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.”

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. :)

Hi again

Hey again everyone,
Just thought I'd update you again. We had to put Rosie down on Monday, July 23rd, at 6:21 pm. Each of us were holding her while she passed, and I'm sure that she died a happy dog. It's hard adjusting, though, and Ashley and I have had particular trouble. Holly, Rosie's sister, who has never slept by herself before, has had a noticeable change in mood also. Please pray that God will unmask this apparent tragedy to reveal the hidden blessing he's placed behind it.

A memorial in her name will be posted as soon as I can muster the courage to write it. Please hang in there with me. Thank you all so much for being patient with me while I recover, and I promise to start up my writing again soon.

~Sydney

Please Pray — Urgent

Hey everyone,
I'm so sorry that I haven't posted in a while. I swear I'm not just neglecting the blog, I haven't been writing for a week, period. My little doggie, Rosie, has been suffering from kidney problems and will almost certainly die within the week. I plan on writing a memorial for her, but when I write I tend to be emotional and I want to try to avoid crying anymore this week. It may or may not be up soon.

Please pray that God sends a miracle and heals our little puppy. She is only four years old and has been, until recently, frisky, playful, and adorable. Her sister, Holly, refuses to leave her side and says an enormous "Thank you"(a.k.a. "Woof") to anyone who prays for Rosie.

Thanks! I'll try to be active again soon.

~Sydney

Compare

    Chelsie slammed her bedroom door behind her, letting herself vent her frustration physically so she didn’t go insane. She dropped her backpack on the floor and collapsed face-first on her double bed.

    “This has got to be the worst day in history,” she growled. “Dumped by both of my boyfriends, prom is canceled, and now my ‘best friend’ Harley started a rumor about me! Ugg!” she pummeled her formerly fluffy pillow in anger. “No way this day could be any worse.”

    After beating up several more pillows and thrashing around on her bed in a full-out temper tantrum, Chelsie paused to catch her breath. After she composed herself, she rolled off of her ruffled bed to redo her hair in her vanity mirror.

    Fifteen minutes and half a bottle of hair spray later, her hair was back in all its perfect glory, and Chelsie decided to raid the downstairs for something edible.

    But not too fattening, she warned herself. I’ve been putting on weight lately. Wouldn’t wanna have a flabby stomach for the summer.

    As she thundered down the stairs toward the fridge, she managed to stumble on the clean laundry her mom had left on the staircase for her to grab on her way up. Oops.

    But as she failed to regain her balance, Chelsie’s pulse began to quicken, and she flailed at the handrails in an attempt to stop her fall.

    She caught and righted herself, but as she regained her breath, she glanced down at her hand, and her heart nearly stopped.

    On her left hand, her ring finger, was a broken nail.

    “MOOOOOM!” she wailed.

    Instantly, her mom was gasping at the foot of the stairs. “What is it, Chelsie? Are you alright?”

    “No! Look at this!” she held out the shattered nail. “I paid twenty bucks for this and it’s ruined!”

    Her mom’s shoulders slumped with…relief? “Oh, goodness, sweetheart. I was afraid you were really hurt.”

    “I am! Just look at this ruined manicure!”

    Her mother didn’t reply, but instead gestured toward the refrigerator. “How about you eat something, and afterwards I’ll take you to the nail salon? I’ll pay to have it fixed.”

    Chelsea squealed. “Awesome! Thanks.” Her problem solved, she bounded down the remainder of the stairs and to the fridge to search for a snack. Maybe her day wasn’t a total disaster. She was getting a new makeover for free after all; life couldn’t be all that bad.



    Maria smiled, satisfied with her day’s work. Throughout the span of fourteen hours of vigorous, many times tough work, she was able to produce two full meals for each of the five other members of her family, and even one for herself. Most days she made do with only a bite of whatever rarity her family didn’t eat, but today, since she’d worked extra hard and gotten up two hours early, she had managed to procure herself a full meal.

    Swiping her sweaty, dirty hair out of her eyes, she gathered up her food and began the short journey to the shack where her large family took shelter.

    She quickly reached her home and immediately was rampaged on all sides by three of her four hungry siblings. The fourth, her younger brother, presumably hadn’t arrived home from his job yet. Maria got right to work handing out loaves of rough, grainy bread, along with handfuls of edible berries.

    When the cheers and moans of satisfaction subsided, Maria was greeted with a weak call from a pile of blankets in the corner, which she knew was her sickened mother. Her father had left months ago, overwhelmed by the stress of supporting five hungry children and an unwell wife.

    Maria, the oldest of the five children, had taken it under her responsibility to provide for her family. Unfortunately, that sometimes meant going without food, but she was just thankful that she was able to eat at all. She knew of many children her age or younger who were far off worse than she was.

    Smiling, she handed a particularly big loaf of bread to her mother, who wheezed in reply. Maria kneeled by her frail mother’s side concernedly, saying, “Is it getting worse, Mama?”

    The very ill woman shook her head in protestation, beads of perspiration dripping down her forehead to evaporate in the rough cloth that made her bed.

    Maria smiled sadly. “Please don’t lie for me, Mama. I want you to be okay.”

    Her mother sighed and croaked, “I love you so much, Maria.”

    “I love you too, Mama.”

    “Maria! Maria! Come look at me!” called Sophia, the little eight-year-old of the family. “I’m a princess!”

    “Are you, now? Let me see.”

    Sophia had discovered some tattered, stained ribbons somewhere and had proceeded to tie them in lumpy knots in her hair. For her sister’s benefit, however, Maria pretended to gasp in shock.

    “Who are you? You must be a princess. Did you see where my little sister went, Your Highness?”

    Sophia giggled gleefully. “Maria, silly goose. It’s me!”

    “Are you sure? You look awfully like a princess to me…”

    “Yes, I’m sure!”

    Maria beamed. “Well, everyone knows that if you look like a princess, it means you get…” She let the suspense build.

    “What? What do I get, Maria?”

    “A ticklefight!”

    Sophia curled into a ball, a new bout of giggles taking over. “Ticklefight! Ticklefight!” she squealed.

    Alano, Maria’s nine-year-old brother bordering anemia, decided to join in. Plopping on top of his sisters, he tickled furiously and quickly had both of his siblings under his control. Three-year-old Josias looked on with an expression of nonchalant interest.



     Miguel, eleven years old and the oldest child next to Maria, walked into the family’s little hut to see three of his siblings writhing on the ground together amidst crazy laughter and giggles, his mother sitting up in bed for the first time in months, clapping her hands and cheering her children on, and his little three-year-old brother gnawing on the remains of a loaf of bread.

    Miguel smiled. Life was wonderful.

Journal

    Derek swept the dusty rag over the wooden surface over his and his roommate’s dresser. The dorm he and Charlie, his roommate, shared at their boarding school was next to miniscule, but it collected a mess astoundingly fast. Charlie was absent, off on a search for a dustpan so that the pair could begin sweeping.

    Charlie was what Derek considered to be a friend; his only friend, in fact. He was slightly unsure of whether Charlie returned the feeling, however. Because of his superior height and alarming expression(which he seemed unable to change at will), and also his unique Swedish accent, Derek had some trouble socializing and generally preferred to stay back in the shadows. As a result, the young man had few people that he could call friends, or even associates.

    Charlie, on the other hand, had to be the friendliest, most chipper person in the world, or at least the high school. He made friends with practically everyone he met, and girls tended to swoon over how “darn adorable he is!!!” He certainly had no social handicaps, and somehow he’d managed to worm his way through the impermeable shell encasing Derek’s heart, qualifying himself as the Swedish other's first — and only — friend.

    As Derek dusted, something thunked heavily to the floor beside him. He turned to see what he’d disturbed, and was surprised to see a thick, pink-bound journal lying open before her.

    The tall, shady-looking man averted his eyes, aware that he’d happened upon his roommate’s personal journal(though why it was pink, he wasn’t quite sure), but as he reached to close the book, a certain word caught his eye: Derek.

    He stared at the book, internally battling with his conscience. I just want to see how Charlie views me… He told himself. It’s not snooping. Not really, anyway. Plus, it’s not like Charlie will have to know…

    Before he knew it, Derek was perched on the foot of his bed, pink journal in hand. He peered at the page hungrily, taking in the words before him.

    “This is my second week living with that creep, Derek. I don’t think I’ve slept more than ten minutes total. Every second he’s around me, I feel like I have to check behind my back to make sure he’s not holding a knife, ready to slit my throat…He glares at me all day long, and I get the horrible feeling that he wants nothing more than to throw my lifeless body off of a bridge and forget all about it.
     Does he ever smile? I feel like if I were to see him smile, it would either mean that my life is about to change in a good way, or the impending apocalypse. Probably the latter.
    Well, it’s almost curfew, and I want to visit Jon next door before I go to bed to tell him that if he wakes up and I’ve gone missing, to tell my mother that I love her.

    Charlie Keller”



     Charlie sighed heavily, worn out from his desperate search for a dustpan, which had taken him halfway across the entire school property. He and Derek had decided to scour their dorm by the end of the day, and curfew was fast coming. He turned the doorknob and clomped into the room, ready to start the hard task of cleaning again.

     Before him, Derek sat on his bed, faced away from him and shoulders shaking in a way that could only suggest he was crying, and hard.

     Charlie was shocked and terrified. Derek had never shown any outward sign of emotion at all, and Charlie was completely unsure of how to handle this situation. He hesitantly approached the silently sobbing other, wondering what the source of such unexpected strong sentiments could be.

     He placed a nervous hand on Derek's shoulder, knowing that his roommate was generally fond of physical contact, but to his surprise, Derek jerked away at the touch.

    "'M s'rry, 'm so s'rry," the young man mumbled, scrubbing rebelliously at his tears, but still didn't face Charlie.

    "Derek, what's wrong? Are you okay?"

    Charlie tugged at his friend's arm, trying to get him to turn around, but Derek was stubborn. The shorter one looked around their little room in desperation, trying to find out what had triggered Derek's usually hidden emotional side.

    Then, his eyes rested on the pink-bound book lying at Derek’s feet.

    Charlie’s eyes widened in understanding. Derek had read one of his entries from his old journal! Charlie had written some pretty harsh things in there, back before he had gotten to know Derek, but he could tell why Derek was feeling so upset.

    He cautiously approached his friend, putting an arm around his broad shoulders gently. Derek stiffened at the amount of contact, but didn't pull away this time.

    "Derek…Derek, listen to me. Are you okay? Calm down, please. This journal is from two years ago; I don’t think that way any more. See the date?" Charlie bent down to retrieve his book. He quickly skimmed the entry, realizing that Derek had perhaps selected the worst possible paragraph to read. He had mentioned nothing except how much Derek scared him. "Oh my gosh, Derek…I’m so sorry…But see here? It says 2010, our first year here. I was really nervous to start high school, and I guess I was a bit paranoid…Come on, Derek, really. You’re a great friend. Forgive me?"

    Derek, who still hadn’t met his friend’s eyes, spoke quietly. The rough sobs had subsided, but silent tears still dripped from his chin, and his bottom lip quivered ominously. "'M s’rry, d’dn’t me’n to sc’re yah." He stared daggers at the wall in front of him, then abruptly stood. "Bye." He brushed past Charlie, eyes averted, and left the room.

    Charlie stared after him, wondering what had just happened. What had Derek meant when he’d said goodbye? Was he mad? Should Charlie chase after him?

    Maybe he just wants to calm down by himself, maybe he needs quiet…What exactly is he doing?

    After a short mental debate, Charlie decided to follow his friend, and bounded out the door into the hallway. He looked around, uncertain of which way to go, when he spotted his neighbor Jon standing nearby.

    "Hey, Jon!" he called. "Have you seen Derek?"

    Jon looked up and smiled when he recognized his friend. "Yeah, he went that way. Toward the principal’s office, I think."

    The principal’s office…?

    "Oh, uh, thanks, Jon!" Charlie waved goodbye and galloped down the hall after his friend.

    A couple of minutes and a very painful side cramp later, Charlie reached the principal’s office room. Gasping, he leaned against the wall. Gosh. I need to get in shape.

    After catching his breath, he turned to open the door to the office, but was confronted with a very tall person’s torso. He looked up, startled, to meet the glaring eyes of Derek.



    Derek internally flinched with surprise as he opened the door to see Charlie looking up at him, though he suspected his own stupid expression stayed the same. His eyes widening a millimeter, he backed away from his "friend" standing in the doorway.

    Poor little Charlie…He must be so scared…I didn’t mean to creep him out! Honest! Maybe I just should go back to having no friends; at least I wouldn’t traumatize innocent people anymore.

    He ducked his head down again and tried to slide past the concerned-looking Charlie, but the other grabbed his hand quickly. “Derek, what were you doing in here?

    Derek tried to look innocent, but managing his facial expressions generally seemed to fail outright. Suddenly, a door behind him opened, and the principal of the school walked into the holding room.

    "Oh, hello, Charlie," she smiled. "I was just going to call you down here. We need to discuss the matter of who your new roommate will be."

    Derek’s heart did a flip as Charlie stared at her. This was not how Derek had wanted to tell him, but it was too late now…

    "New…roommate? Why?" He looked at Derek with a mixture of confusion and hurt. It broke Derek’s heart to see him like that, but he told himself that it was for Charlie’s own good.

    "Derek just requested that I move him to the open dormitory, Room 317. I’m curious though, Derek," she now addressed him, "why did you choose that room? It’s not a very popular request, as it’s fairly far away from the other occupied dorms."

    He heard a gasp as Charlie apparently made sense of the situation. "Oh, Derek, did you request to switch rooms? Why?"

    Derek’s eyes flicked toward the principal pointedly. She caught his gesture and nodded, backing out of the room to give them privacy.

    "Don’t w’nt yah t’ be sc’red anym’re," he mumbled. Charlie looked upset.

    "You don’t scare me, Derek! Seriously! That entry was written years ago, I…well…" Charlie looked down. "You’re kinda my best friend, Derek…"

    Derek blinked. What? He must have looked a very unusual version of shocked, because Charlie squealed and rapidly apologized. "I’m sorry, I didn’t think you’d mind if I said that, let’s just forget I — oof…"

    He was suddenly squeezed into a tight, awkward embrace by Derek. After the initial shock was gone, Charlie hesitantly hugged back. They stood like this for a minute until Derek realized just how awkward it was to be hugging an almost-grown, if short, man, and promptly let go. Charlie didn’t seem fazed by the awkwardness at all, however, and he beamed up at his friend.

    Friend. It felt good to be able to call someone that without wondering whether they thought the same of Derek or not. He, Derek Oxenstierna, had a friend.

A Game

Okay guys, I had an idea while doing my hair this morning(huh, a lot of my ideas seem to come when I'm doing my hair…weird). Here's the game:

If you want to, you'll write a topic sentence of a story that you want me to compose and leave it in the comments box. I'll then have my three siblings vote on which topic they want me to finish, and I'll be forced to do just that.

Please, please, PLEASE be reasonable and not have me write a story about, I don't know, rainbow flying popcorn kernels that make a dramatic journey to Middle Earth, or something of that nature. If you give my siblings the chance, they will probably choose for me the most ridiculous choice of all.

The winner's story will most likely not be short, because I have a certain tendency to drag out my stories, but I don't want to have to post a fifty-page fanfiction or something, so also think of that when you post your topic sentence.

Any questions? I know I probably did an awful job of explaining things, so if you're confused and actually have an interest in this game then please ask. I'll try to explain myself better. :)

Baby

A very VERY short story that I wrote for Vocabulary two years ago. I didn't even edit it, I'm just too darn tired. :) Hope you enjoy!

Miranda listened eagerly to her husband pulling their van into the driveway. Elated, she ran into his loving arms, feeling his soft caress on the back of her neck.

     “He’s almost here, Ben,” she whispered.

     After two years of vain attempts, the couple had finally received their only wish: a baby boy. Unfortunately, Ben had been called away on some important business and had only just arrived home. 
     “Come on, Miranda,” Ben mused. “Let’s go get some things for the baby’s room.”

     The percussion of the rattling exhaust pipe on the couple’s run-down van was the music of love to Miranda. Murmuring to her soon-to-be-born son, she leaned trustingly on her husband’s firm shoulder.

     “This is heaven,” she told herself. “This is how it should be.”
 Suddenly, her heart stopped as her dream was contorted into a nightmare.

     A relentless force rammed into the car on the passenger side, crumpling the thick metal like rice paper. Through flashes of blinding light, the mother screamed as excerpts from her biggest fears became reality: blood on the dashboard, a dark tree branch protruding through the shattered widow, an unmoving husband, and, worst of all, a heart-stopping dent in her overloaded belly. Stricken by fear and pain, Miranda collapsed into the back of her seat.

     Blinking away grogginess, Miranda groaned as her vision swirled. Squinting at her surroundings, she put together a pair of steel beds, exorbitantly bright lights, a woman clad in white...

     Miranda froze. “Jesus help me,” she whispered.

     Gathering all her strength, she pulled herself into a sitting position on the hospital bed. “Excuse me, where is my husband?” she croaked.

     The hospital nurse, slightly startled at the sudden noise, gave her a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry, miss, he’s in Emergency Care. Four of his ribs are broken, and his left lung was permeated by a bone sliver. He’ll be fine,” she assured Miranda.

     The young woman fell back onto her bed’s headboard, wincing as her skull hit a metal bar.

     “Careful, miss,” the nurse warned. Miranda shut her eyes, wishing the pain, on the inside and outside, would stop.

     Suddenly, after what seemed to be years, Miranda's eyes flew open. She sat straight up, ignoring the nurse’s grimace.

     “What about my son?” she demanded. “He was due any day now.”

     The nurse lowered her eyes from the mother’s searching gaze, obviously trying to defer answering.

     “I’m - I’m so sorry, miss. From what we’ve surmised...” She trailed off sadly.

     Miranda choked back a desperate sob. “No. No, it can’t…it's not…”

    The nurse turned away. As she did, the would-be mother's attention was caught by a brochure that had been dragged to the floor by the nurse’s commodious hospital robes. Reaching over the steel, low, horizontal bars that kept her in bed, Miranda grasped the paper and read through teary eyes:

     ‘My name is Lisa. My parents were killed in a car crash, and my six younger siblings and I were left to care for ourselves. I am seven years old, and WorldView is trying to help me find a home...'

The Good Shepherd

The soft evening sun washed gently over the rippling, golden, grassy fields, casting a peaceful aura over the content flock of sheep. Lambs bounced through the meadow, each under their selective ewe’s chary eye. A lone shepherd, accompanied by a faithful sheepdog, stood on a hill to overlook his beloved sheep.

 A scrawny lamb, less energetic than his frisky peers, looked on as the others played in the grass. Unlike his companions, he preferred to stay out of the more thick areas of weeds, due to his more easily tangled woolen coat. Instead, he slowly grazed over the shorter, more stubby grass that, in his expert opinion, was much more juicy than the thistles the others ate.

 As he nuzzled at a more stubborn tuber that refused to surrender to his teeth, a slight disturbance in the cool breeze caught his attention. The small lamb lifted his head curiously to see a beautiful orange butterfly flittering by his ear. The golden-brown background of the pasture extracted flaxen-colored veins from the insect’s wings that seemed to glow in the diminishing daylight.

 Entranced, the young lamb abandoned his snack and flounced after the insect, intent on watching its flight for as long as possible. He followed blindly through the waves of grass, even trailing along when the grain gave way to weeds and young saplings.

 The daylight began to lessen by the minute, but the lamb paid no heed. The butterfly grabbed his attention away from whatever hesitance the youthful sheep should have felt. Finally, the sun slid behind the horizon, leaving the lamb and his playmate in utter darkness.

 Quickly, the lamb realized the situation he was in. In his haste to follow the beguiling butterfly, he had wandered far away from the rest of the flock, and had absolutely no idea how to get back.

 The lamb watched the insect flit around his head, but the mesmerized feeling that had been so prominent when the daylight complimented its orange wings had disappeared, leaving the poor sheep with only a dead, scared feeling inside. He barely noticed when the butterfly drifted away, leaving the other stranded, alone, and frightened.

 Suddenly, a hostile cry through the night made the lamb’s heart leap. Terrified into a desperate action, he bolted away without paying heed to direction or logic.

 A branch cracked to the lamb’s left, and he promptly darted in the opposite bearing. Blood pounding in his ears, the scared sheep attempted to ignore the scratching of thistles at his legs and the screeches of malicious creatures from everywhere around him.

 A glimpse of light caught the lamb’s attention. There was a break in the seemingly endless trees, perhaps a place where he would be able to see…He raced in that direction as fast as possible.

 Suddenly, there was no ground below him.

 The lamb’s widened eyes caught fleeting glimpses of a stony, sheer cliff behind him as he fell through the air. He desperately scrabbled at the rocky face, but to no avail.

 Just as instantaneously as it had began, the petrified lamb’s fall ended. He looked below to see a turbulent, gushing river thundering below him, then up to stare at a two-cubit-span between him and the edge of the precipice.

 Horrified, the lamb looked at his surroundings. He had miraculously landed on a dead, creaking branch, swaying in the breeze over the roaring flow of water below him. There appeared to be no easy path to reach the forest again, which now seemed so safe and secure in the terror-stricken lamb’s mind.

 Panting with nerves, the sheep built up his courage and shakily got to his feet. His lifeline, the overhanging branch, groaned and rasped with every movement, but held.

 The lamb, somewhat sure that his life was safe for the moment, tried not to look down at the rapids raging below him and braced his hind legs securely on the wooden limb. He then placed his front two legs on the cliff’s face in front of him, and attempted to scramble up.

 His breath caught when the dry bough started to creak again.

 The wood suddenly splintered under his hooves, and he was thrown into a frantic plunge toward the river below again. Before he could panic, however, even almost before he could fall, his plummet was stopped abruptly.

 Shocked, the sheep gaped upward, and was able to discern through the dim moonlight a long, slender wooden staff that extended towards him, and was hooked underneath his front legs to support him.

 At the other end of the staff, his face aglow with a delighted smile, was the lamb’s shepherd.

 Suddenly tired, the lamb rested his head against the shepherd’s shoulder, which in turn jounced with each rhythmic step onward. Once it had been determined that the young sheep wasn’t going to slip out of his grasp, the loyal shepherd had carefully hauled him back to ground level, and then securely grasped him to his chest. The weary lamb doubted that he would be released from his shepherd’s embrace anytime soon, but that suited him fine.

 Now, as they plodded together through the brush and undergrowth, the sheep couldn’t help but wonder at the change in atmosphere the forest seemed to cast, now that his shepherd was here. In replacement of terror and irrationality, the lamb now felt a warm combination of peace and contentment, and a new, stronger love for his rescuer.

 The sheep didn’t plan on leaving his savior’s company for a while, maybe never. His deliverer was too kind and wonderful to be ignored, and the lamb knew that he would do anything to make his shepherd happy.

 A new dawn danced at the horizon, promising peace and safety for the oncoming day. The lamb couldn’t think of anywhere he’d rather be to watch the glorious sunrise than in his shepherd’s loving arms.

Independence Day

    Red as the blood shed to protect our precious country. White as the pureness of a nation newly born. Blue as the endless skies stretching over the golden plains.

    The American flag ripples gently, high above the heads of passerby, waving its salute to the land it represents. There it stands, day after day, proclaiming its message to all: “God Bless America”.

    Today, we celebrate fallen soldiers who knowingly and willingly gave up their lives in horrendous ways so that we, Americans, can maintain our freedom. There are many who are out on the fields, suffering mentally and physically, but yet somehow glad in the back of their mind, knowing that their pain will benefit the lives of their people.

    Somehow, at some point in time, this day has lost its representation of hope and loyalty, and instead been twisted into a holiday during which Americans sleep in, enjoy a hamburger cookout, and then watch explosions into the night. So many Americans don’t take the time of day to close their eyes, thank their Lord and Savior for giving them the chance to live this very day, and to pay their respects to the souls lost in the heat of battle.

    Dear Father, thank you for guiding our ancestors to this continent. Thank you for giving us the chance to be free from religious oppression, and thank you for all the many wonderful leaders you’ve given to guide us to where we are today.

    Help us to keep from straying from the path our forefathers and foremothers laid out for us. Help us to be true Americans. Let our very veins pump red, white, and blue throughout our body, mind, and heart.

    Amen.

    God bless you, America.

Woof

A loud creak at the front door startled me from my dozy slumber next to the heater. Perking my ears up and wagging my tail, I recognized the voice of my master, howling something unintelligible again. I scrambled to my feet eagerly and bolted to the door, greeting him with a couple barks and a very wet tongue. I closed my eyes in expectation of the pat I would receive.

 Instead, my master kicked me in the side.

 Wheezing, I backed away with a whimper in my throat. Had I done something wrong? I gazed at my wonderful, loving master sadly, asking with pleading eyes what I had done to deserve his wrath. He growled a few sounds, one of which I recognized: “stupid.” That was the word he used when I was being bad.

 A bottle of that strong-smelling spicy-water was clenched in his hand. That clarified things.

 For some reason, it seemed that whenever my master drank the spicy-water, I always messed up and did something not allowed. I scarcely knew what exactly I had done wrong, but I knew that I deserved my punishment, because my master was a just and gracious man, and when he punished me, there was definitely a reason.

 Ears flat back, I backed out of the room, hoping to wait until the unluckiness brought on by the spicy-water wore off. I was listening to my master’s strangely heavy footsteps leading upstairs when I saw that the doggie door in the kitchen was swinging open. The cat must have broken the lock again. Without a second thought, I slunk out the door and into the snowy night.

 My great master had been bringing home more and more of the spicy-water recently, and I figured that if I was a bad dog whenever the spicy-water was near, I should do my best to avoid it. I would find another place to stay whenever my master had spicy-water so that I didn’t annoy him or make him hate me.

 An interesting smell crossed my path. I paused in mid-sniff, wondering what the captivating aroma could be coming from. Curiously, I followed my nose.

 I nosed my way through a rather thistly bush to find a giant slab of juicy meat on some bread sitting before me, nestled softly in the snow.

 Dashing forward eagerly, I sunk my jaws into the wonderful, yummy meat. My master had forgotten to feed me again(or purposely refrained from, more likely, the way I’ve been acting lately), and a big hunk of meat was just what I needed. I devoured more than half within seconds, the delicious squelching distracting me from the threatening growl behind me.

 I froze, my mouth still open, and slowly turned around.

  A giant black dog, easily three times bigger than me, stood menacingly behind me, fur on end his anger at my stealing his dinner.

 Immediately, tail tucked between my legs, I bolted away, howling my terror to the world as I ran.

 The monstrous canine pursued me, and I could only run so fast on my stubby little legs. I had barely made it to my neighborhood when the wet, warm fangs slipped into my left hind leg.

  I yelped in pain and fright, jumping half out of my skin. The fear and agony gave me energy, however, and I managed to shake the bigger dog off and get away.

 Once I reached my backyard, I sat down to inspect my injury. Gingerly, I licked at the bloody wound, and the sharp, metallic taste of blood met my tongue. I whimpered and got to my feet again, limping toward the kitchen door.

 When I nudged the doggie door with my nose, it wouldn’t budge.

 My eyes widened and I pushed harder, becoming frantic. But to no avail; the portal was most definitely stuck.

 I sat on my rear and howled, hoping my caring master would hear my distress call. I cried for nearly fifteen minutes, only standing when I swore my bottom would freeze to the patio from the snow.

 Focusing, I listened for any noise made by my master in the house. Only a gentle snore, showing that the spicy-water had put my master to sleep again.

 Miserably, I limped back out of the yard to find somewhere more suitable to stay until my master saved me. I passed houses and cars and other dogs on walks with their people, who I promptly avoided, but there didn’t seem to be anywhere I could stay.

 Finally, when I was sure I could walk no more, I trudged into the snow, put my freezing nose in my tail, and went to sleep.

  Something strong nudged at my sides, urging me to leave my numb, dreamless sleep. I resisted, reluctant to wake up, until the somethings picked me up.

 That woke me up.

 I blinked from the sudden light glaring off of the snow, wondering what I was doing dangling five feet in the air, until I turned around to look straight into the wide eyes of my master.

 He smiled and held me to his chest, where I listened to his relaxing heartbeat. He seemed to be really upset. Keen to comfort him, I nuzzled closer. He was warm.

 Then, a stabbing twinge in my left leg reminded me of my situation.

 I gave a sharp cry, trying to tug the injured limb closer. My master took one look and immediately carried me to his metal-monster, which was standing nearby, and opened the door to the metal-monster’s stomach. In a way that I didn’t understand, my master brilliantly communicated to the monster, through turning a circle, where he wanted to go.

 As the metal-monster trod(or rolled) on, my beautiful, perfect master kept his hand on my back, whispering consoling words that I didn’t understand, there for me all the way.

 There was nowhere I’d rather be.