of his master plan to murder her? Huh? He took her life and ruined mine. Whatever his ‘plan’ is, I don’t want in on it.”
The pastor’s eyes were filled with shock, sadness, and, surprisingly, pity. “Mr. Winston, I know that it probably seems that way, but you have to —”
“I don’t have to do anything. I’m my own person, and no one can tell me otherwise. Especially some evil god’s mouthpiece.”
“Will you at least let me pray for you?”
I paused in my preparation for another rant. He wanted to pray for me? That was an unexpected request. “Uh, whatever. I don’t care. Just get the heck out of my room.”
He nodded and extended his hand to shake, not seeming offended when I flatly ignored it. Picking up the suitcase he’d brought in with him, he smiled faintly at me, and left.
I stared at the open door after him. My commitment to absolute silence had been completely shattered in little more than three minutes, but it was his fault, wasn’t it? Who did he think he was, strolling in here and telling me to get over my loss? Abbie was my entire world. How on earth did he expect me to just forget about her so quickly?
My legs ached, most likely from the hours I spent daily trying to escape reality by means of staring at the wall. In any case, I stood up and stretched, brushing off my pants gently.
Something shifted under my foot. I looked down, slightly surprised, to see a thick, leather-bound book. Tabs were sticking out of its many pages at all angles, and at least seven bookmarks marked where Johnny had left off his reading. At least, I supposed it belonged to Johnny. There was no other comprehensible way that it had made the trip to my room, considering Johnny was the first person, besides my parents, that I’d interacted with in a month. The book certainly hadn’t been there before; I spent three hours staring at a flaw in the carpeting in that spot once.
I leaned over, with some effort, and retrieved the book from the floor. It had a slight footprint where I’d stepped on it, and without thinking I rubbed the grime off of the cover.
There was no title, though it looked as if whatever word had been there had been rubbed off years ago by overuse. A red bookmark adorned with mini gold tassels caught my attention. I opened the book to that page and read the first sentence that caught my eye.
“Blessed be the LORD, for He has wondrously shown me His steadfast love to me…”
I snorted and flipped to a different page. God isn’t like that, I told myself. If He was capable of loving, Abbie wouldn’t be dead right now…
I skimmed through what I now knew was a Bible. I had seen Abbie reading hers as if her life depended on it, but look what good that did for her?
However much I told myself that I could care less about Christianity, though, I still felt an unnameable urge to read the book. Just one more page, I told myself.
The next verse that drew my eye was, ironically, also describing how loving God was.
“I will speak of the LORD’s unfailing love. I will praise the LORD for all the good He has done. I will rejoice in His great goodness to Israel, which He has granted according to His mercy and love.”
I looked away from the book lying open in my lap. I wish there actually was some all-powerful being who would love me unconditionally.
I pushed the Bible off my lap, sliding down the edge of my bed to lean against it. This book keeps describing how much love God has for us, but it doesn’t make sense. If God really loved us, He wouldn’t have let Abbie die, would He?
Maybe…I almost want to learn more about this faith, if only to understand it. After all, if Abbie put her faith into it, it couldn’t be that bad, right? I’m not saying that I want to trust this God. I don’t think I could if I tried. But…maybe I should just give it a shot.
I doubted I’d figure the solution out on my own anytime soon, so that left only one option. Hoisting myself to my feet, I charged out of my room, down the stairs, and out the front door.
Blinding sunlight nearly sizzled my eyes in my head. I howled and covered my face, realizing that, after nearly a month of no direct sunlight, it could take a while to readapt to the outdoors.
Once my eyes adjusted somewhat and my oncoming migraine faded slightly, I hesitantly removed my hands from over my face and blinked. I waited until I was positive that I wouldn’t fail to notice an oncoming semi-truck, then scanned the area.
The pastor, Johnny, was just getting into a black Sedan parked a short ways away. My heart rising hopefully, I yelled and waved my hands to catch his attention. It didn’t work. He got into the car and closed the door.
I ceased my hollering and ran after the pastor, reaching his car just before he began pulling away. When I thumped on the window, somewhat sheepishly, his brow lifted and he lowered the glass.
“Hi…umm…I’m sorry for yelling. I just needed to vent after all these weeks. I’d, erm, like to hear more about this faith of yours…Would you mind explaining a couple things?”
A pleased, somewhat surprised smile blossomed over Johnny’s angular features. Beaming, he asked, “What would you like to know?”
Once in a while, I’d become fed up with such a slow, depressed life, and try to pull myself out of it. But it always hurt my head to the point that I began to stoop to medicinal cures, taking sometimes twice as much as the doctor had prescribed. I knew that I was only messing myself up more, but I couldn’t find the strength to care.
My parents asked me to move back in with them. Since my house was to be foreclosed in a month or less(I had been ignoring my former “job” for the last month or so), I consented without a struggle. Each day was monotonous and without joy: get up, brush teeth, occasionally eat something, stare at the wall for fourteen hours, and crawl back in bed for another sleepless night.
One day, whilst I had been entertaining some particularly depressing thoughts, a sharp knock rapped at my door. Slowly swinging my line of view to the doorframe, I mumbled something meaningless and my mother’s head appeared.
“Shawn, honey? There’s someone here to see you.”
For the first time in a month, my heart rose from its reclusive hideaway at the bottom of my chest, hope flooding my spirit. Someone came to visit me? Is it Abbie? I refused to register that she was dead and would never visit me again. The laws of nature held no meaning for me.
But instead of a beautiful, cheery, slight-framed woman, a thickset, hairy man plodded into my bedroom, nodding at my mother politely as he did so. My little spark of hope vanished and left my heart to sink in my chest again.
“Mr. Winston? I’d like to have a word with you.”
I ignored the request, instead deciding to analyze his voice. In contrast to his heavy, burly features, his voice had a light, melodic tone to it that almost evoked a response from me. I managed to stamp down any emotion before it came loose, however.
When realizing that he’d get no reply, the man sighed and continued. “Mr. Winston, my name is Johnny. I’m the Pastor of Northside Baptist Church, just a few minutes away from here.”
I suddenly found myself inexplicably entranced with a spot on the carpet in front of me.
“Mr. Winston, I know that you’re suffering, but you need to find the strength to pull through. God has a bigger plan —”
I felt rage bubble inside my chest, and I was nearly alarmed at the new large amount of emotion. “God has a plan?” I snapped. “Does he now? Was it his plan to kill my innocent Abbie, who’d never hurt a fly, and just take her life because he felt like it? Was it part of his master plan to murder her? Huh? He took her life and ruined mine. Whatever his ‘plan’ is, I don’t want in on it.”
The pastor’s eyes were filled with shock, sadness, and, surprisingly, pity. “Mr. Winston, I know that it probably seems that way, but you have to —”
“I don’t have to do anything. I’m my own person, and no one can tell me otherwise. Especially some evil god’s mouthpiece.”
“Will you at least let me pray for you?”
I paused in my preparation for another rant. He wanted to pray for me? That was an unexpected request. “Uh, whatever. I don’t care. Just get the heck out of my room.”
He nodded and extended his hand to shake, not seeming offended when I flatly ignored it. Picking up the suitcase he’d brought in with him, he smiled faintly at me, and left.
I stared at the open door after him. My commitment to absolute silence had been completely shattered in little more than three minutes, but it was his fault, wasn’t it? Who did he think he was, strolling in here and telling me to get over my loss? Abbie was my entire world. How on earth did he expect me to just forget about her so quickly?
My legs ached, most likely from the hours I spent daily trying to escape reality by means of staring at the wall. In any case, I stood up and stretched, brushing off my pants gently.
Something shifted under my foot. I looked down, slightly surprised, to see a thick, leather-bound book. Tabs were sticking out of its many pages at all angles, and at least seven bookmarks marked where Johnny had left off his reading. At least, I supposed it belonged to Johnny. There was no other comprehensible way that it had made the trip to my room, considering Johnny was the first person, besides my parents, that I’d interacted with in a month. The book certainly hadn’t been there before; I spent three hours staring at a flaw in the carpeting in that spot once.
I leaned over, with some effort, and retrieved the book from the floor. It had a slight footprint where I’d stepped on it, and without thinking I rubbed the grime off of the cover.
There was no title, though it looked as if whatever word had been there had been rubbed off years ago by overuse. A red bookmark adorned with mini gold tassels caught my attention. I opened the book to that page and read the first sentence that caught my eye.
“Blessed be the LORD, for He has wondrously shown me His steadfast love to me…”
I snorted and flipped to a different page. God isn’t like that, I told myself. If He was capable of loving, Abbie wouldn’t be dead right now…
I skimmed through what I now knew was a Bible. I had seen Abbie reading hers as if her life depended on it, but look what good that did for her?
However much I told myself that I could care less about Christianity, though, I still felt an unnameable urge to read the book. Just one more page, I told myself.
The next verse that drew my eye was, ironically, also describing how loving God was.
“I will speak of the LORD’s unfailing love. I will praise the LORD for all the good He has done. I will rejoice in His great goodness to Israel, which He has granted according to His mercy and love.”
I looked away from the book lying open in my lap. I wish there actually was some all-powerful being who would love me unconditionally.
I pushed the Bible off my lap, sliding down the edge of my bed to lean against it. This book keeps describing how much love God has for us, but it doesn’t make sense. If God really loved us, He wouldn’t have let Abbie die, would He?
Maybe…I almost want to learn more about this faith, if only to understand it. After all, if Abbie put her faith into it, it couldn’t be that bad, right? I’m not saying that I want to trust this God. I don’t think I could if I tried. But…maybe I should just give it a shot.
I doubted I’d figure the solution out on my own anytime soon, so that left only one option. Hoisting myself to my feet, I charged out of my room, down the stairs, and out the front door.
Blinding sunlight nearly sizzled my eyes in my head. I howled and covered my face, realizing that, after nearly a month of no direct sunlight, it could take a while to readapt to the outdoors.
Once my eyes adjusted somewhat and my oncoming migraine faded slightly, I hesitantly removed my hands from over my face and blinked. I waited until I was positive that I wouldn’t fail to notice an oncoming semi-truck, then scanned the area.
The pastor, Johnny, was just getting into a black Sedan parked a short ways away. My heart rising hopefully, I yelled and waved my hands to catch his attention. It didn’t work. He got into the car and closed the door.
I ceased my hollering and ran after the pastor, reaching his car just before he began pulling away. When I thumped on the window, somewhat sheepishly, his brow lifted and he lowered the glass.
“Hi…umm…I’m sorry for yelling. I just needed to vent after all these weeks. I’d, erm, like to hear more about this faith of yours…Would you mind explaining a couple things?”
A pleased, somewhat surprised smile blossomed over Johnny’s angular features. Beaming, he asked, “What would you like to know?”
Saturday, August 4, 2012
Life and Death: Part 3
Okay I know it's been a while, but in my defense, this is a longer chapter! :) Sorry. School's starting and life is chaos. Hopefully, it'll settle down soon, but until then…
Anyway, here you go! This is definitely not the last chapter. I'll probably either have one or two more for this story.
My mind went blank, and I nearly dropped the phone. What? My beautiful, beautiful Abbie was…dead? That wasn’t possible! She was too wonderful to die! I could vaguely feel warm, fat tears dripping from my eyes, but I made no attempt to wipe them away. I couldn’t move. My body was in shock.
Horrible images of her mangled, twisted, bloody body suddenly ambushed my mind. My lip began to quiver. No! It wasn’t true. The hospital had made a mistake. Abbie was too wonderful to die. She couldn’t be dead.
I pulled myself from the gruesome thoughts that tormented me and tried to listen to what was going on on the other side of the phone.
“Mr. Winston? Are you there? Are you alright?”
“Yeah…” I mumbled, not trusting my voice enough to say any more than that.
“Okay, good. I’m going to have to leave now. I hope that you’re alright.”
I dazedly acknowledged a faint click, signaling that the line had been cut, and I put away my phone.
Abbie was…dead…How could this happen? Abbie had believed in a wonderful, generous God that would provide for His children, but even her religion hadn’t been able to save her. How could any God that cared even remotely for His creations harm something so precious, so perfect? How could he let so innocent a creature suffer from such a horrible fate?
I gasped as it hit me that my Abbie, my graceful, exquisite, loving Abbie, was dead. I would never see her again. I felt my knees buckle beneath me, and my limp arms failed to catch my numb body. Sharp pain sprouted on my forehead, but I paid no heed, even when a warm, sticky substance pooled under my head. Abbie was gone. Nothing mattered anymore.
An alarmed scream echoed somewhere in the back of my mind. I faintly registered warm, shaking hands wrapping around my torso and pulling me off of the ground. Hot, thick liquid spouted from my forehead and drizzled into my mouth, choking me, but my mind was far too busy to bother with petty things such as possible death.
Abigail…
My beautiful Abigail would never smile again, or laugh at my cheesy jokes, or blush when I complimented her lovely looks. She would never again tell me how much she loved me…
My chest constricted at the thought, and I was glad when I slipped into unconsciousness.
I stirred groggily, blinking in the stark bright light that overwhelmed my eyes. Something thick and scratchy was pressed to my forehead, and I suspected the irritating feeling was what had pulled me from my deep, dream-filled slumber.
Echoes of my nightmares, faint images that rippled unsteadily in my newfound consciousness, summoned a leaden, melancholy feeling that rested heavily on my chest. Slowly dissolving in the yellow daylight, bloodthirsty shadows with intentions of my destruction swirled and howled around my bed. I shook myself awake and away from the demons and tried to discern where I was.
At my bedside sat a heart monitor, which was connected to my left arm by way of several thick wires. I was strapped down by a thick piece of cloth to a metal bed with a slightly lumpy mattress, under several layers of blindingly white sheets. Something moaned behind a thick divider, which separated the room in two, I supposed.
Something was nagging at me in the back of my mind. I felt as if I should be acting about something, but for the life of me I couldn’t remember what…
I jumped, or as well as I could being strapped to the bed, as the door to the room burst open and a slightly pudgy nurse, clad in white, bustled into the room. For a moment I just watched in half-interest as she busied around, apparently not realizing that she had a small audience. When she turned, syringe in hand, and realized that I was awake, she squealed and almost dropped the needle.
“Oh, Mr. Winston! I, er, didn’t realize you were awake.” She laughed nervously and bent over to retrieve the needle, which I watched with some interest due to the fact that her weight made her topple precariously on her plump legs.
As she stood, I noted that she pressed something on her shoulder and mumbled into it, too quietly for me to hear. Wondering when I had become so perceptive, I brushed it off as unimportant.
“So, Mr. Winston, are you feeling better? You suffered from quite the head injury a couple days ago. Does your head hurt?”
I shook my head, unsure of what she was talking about. I hit my head? When? What day was it? Where exactly was I, and why?
“I hope you’re out of this place soon. The hospital is no place for people so young…”
My eyes widened. The hospital? I tuned out her rambling and considered my hazy memories.
Let’s see…I told Abbie I love her, and then asked her out, and then SHE SAID YES(the very prospect still caused me to squirm with inner euphoria), I went home and went to bed, even though I couldn’t sleep…OK, I remember that week fairly well, I can skip a couple days…On Friday, I finished work early and got ready for the date, and then…oh right. Abbie didn’t show up. And that’s where my memory ends…
I still felt as if I was missing a crucial piece to the puzzle, but I couldn’t remember what it was I was forgetting. I decided to listen to the chunky nurse’s chatter again, to see if I could pick up any clues.
“…We’ve already called your family, they just left to get some lunch and should be back any minute. Or hour…Northside Hospital is so far away from any decent restaurants…”
Northside Hospital?
“This is the Northside Hospital calling. We regret to inform you that Ms. Abigail Williams, who we are told was supposed to meet with you tonight, has been in the receiving end of a serious car accident. She was gone before the paramedics could arrive. We’re so sorry.”
As the memory returned, I felt my heart plummet and crash again.
“Mr. Winston! Mr. Winston, are you alright?”
I ignored the nurse’s alarmed voice and returned to my turbulent thoughts, an odd sense of deja vu washing over me.
Abbie is dead! Abbie is dead! She’s dead and will never come back! Nasal voices cawed at me from inside my brain, and I felt my own shaking fingers tear at my skin in fear and anger.
“Mr. Winston!”
Snapped out of my trance, I looked down to see that I had pinned the terrified nurse to the wall, and my white, bloodless hands were gripping her throat. Shocked, I let go and backed away, horrified that I had subconsciously done such a thing, and found firm hands grasping my shoulders. I didn’t even resist as cold, metal handcuffs locked around my wrists and I was escorted from the room by trained officers.
Yes, I know that this is a Christian website and I put an anti-Christian statement in there, toward the beginning, but it'll even out in the next chapter. Or maybe the one after.
By the way, how do y'all like the idea of me writing a chapter at a time of a longer story? Do you prefer it to normal, solo single-chapter short stories? Leave a comment please :)
Anyway, here you go! This is definitely not the last chapter. I'll probably either have one or two more for this story.
My mind went blank, and I nearly dropped the phone. What? My beautiful, beautiful Abbie was…dead? That wasn’t possible! She was too wonderful to die! I could vaguely feel warm, fat tears dripping from my eyes, but I made no attempt to wipe them away. I couldn’t move. My body was in shock.
Horrible images of her mangled, twisted, bloody body suddenly ambushed my mind. My lip began to quiver. No! It wasn’t true. The hospital had made a mistake. Abbie was too wonderful to die. She couldn’t be dead.
I pulled myself from the gruesome thoughts that tormented me and tried to listen to what was going on on the other side of the phone.
“Mr. Winston? Are you there? Are you alright?”
“Yeah…” I mumbled, not trusting my voice enough to say any more than that.
“Okay, good. I’m going to have to leave now. I hope that you’re alright.”
I dazedly acknowledged a faint click, signaling that the line had been cut, and I put away my phone.
Abbie was…dead…How could this happen? Abbie had believed in a wonderful, generous God that would provide for His children, but even her religion hadn’t been able to save her. How could any God that cared even remotely for His creations harm something so precious, so perfect? How could he let so innocent a creature suffer from such a horrible fate?
I gasped as it hit me that my Abbie, my graceful, exquisite, loving Abbie, was dead. I would never see her again. I felt my knees buckle beneath me, and my limp arms failed to catch my numb body. Sharp pain sprouted on my forehead, but I paid no heed, even when a warm, sticky substance pooled under my head. Abbie was gone. Nothing mattered anymore.
An alarmed scream echoed somewhere in the back of my mind. I faintly registered warm, shaking hands wrapping around my torso and pulling me off of the ground. Hot, thick liquid spouted from my forehead and drizzled into my mouth, choking me, but my mind was far too busy to bother with petty things such as possible death.
Abigail…
My beautiful Abigail would never smile again, or laugh at my cheesy jokes, or blush when I complimented her lovely looks. She would never again tell me how much she loved me…
My chest constricted at the thought, and I was glad when I slipped into unconsciousness.
I stirred groggily, blinking in the stark bright light that overwhelmed my eyes. Something thick and scratchy was pressed to my forehead, and I suspected the irritating feeling was what had pulled me from my deep, dream-filled slumber.
Echoes of my nightmares, faint images that rippled unsteadily in my newfound consciousness, summoned a leaden, melancholy feeling that rested heavily on my chest. Slowly dissolving in the yellow daylight, bloodthirsty shadows with intentions of my destruction swirled and howled around my bed. I shook myself awake and away from the demons and tried to discern where I was.
At my bedside sat a heart monitor, which was connected to my left arm by way of several thick wires. I was strapped down by a thick piece of cloth to a metal bed with a slightly lumpy mattress, under several layers of blindingly white sheets. Something moaned behind a thick divider, which separated the room in two, I supposed.
Something was nagging at me in the back of my mind. I felt as if I should be acting about something, but for the life of me I couldn’t remember what…
I jumped, or as well as I could being strapped to the bed, as the door to the room burst open and a slightly pudgy nurse, clad in white, bustled into the room. For a moment I just watched in half-interest as she busied around, apparently not realizing that she had a small audience. When she turned, syringe in hand, and realized that I was awake, she squealed and almost dropped the needle.
“Oh, Mr. Winston! I, er, didn’t realize you were awake.” She laughed nervously and bent over to retrieve the needle, which I watched with some interest due to the fact that her weight made her topple precariously on her plump legs.
As she stood, I noted that she pressed something on her shoulder and mumbled into it, too quietly for me to hear. Wondering when I had become so perceptive, I brushed it off as unimportant.
“So, Mr. Winston, are you feeling better? You suffered from quite the head injury a couple days ago. Does your head hurt?”
I shook my head, unsure of what she was talking about. I hit my head? When? What day was it? Where exactly was I, and why?
“I hope you’re out of this place soon. The hospital is no place for people so young…”
My eyes widened. The hospital? I tuned out her rambling and considered my hazy memories.
Let’s see…I told Abbie I love her, and then asked her out, and then SHE SAID YES(the very prospect still caused me to squirm with inner euphoria), I went home and went to bed, even though I couldn’t sleep…OK, I remember that week fairly well, I can skip a couple days…On Friday, I finished work early and got ready for the date, and then…oh right. Abbie didn’t show up. And that’s where my memory ends…
I still felt as if I was missing a crucial piece to the puzzle, but I couldn’t remember what it was I was forgetting. I decided to listen to the chunky nurse’s chatter again, to see if I could pick up any clues.
“…We’ve already called your family, they just left to get some lunch and should be back any minute. Or hour…Northside Hospital is so far away from any decent restaurants…”
Northside Hospital?
“This is the Northside Hospital calling. We regret to inform you that Ms. Abigail Williams, who we are told was supposed to meet with you tonight, has been in the receiving end of a serious car accident. She was gone before the paramedics could arrive. We’re so sorry.”
As the memory returned, I felt my heart plummet and crash again.
“Mr. Winston! Mr. Winston, are you alright?”
I ignored the nurse’s alarmed voice and returned to my turbulent thoughts, an odd sense of deja vu washing over me.
Abbie is dead! Abbie is dead! She’s dead and will never come back! Nasal voices cawed at me from inside my brain, and I felt my own shaking fingers tear at my skin in fear and anger.
“Mr. Winston!”
Snapped out of my trance, I looked down to see that I had pinned the terrified nurse to the wall, and my white, bloodless hands were gripping her throat. Shocked, I let go and backed away, horrified that I had subconsciously done such a thing, and found firm hands grasping my shoulders. I didn’t even resist as cold, metal handcuffs locked around my wrists and I was escorted from the room by trained officers.
Yes, I know that this is a Christian website and I put an anti-Christian statement in there, toward the beginning, but it'll even out in the next chapter. Or maybe the one after.
By the way, how do y'all like the idea of me writing a chapter at a time of a longer story? Do you prefer it to normal, solo single-chapter short stories? Leave a comment please :)
Saturday, July 28, 2012
Life and Death: Part 2
Oh my goodness. I am SO sorry to keep everyone waiting, but we had some Internet trouble and a couple other technical difficulties. But it's up now! So you don't have to kill me! *dodges brick*
WARNING: If you don't like tragedy, DO NOT READ. I REPEAT: DO NOT READ.
You have been warned.
My pulse was racing. Staring anxiously at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, I fussed with my hair, which had been meticulous for at least half an hour. I wanted to look perfect for my and Abbie’s first date, to be sure that she wouldn’t change her mind about me.
I finally pried my eyes away from my image, which I was sure still looked shabby compared to the glorious beauty Abbie was sure to be, and glanced at my watch.
My heart stopped when I read the time: 6:37.
My anxiety about my appearance disappeared, and in its place blossomed a racing, jumpy fear. I’m gonna be late, I’m gonna be late!
I quickly jogged out of the bathroom and out the front door, hoisting my coat onto my shoulders on the way. My car’s engine chose the exact wrong day to be uncooperative, and it refused to start, which only further deepened my agigation.
As I urged my stubborn car to begin running, my distressed thoughts resonated through my brain. Oh my gosh, Shawn, seriously? You’ve been after this girl for years, and you finally get a date with her, and now you’re ten minutes late??? Idiot…Hurry up!
Finally, finally, the engine spluttered and came to life. Quickly switching to reverse, I backed out of the drive and was on my way.
By way of some miracle, I managed to avoid crashing into passerby vehicles as I swerved and sped, desperate not to mess the date up. As the initial scare wore off and I started to calm down, my thoughts began to wander.
What will she look like? Beautiful, obviously. Maybe she’ll wear sea green; that would bring out the gold highlights in her eyes wonderfully. Or yellow…her hair would look gorgeous with a pale yellow dress…Of course, she would look amazing in any color.
Thankfully, I arrived fairly quickly at the designated restaurant where I’d offered to treat her to dinner. A quick scan of the parking lot told me that Abbie’s car wasn’t parked there, but, as the lot was fairly full, I assumed she’d parked somewhere else nearby and walked here.
I braked my car and jogged into the fancy restaurant, reveling for a moment in the gourmet aroma that wafted around me, then strode toward the attendant.
“Um, hello. Is there someone here by the name of Abigail Williams? Table for two?”
Greeting me with a cheery smile, the stewardess skimmed through a few papers. After a moment, she looked up again, her grin now slightly apologetic. “I’m afraid not, sorry. Would you like me to have a table set up for you two?”
I nodded and, after giving my name and details, sat down in the waiting area. Well, at least I’m not late, I mused; I couldn’t help but worry at the prospect of Abbie being more than fifteen minutes tardy. I wonder if she just agreed to this so she could ditch me…
As quickly as the thought came, I banished it from my mind. Abbie was kind, sweet, and genuine. She would never stoop as low as that.
But as time passed and the attendant called me to my table, the waiter showed up to take my order, and the rest of the customers slowly disappeared, still with no sign of my dream girl, I couldn’t rid myself completely of the suspicion.
The sky outside was dark blue, almost purple, and stars glimmered vaguely overhead. I glanced at my watch for what felt like the thousandth time, re-reading the glass face with dread: 8:49. Abbie was almost two and a half hours late.
Face it, I told myself. She’s not coming. Feeling my heart sink like a dead weight, I pushed my chair back and stood, thanking the waiters who had been patient with me through the evening. Several had expressions of pity on their faces.
As I left the building, a sudden vibration in my pants pocket stopped me. I pulled it out and read the number. It was withheld. Confused, I pressed the “accept” button and raised it to my ear.
“Hello?”
“Mr. Winston?”
“Yes, this is he.”
“This is the Northside Hospital calling. We regret to inform you that Ms. Abigail Williams, who we are told was supposed to meet with you tonight, has been in the receiving end of a very serious car accident. She had passed away before the paramedics could arrive. We’re so sorry.”
Thursday, July 26, 2012
Life and Death: Part 1
The velvet blue sky that enveloped us twinkled with the dim, fresh stars strewn across it, illuminating our outside table. I shyly looked across the table set for two to glance at my “friend,” Abbie. She smiled, and I swear the evening around us brightened tenfold. Whenever she graced me with one of her beautiful, flawless smiles, which was mercifully often, my heart would begin to race and I would be forced to ard off a deep blush.
“Shawn, thank you so much for all of this! You were right, I did need the break from work. Who knew that writing was such a life-consuming job…” she laughed merrily. Her laugh was just as gorgeous as her smile, if not even more so… I felt an ominous, giveaway blush threatening at my cheeks.
“Oh, you’re welcome, Abbie. I’m just glad you accepted. I’d hate for you to be overworked…Plus, I think I needed this as much as you did.”
She reached across the table to rest her hand on mine, sending blissful shivers down my spine. Curse my stupid persistent blush! “Shawn, I swear you’re the greatest friend I could ask for. You’ve always got my back, and I want to thank you for that.”
Her cheeks dimpled perfectly when she smiled, showing off her adorable freckles. I suddenly became incredibly interested in staring down the potatoes on my plate.
Here’s your chance! Tell her how you feel! She can’t refuse you, not after all of this.
Oh, how I wished I could believe my own thoughts. The truth was, I feared nothing more than to be turned down by the beautiful woman who had stolen my heart.
Maybe I won’t say anything…I don’t want to ruin our friendship. She might freak out and refuse to talk to me anymore or something. Oh my gosh, what do I do?
“Shawn? Are you okay? You’re…kind of turning red.”
Shoot.
Gathering my courage and doing my best to resist the crimson flush overcoming my face, I looked into her topaz eyes. “Um, Abbie, there’s something I need to tell you.”
She tilted her head in slight puzzlement. Absolutely adorable.
“Um, what you said earlier, about being friends…I kind of don’t want that.”
She looked as though I’d slapped her in the face, carefully retracting her hand. “Oh…Um, if that’s how you feel…”
Stupid stupid stupid! You made it sound like you hate her!
Averting my widening eyes from her hurt expression, I tried to amend myself. “No, no, I didn’t mean that…I just, I mean…I love you, Abigail.”
The silence was deafening. Terror gripped my heart in angry claws as I imagined her horrified expression, but I refused to look at her face. I couldn’t.
With my rapidly rising pulse came my horrible, habitual nervous ramble. “Oh my gosh, I freaked you out, didn’t I? I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to sound awkward, but ever since I met you I haven’t been able to keep my mind off of your beautiful face and your amazing golden hair, and I know that I’m not much to look at but I really hoped I would have a tiny chance at being with you, and I’m sorry that I ruined our friendship and–”
Suddenly, I was interrupted by a soft touch on my hand. Risking a glance across the table, I saw that Abbie had rested her hand over mine again. I nervously glanced up to her face, and the smile that resided there nearly made my heart stop.
Abbie looked stunned, astounded and shocked in the most beautiful, wonderful way I’d seen. Her glimmering emerald eyes were wide with surprise and…happiness?
“Oh gosh, Shawn, I’ve wanted to hear you say that for so long,” she murmured, her voice a soothing remedy for my panic. “I didn’t think you felt the same way…”
What? She didn’t…What?
Abbie must have seen my bewilderment, because she laughed, her melodic voice like silver bells echoing over hills of snow. “Shawn, I love you too. I love you so much, and I always have, ever since I met you. When you asked me to come eat dinner with you tonight, I prayed so hard that there was a sliver of a chance that you cared about me too…”
My breath began to come in rasps. Pulse racing, I managed to shift my hand so that mine was on top of hers, hoping that the gesture would express what words failed to say: I love you so much. Much, much more than you know. I would give my own life for you. Thank you for being you.
Okay, this is part 1 of 4(?) of this story. The next part is where the drama/tragedy kicks in…prepare yourself.
Also, I found that I could not write a tribute for Rosie, but writing in general seems to be okay so far, so I'll try to get back on a regular schedule of writing. Gwynn, if you're reading this, yes, I am also continuing your story now. :)
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