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!!!