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!!!
Wednesday, August 29, 2012
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 :)
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