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Apr 1, 2010 12:29 PM
#1
| With April showers bring May flowers (now that doesn't mean May's contest is going to be about flowers, don't get your hopes up). Criteria The writing you post must have something in it about rain. It can be a minor or major part of the writing, but rain must be in the story somewhere. Length: 500 words min. No max. Fandom: No fandom required. Original or fandom work maybe submitted. Deadline: The last day to submit work will be April 30. Fill out the from below. User-name: Title: Work: (A link or story can be posted.) |
MoWriterApr 1, 2010 12:35 PM
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Apr 1, 2010 7:34 PM
#2
| This one sounds fun! :D I am hoping to enter soon! darn...no flowers for May D: XD |
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Apr 2, 2010 8:04 AM
#3
| This theme sounds interesting, I'll try and write something by next month. |
| A past can last a lifetime. How to Read Manga! | AnimeBytes | iMangaScans |
Apr 2, 2010 9:38 PM
#4
| asianvampbabble Shadows Hope everyone likes it! :D This is only the first chapter so I'll try and write more to post it in my blog! :D Shadows Chapter One It never rained in the shadows; they were kept dry and cold with the lack of sun, but in the sun, it never stopped raining. You couldn’t even pour a glass of water on the shadow side, it would just vanish. Luckily, the water wouldn’t dissipate if it was kept in the glass. These were the facts of my world, and I guess you could call it fortunate, because at least with my condition I could go outside. When I was only a small child—not even being able to walk yet—my mother brought me outside for a picnic in the shadows. After our lovely fest, the other guests began to head home through the sunlight. They hurried so they didn’t get there fancy outfits hit too much by the cold, wet droplets that fell from the sky in gravity’s grasp. But my mother, who had been raised with an appreciation towards the rain, picked me up and began to dance with me in her arms. It was my first time having ever been in the rain so imagine how she felt when her little girl began to have smoke seeming to seep out of her pores. At first she thought that I was on fire so she held me up so as to put the fire out, but that only made me smoke worse, so she hurried to our house. At that time, even with being sheltered by her body from the rain, I was a smoking mess. Flames had managed to have been created so I even suffered burns that would later leave me physically scared for life. My mother immediately contacted a doctor as my father ran in to see what all my mom’s noise was about. All I remember from that day was the sad grimace he held on his face. It was almost as if he knew what was happening to me, and that he thought it was his fault. When the doctor finally arrived, I was diagnosed with an allergy to the acid that the rain held. My burns were treated and bandaged, but everyone ignored the fact that an allergy to the rain would never have caused a person to catch fire. This was the life that I was forced to live. I basically lived my life in the shadows or with an umbrella. Everyone else in town usually walked in the sunlight and rain either with an umbrella themselves, or by getting soaked. It was a day such as this that I found myself. I was walking my usual route back to my house when two girls that I went to school with came up to me. They each carried an umbrella which I envied because I had forgotten mine today, so I once again stuck to the shadows. “Lyza! Hey, wait up!” The two girls were extremely good friends of mine so I patiently waited for them. “Hi Marigold, and Kacey!” I yelled back to the identical twins. “We’ve been wondering if you wanted to come over sometime soon.” Kacey told me. “I’d love to! Just tell me when.” “Okay, as soon as we find out we’ll ask but our mom needs us right now so we’ve got to split. See you around!” Marigold waved while speaking and I began walking. All of the sudden I heard screaming from behind. I turned around and saw an older boy threatening Marigold and Kacey with a knife. I instantly freaked out while they screamed and ran back to them. “Leave them alone!” I shouted. This at least got the boy’s attention although now he was going to end up killing me! He had a wild, blood-crazed look in his eyes as he brought the knife towards Marigold’s face. I didn’t know what to do so I ended up taking a deep breath and plunging into the rainy sunshine towards the boy. My supposedly heroic save didn’t happen as it normally does in movies and books. In them the main character usually saves the people in distress without hardly raising a finger or breaking a sweat, but as soon as I hit the rain I instantly felt my self beginning to smoke. It hurt appallingly but I had to make my time in the rain worth while, so I rammed into the boy, meaning to make him stumble back a bit and run away. Instead, I had forgotten about the knife in his hands. I felt the knife go straight into my stomach and I screamed with pain. That and the rain was just too much for me to handle. I dazedly remember hitting the ground and attempting to crawl back towards the shadows. I also remember seeing—out of the corner of my eye—the boy fleeing the scene; that was the last thing I saw before passing out. I had only managed to get my head out of the rain. . . . Unfortunately, I only managed to stay passed out for a few minutes; the pain was too great to stray from. I couldn’t open my eyes, but I gratefully felt that the rest of my body was enveloped in the shadows. I heard someone frantically talking away behind me, and someone else trying to keep me from bleeding to death. “You’re going to be okay, yep. You’ll be fine.” The one with me—Marigold—muttered, seemingly more to herself then to me. “Yes we have an emergency! Just send someone here!” I heard Kacey yell into what I now figured was a phone. The pain had managed to stop a bit, but when I finally managed to open my eyes my vision was fading. “Lyza! Oh my gosh! I’m so glad you’re awake! You’re going to be okay, someone’s coming right now! You shouldn’t have done that! You should have just ran! But thank you anyway!” Marigold was screaming things at me because she was freaking out so bad. I managed to nod, but then unconsciousness took over again. |
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Apr 3, 2010 8:33 PM
#5
| I'll try to get something written up before the end of April so we'll see. |
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Apr 15, 2010 6:28 PM
#6
| Merry ... whatever holiday is coming up: Capable of the Most Terrible We never meant to kill him. Honest, it was never our intention, we aren't murderers … well, I guess that we are now, aren't we? But before, before we would have never dreamed of doing something that terrible. We were just in a bad situation and we made it worse, that's all. We aren't bad people. I am not a bad person. I have the right to remain silent, I know that, I've read my Miranda Rights. I've been reading them ever since we killed the guy. I know them all by heart and can recite them just like any of the cops in your town. The only reason I'm talking is to get it out of my system, I feel that if I don't put it all together, the whole string of events into one line, then I might just die, my head will explode from confusion. So I'm lying here in the middle of the street, spewing out my guts to the darkening sky, to a God, to whoever might be on the street corner listening. There's no one, I've already checked. No, I'm just talking to myself and hoping that some speeding car will come and hit me, killing me before I can make it to the end of my story. Hell, I don't even care if it comes after I'm finished. I just want a car to hit me. A semi would be best. No way I could live through that. But anything would be welcome. I just want to die. So to whoever's listening, to whatever God is up there looking down at me with scorn, this is my first Miranda Right being chucked out the window into on-coming traffic, all mashed into bits under the rubber tires. Now everything I say can and most certainly will be used against me. It would've been used even if I hadn't decided to say it. Every last bit of it. I can't help wondering if I get the last two Miranda Rights when I reach the final judgment, will they allow me to hire an attorney, or will they hire one for me? Are there attorneys in the place between heaven and hell? Am I judged before a jury of my peers? Can I plead the fifth, can I plead insanity? Can I plead anything? If not, then I'm fucked. You see, even if I wasn't the person who actually murdered murdered him, he died because I screwed up big time. If I hadn't switched up that relay at the last minute, we would've won the meet. If we would've won the meet, then we wouldn't have been sitting there getting drunk. If we wouldn't have been sitting there getting drunk, Jeremy wouldn't have come up with his bad idea. If Jeremy hadn't had his bad idea, that man might still be alive. All of it, all my fault. But it seemed like a good idea at the time Yeah sure, you can say that the others had their input, and they did. But it all stems from us losing the meet, which stems from me screwing up the relay order. Dave was right, Dave is always right but I never listen. You see, it was our Sectional swim meet, the last in the season. We were neck and neck with the Harrisburg team when we hit the last relay. Pretty much, whoever won it would win the meet, it was that close. Right before they called up our heat, I told the relay team my plan, we alter the relay a little bit and we could easily beat the Harrisburg guys. I was the fastest so I should be swimming anchor, last, instead of first where our shit for brains coach had put me. Jeremy would lead off. Dave would be second and Brandon would be third. Dave disagreed, he said we should listen to the coach. I said to go fuck the coach and the others agreed with me. They shouldn't have. I forgot that Jeremy had a tendency to false start during relays. One false start, one disqualification, one horrible loss of a meet. Our coach was pissed, he threw down his clipboard, breaking it actually, and screamed at us until he was purple. He told us exactly what we had done, we'd lost the meet. No, It was all me. I'd lost the meet. We never should've screwed with the relay lineup. I was, I am, such an idiot. What's worse is the entire team, boys and girls, was lined the side of the pool cheering us on. All of them saw me make up two body lengths during my leg of the relay. All of them saw me barely out-touch the Harrisburg swimmer. And all of them saw us handed the disqualification slip from the stroke judge. Hell on earth. 'Oh you did a good job.' 'It was a great try.' 'Hey, there's always next year.' They said. Except all four of us are seniors, there is no next year. It wasn't a good job, it was a monumental fuck up and they all knew it. You could see the disenchantment in their eyes, the knowing that we had lost the meet. The four of us had singlehandedly ruined our team's chance of being Sectional champs that year. I busted all my knuckles open punching a brick wall. As I was toweling the blood off my hand, one of the female swimmers, a slip of a girl named Maddie McAllister walked over. Maddie McAllister, a totally Irish name, but she's totally not Irish. Anyway, this little blond slip of a girl with massive fishy dead eyes and orange-tanned skin, not pretty at all by my standards, she came up to me and told me, "You did what you thought was best. It's nothing to be angry about." And I just turned to her and looked down, she was a whole foot below me, and I said, "Get the hell away from me bitch." Then I shoved her aside and started heading to the locker room. Her fish eyes went even wider, no joke, covering over half her face. Her lips were torn apart, her mouth a hole, it was like she'd never been insulted in her entire life. "Look, I was only trying to help," she choked out. And I turned and shouted, "Like I needyour fucking help!?" I think I made her cry or something, she ran off with her fat eyes shining, a little skin-and-bones blond oompaloompa. At the time I didn't even care, I was so pissed off at myself. It's only later, it's only now that I feel really bad about it. But what's there to be done? You can't take back words. I had the right to remain silent. Everything I said can and will be used against me. Our relay team, our poor pathetic disqualified relay team, we couldn't stand everyone's stares. We couldn't stand everyone casting the blame in our direction, even if we, even if I, deserved it. None of us wanted to see the rest of the world for a long time so we camped out in a little shack that's been abandoned for years. We'd sort of converted it into a hangout spot the summer before. You know, table, TV, fridge, etc. For the power, we rerouted some cables to other houses, yeah it's illegal so what? So's killing a man. Anyway, we decided it would be best to sit this all out in silence, to wait until the blame and disappointment died out. So we holed up in this place, we each brought some beer, once again illegal, and some food that didn't need any preparation. We'd be set for a couple of days and then we'd go out to face the world. That was the plan at least. At some point or another, someone brought in some cards, I don't remember who it was. But anyway, we abandoned TV watching and instead focused on playing poker. No money was on the line, no anything was on the line, just our pride. The game wasn't even about the winning, it was about the losing. It was a case study in being a failure. We wanted to keep feeling what we'd felt after the relay. So we were all drunk on beer, the empty bottles all over the place, and we were all losing at poker when the subject of the meet bared its ugly face. I don't remember who brought it up but when it was brought up, that was all we could talk about. Hours upon hours upon hours, talking about how I'd screwed up as we all tried to lose at poker. One false start, one disqualification, one horrible loss of a meet. Somewhere along the line I asked, "If there was one thing that you couldn't change, could you find a way to change it?" It was the beer talking, it wasn't me. But the other guys, they all thought this was some deep Freudian shit. Seriously, they bought right into it and then we'd talk for hours about the meaning of that single drunken phrase. Three days passed like this. Poker, beer, and failure. Then we ran out of food and none of us were in any condition to get more. Soon after, we ran out of beer. Someone would have to go get it but none of us would budge. We were too busy wallowing in self-pity. Really, it was disgusting. Then some gutter slut sent Brandon a picture of her naked. Not much of a picture either, she didn't have any assets, ugly as shit in my eyes. Apparently, she'd liked him for a while now and he just hadn't bothered to tell us. She knew that he was hiding out with us, and was trying to lure him out with the thought of sex. We convinced him that she had so many diseases that it wasn't even worth it. So he ignored her and stayed, and we kept playing poker. That is, until Jeremy had his idea. "I feel like breaking something," he said. "I want to destroy something beautiful," he said. "Come on guys, let's do something fun tonight," he said. "Let's go pay those Sectional Champs a visit, and make them wish they'd never fucked with us," he said. At this point, he never mentioned killing anyone. The alcohol haze hadn't worn off yet, so to all of us that sounded like the best idea we'd heard in weeks. We'd go show up at the Harrisburg school and bust the whole place up. We'd shatter windows, we'd bust the locks off doors, we'd set stuff on fire, we'd spray paint the walls. We'd kill a man. Wait a moment, what's that? Is that a … yes, yes it is. A car. Thank God, it's going to run me over and end all of this. Just in time too, I was about to get to the worst part. With it raining as hard as it is, he probably won't be able to see me lying here until it's too late. Wait, no. No, don't turn. Don't you turn that damn thing off the street! Son of a bitch. I'm still here. I guess you want me to finish my little confession then, don't you God? Fine, I will, but you better promise me that after I do you hit me with something big, a semi or a tank or something. Something that will make sure there's nothing left of me. You better promise me that much since I'm down here spilling my guts out to the sky. Threading them up there like one of those magic Indian ropes. You'd better give me at least that much. Now, where was I? Yeah, that's right. We showed up at the Harrisburg High School, with our baseball bats and pieces of pipe and spray paint. Hell, Dave managed to rig up a Molotov cocktail. He hurled this into the lit-up school sign. It burst into flames and the plastic melted all over the place, black and hard by the time the fire had gone out. I suppose we were lucky no one had been driving by when it was on fire, or the police would've arrested us right then for arson. Maybe it would've been lucky; it's a lot easier to live with arson on your conscience than a dead man. We smashed the glass doors in and snuck inside. Right by the front door is the big trophy case containing all the massive trophies the school had earned since it was founded who knows how many centuries ago. And right there in the middle was our holy grail, this year's sectional trophy; a bronze version of our state with our conference name and the champion's name engraved into it. Sectional Champion's 2008: Harrisburg. All because of me. One false start, one disqualification, one horrible loss of a meet. I busted the case open and began knocking all the trophies onto the floor with the baseball bat I'd found in my garage. Most of them broke into dozens of little pieces when they hit the floor, the ones that stayed in one piece, I finished off with an overhead smack. And right after that, everything went straight to hell. One false start, one disqualification, one horrible loss of a meet. One horrible loss of a life. This janitor, he's heard the commotion and so he comes to see what the hell's going on. He sees us four guys breaking everything and he does what any person who thinks they're in control do, he started yelling at us and telling us to leave. He pulls out a cell phone and starts dialing for the cops. The school didn't have an alarm or it had been shut off, otherwise it would've started squealing and we would've run. There was no squeal. If there had been one, this all would've been so much different. We did the opposite of run. Jeremy was the closest to him, so he swung his lead pipe piece to knock the phone out of the man's hand. He missed, and smashed the guy across the jaw. So the janitor is flopping on the floor like an eel with a bloodied lip and his phone's has flown clear across the room hitting a wall and breaking. So this guy starts screaming for help, screaming really fucking loud. So Jeremy decides to shut him up and so do the rest of us. You know, hit him until he gets knocked out, none of us knew how easy it was to kill someone, how little effort it takes. The janitor's on the ground between the four of us, baseball bats and pipes falling in time to some old chink railroad worker's song. While we were hitting him, we started to really get into it, cursing and spitting on the guy, you know the whole mob violence thing. It felt good, it was a release of all our anger, all our frustrations. So we just kept hitting him. Then Jeremy did the unthinkable, he dropped hit on the man's head. I remember hearing the loud crunch and then the silence. The screaming had stopped. The guy's head was busted in, his pink brain was leaking out. Jeremy had killed him. We were all stunned. We just sat there and stared at the dead body at out feet, none of us had seen a real dead body up close. Over half the group lost their lunch. Then we heard the sirens. We got the hell out. If there was one thing that you couldn't change, could you find a way to change it? One false start, one disqualification, one horrible loss of a meet. We didn't talk about it on the way back. We didn't talk about it when we got back, we just sat down and started playing poker again. Only now we didn't talk, we just played hand after hand after hand, all of us pale and shaking. We knew that any moment the cops would've punted through the door and taken all of us to jail. But they never came. Twelve hours came and went and there were no cops. None of us dared to turn on the TV to watch the news. Then Brandon got a text on his phone. He pretended to ignore it for a little while but after about another hour he said he was going out to get more food and beer. He never came back. I haven't seen him since but I can guess where he is: in a back alley with that gutter slut who sent him the naked picture with his tongue punched through her teeth and licking up her stomach acid. That is, if they still have their clothes on. After a couple hours it became obvious that he wasn't coming back. Then Jeremy started getting all fidgety, like a really bad sugar rush. He finally said that he had to go home, go to his parents, have an alibi. That way they couldn't name him as a suspect. According to the news, he committed suicide later that day. After a while, Dave and I both drifted out of there. We had no more reason to stay. The cops were coming, are coming, it's just a matter of time before they find us. He went home, I guess. I honestly don't know. He might've offed himself just like Jeremy did. Just like I'm getting ready to do as soon as a vehicle comes. There it is, that's my story, my miserable life. All of it, just as I remember it. That is my first Miranda right in the paper shredder, under the tank treads, a chew toy for a bulldog. It's all going to be used against me now. So I'm asking you, if there was one thing that you couldn't change, could you find a way to change it? For some reason, I keep thinking of that Mattie McAllister chick, with her eyes that are way too big for her face, her skin whick is way too orange to be a natural tan, and her hair which is way to blond for her to be Irish, like her name. I wonder if she would still try to help after I told her what I had just done. Or would she just ignore me, since I was such a dick to her earlier? If there was one thing that you couldn't change, could you find a way to change it? And now, as I'm lying here under a blanket of heavy stinging rain, I see headlights, big headlights. I hear the sound of a large engine, I can feel the shaking of the pavement underneath me. My prayers have been answered. A semi. Thank God. I close my eyes and all I can feel is the rain, all I can hear is the engine, and all I can see is that dead janitors startled face with his brains bashed all over the floor. Not what I want to see as my last picture in this life, but it's fitting. And then I hear the semi's blaring horn and a screech of brakes. The crunch of metal being squashed. The squeal of tires being moved too quickly. I open my eyes and see what happened, a little black car darted in front of the semi, taking the full impact of it before the thing could reach me. Now I'd have to find another place to die since this area would be crawling with cops and paramedics, and people who think they can help. Whoever was in that car, I can sympathize. I know exactly how they feel. Fucked. I sit up slowly, getting ready to move somewhere else when I catch a clean glance at the car. I know that black car, I've seen it next to my car in the school parking lot since the beginning of swim season. I see the blond hair pressed against the red-speckled windshield and I know. Maddie McAllister. She had to come in and screw it all up. And just when everything was going so well. Why did she get to die when I had to live like this? Knowing that a man was dead because of me. Waiting for someone to come and take me away to prison where I belong. I'm a murderer, it doesn't matter if I meant to kill him or not, I did. I am a murderer. I deserve to die, not her. She was just trying to make me feel better. Stupid bitch. Then a see a twitch of the blond hair, a slow stir as it begins to sit back up. Not quite dead. If there was one thing that you couldn't change, could you find a way to change it? I still feel bad about what I'd said to her. If there was one thing that you couldn't change, could you find a way to change it? Yes there is. I'm on my feet and walking towards the wreckage. There are others beginning to come out of nearby buildings, but they're only there to stare. They're only going to look at the accident and maybe, if prompted, call 911. Useless is what they are, and they're always the first responders to an accident. Well, this time I am here. I get to the passenger side door, the only one I will be able to open, the other side looks like a rotten peanut. I grab the handle and pry, but the latch won't budge, it's shut tight. I make a fist and send it through the safety glass, it doesn't shatter but it falls in little black beads to the ground just like the rain drops. I hook my hand around the frame and pull, I pull hard, I give it everything I have. When that's not enough, I give it more. The door pops off and rushes past me like a mortar. Leaning in, I see what kind of condition Mattie's in. Not good. Her head has to have been hit bad because her hair is going from blond to all stringy and red, just like a proper Irish girl should have. The steering wheel is almost indistinguishable from her chest, and the air bag is like a jelly-filled tumor resting between the two. From the way she's slumped over the wheel, I think about broken ribs. Who knew about injuries below the waist, for all I know she's missing a foot. Slowly, her head rises and her eyes meet mine, bleary and big, she whispers, "Patrick?" Her voice is coarse and shallow. So is her breathing. Possible lung injury, most likely caused by the broken ribs. Or it could just be shock or asthma, I'm no doctor. "If there was one thing that you couldn't change, could you find a way to change it?" I ask absently as I reach to undo her seatbelt. It's hard to find the button, it's almost like the seat ate it. I manage to get it undone and the belt went slack but it couldn't retract with it crushed between her breasts and the steering wheel. I had to shove my hand behind her back to wrap it around her, it was so tight, it was like being crushed in a vice. Still, when I reached the other side, I pulled slowly. I just pull and pull and keep pulling until she became loose enough for me to get my other hand around her. Another long slow pull got her top half onto the passenger seat. Eventually, her feet follow, one missing its shoe and the other leg looking pretty mangled. Broken probably. I get one arm under her shoulders and the other under her knees and pull her fully out of the car into the rain. A tightness on the front of my shirt, her hand wrapped around a fistful of cotton. Her eyes looking up at me but they're blinking in and out of focus. The blank periods reminding me of the janitor, his brains, the school, everything. If there was one thing that you couldn't change, could you find a way to change it? "I'm sorry," I whispered to her. Like a strobe light, her eyes blinked back on, "For what?" she wheezed. "For what I said after the meet. I didn't mean it." A small grin touches her face, "I know." Then she blinked out and went limp, her eyes closing. Shock. I have that much medical knowledge. "Stay with me!" I cry, looking for a soft spot to put her down. There aren't any, it's all just cold wet concrete. I'm going to let two people die on me, goddammit. No, I'd seen one die, I'd killed one, but I am not going to watch her go. God, or whoever you are: You're a miserable bastard if you let her die now. You can strike me down for all I care. I kneel down on the hard pavement, still holding her. I don't know what to do for shock but I knew CPR and I know that if the paramedics don't get here soon, she'll be dead. "SOMEONE CALL 911!!!" screaming like I'm charging the enemy, like I'm in a war. One of the useless onlookers, a man in a suit, yells back, "They're on their way, don't you hear the sirens?" There were sirens alright. I'd been too worried about Mattie to listen. Red and blue lights stop right by the wreck and I stand with Mattie clutched to my chest. A gurney was brought out and I run over to it, dumping her on it as lightly as I can. As soon as she leaves my hands, she's in the back of the ambulance. One of the paramedics checking the semi driver, he's just kosher, he had the laws of physics on his side. As they're closing the doors to take her to the hospital, I ask if I can go. One asks if I was a family member. No. He pauses for a little but then waves me in with them saying, "I'm not supposed to do this but in your case … come on." I hop on and just as the cops show up. The paramedics already rushing around her doing things that I can't even pretend to understand. All I know is they're supposed to make her better. The exact opposite of what I did to someone last night. I stayed out of the way like a good boy. The guy who let me on the ambulance, the paramedic, says, "Don't you worry about her, I've seen people in much worse condition than this pull out of it. She's going to be just fine." I know he's just trying to comfort me, like they do with everyone but it's nice to hear. "That's good," I say. I jump out of the ambulance just as they start to close the doors with the one yelling after me, I wave for them to go on without me. I had done my job, I wasn't needed anymore. The cops had already come this far, I might as well let them have their quarry, even if I wasn't who they were looking for. As soon as one steps out of the car, I'm right beside him hands out, wrists up, "Arrest me." His face goes all bunched up in confusion, "What?" "Arrest me, I'm a murderer." Still, he doesn't understand anything I'm saying so I make it crystal clear for him, even clearer than it was for me, "There was a janitor at the Harrisburg High School with his head busted in and trophies all over the ground." "How do you know that? We haven't released all of that to the press," he interrupts, still not getting it. Cops must be slow. "I know because I was there when he was murdered. I broke all those trophies. Arrest me. I'm eighteen so you can definitely arrest me and treat me like any other criminal. And believe me, I am a criminal. I'm out of my mind and I shouldn't be allowed to stay on the streets." I think he finally got it because he throws the cuffs on me and reads me my Miranda Rights. Like I didn't already know them. He still doesn't think I murdered the poor guy but he's going to take me in for questioning. But now, everything will be okay. Don't ask me how I know that, I just do. I can feel it. Maddie will be fine, that un-Irish Irish girl will be just peachy. I can feel it. And I'll be fine too, in time. Even if I never get to be a sectional champion. Even if I did kill someone. I also saved someone today, so it's a 50/50 record, I can sway the odds in my favor anytime. And I knew I couldn't run from the law. And I know I'm going to prison. And for some reason, this no longer bothers me. Maybe Brandon was right chasing after that gutter slut. Maybe he was saying in times like these there's no time to cry, no time to really even think. You can only do, and do your best at whatever you can. You can chase the things you want to be, want to do, want to see. Maybe him running off from the group just to get laid is the best piece of wisdom I've ever been given. Then again, maybe there is no wisdom in a guy licking the back of some girls throat and I'm just reading too far into it.. Judgment is coming. I'm going to prison. And for some reason, this no longer bothers me. This is the beginning of the end for me. And in the end I know, We'll all be fine. |
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Apr 24, 2010 7:52 PM
#7
| I started writing a story, I already have a very clear idea what I want, I just haven't been able to put it the way I want it yet. Hopefully it will be done by the end of April, I'm done with school and all. Edit: okay, here it is. Username: georgi Title: All Washed Away Work: All Washed Away It was early in the afternoon when the phone rang. It took him by surprise, he rarely, if ever, got any calls. He let it ring three times before finally mustering the courage to lift the receiver. “Hello?” “Good day, Andy.” “ ...” “Do you recognize my voice?” It was a woman’s voice, probably one in her fifties, but Andrew couldn’t place it no matter how hard he tried... “...” “It’s me, your aunt Liza, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten?” “Oh yeah, aunt Liza, sorry, I was kind of in a daze.” “My my, you sound like a big man now, Andy, I can still remember when you were small enough to walk under the table, you were so...” “Yes, yes, I’m sure I was. So, to what do I owe the honour of this call?” “Impatient as ever! Unfortunately it’s bad news. Granny Mary passed away last night.” “Oh... that is... indeed...” “The mailman called this morning. The old woman was stubborn to the very end, refused to let anyone take care of her, living on her own in that old house in the middle of nowhere. We are lucky she was found so quickly.” “Alone? I thought she was taking care of Emily.” “Ah yes, yes, of course. That’s part of the reason I am calling you. You have your driver’s licence, right?” “Right...” “Splendid. Your uncle and I need to go take care of some things, so drive us, if you would be so kind.” “Drive you? What, now?!” “Of course now, the sooner the better with these things, you know. Come pick us up in an hour, you know the way, right?” “Right...” *** The drive to granny Mary’s house took about two hours. She lived in a remote village in one of the houses that had belonged to the family for generations. The sky was greying and casting a shadow over the little house that looked terribly gloomy. Heavy steel shutters held the windows closed, and the front yard looked like it hadn’t been worked on for years. The oak front door weighed heavily on its hinges. “Looks like it’s about to rain.” They were greeted by a police officer who had been put in charge of looking over Emily and the house. “This house is depressing.” Aunt Liza remarked as she made her way in. “Help me lift those shutters, will you, the air in here feels like it’s from the last century.” The heavy shutters were lifted, and the windows let in the first daylight the house had seen in years. The sky hadn’t gotten any brighter, however, so the rooms remained unpleasantly dim. “Where’s Emily?” “In her room. She is terribly shy of strangers, hasn’t said a word all day.” Andrew hurried to find Emily. Poor girl, he wondered if anyone had explained the situation properly to her. Of course, he had no idea where her room was, but he guessed it’d be the one closest to the bathroom, and he was right. He found the little girl just sitting there, looking scared. “Mary?” “I’m not Mary, it’s uncle Andy.” “Mary, what is that sound?” “What sound?” “What is that sound, Mary?” “Emily, I am not Mary. Mary is gone.” “Gone?” “Yes, gone, she is never coming back.” “Unculandy?” “Yes?” “Where did Mary go?” She didn’t seem to get it. Poor girl. The policeman left with aunt Liza and her husband to arrange for the burial. The body had already been transported earlier that day. *** “Emily, how are you feeling?” “I’m good.” “Have you had anything to eat yet?” “No.” “Do you want me to cook something for you? I am kind of hungry as well. What would you like to eat?” “Soup.” “Soup? Hah, that should be easy enough. All right, soup it is, then.” Andy went to the kitchen and tried finding a pot that he could use. He also looked for ingredients, and quickly peeled a few potatoes. “Unculandy?” “Yes?” “What is that sound?” “Sound? Oh, that’s me peeling potatoes.” “Peeling potatoes? Mary makes a different sound.” “Oh? Maybe she peels them differently. Do you like Mary?” “Yes!” “I see...” *** “So, Andy, how is she?” “She seems fine. I don’t think she understands what has happened.” “Well you can’t expect a four year old to understand death so easily. I think it’s better this way. But what a tragedy! I think you are the closest relative she’s got now.” “I was her closest relative to begin with.” “I suppose that’s true. I was really surprised Mary of all people was the one to step forward and insist to take care of her. I mean, I was surprised she even showed up for the funeral, she must have felt connected to Emily somehow.” “Aunt, please, I’d rather not talk about this.” “Of course, I understand. But what a lonely life she led, right up to the very end. I never really knew her, not even as a child.” The door to Emily’s room slowly creaked open and the tiny figure of the young girl slowly crept out. “Mary?” “Oh, poor child.” “What is that sound?” “I think she’s had a long day, we’d better put her to bed.” “Y..Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Andy sadly looked at Emily, who walked hesitantly towards them. She looked so weak, but having known Mary, he knew Emily would grow up to be a strong, independent woman. Pride was in her blood, all she needed was someone’s support during the times of her greatest need. “Come, Emily, let’s go to bed.” He gently held onto her tiny hand, and helped her to the bathroom. He helped her brush her teeth, and then the two of them went back into her room. “Unculandy?” “Yes, Emily?” “I am scared.” “Don’t worry, I will be close by. I will not leave, I promise.” Andy kept holding onto Emily’s hand, whispering a lullaby. He stayed with her until she finally fell asleep, then left her room as quietly as he could, leaving the door open to hear her if she called out to him. His aunt and uncle were already sleeping in one of the rooms. Andy picked the sofa as his bed. His mind kept tossing worry after worry at him, until finally sleep could no longer elude him. The rain kept on gently bouncing off the windows throughout the night. *** Emily suddenly awoke from a nightmare. She tried falling back asleep, but the sound still hadn’t gone away. It made no sense, it couldn’t be that Unculandy was still peeling potatoes in the middle of the night. Besides, she knew what that sounded like, and this wasn’t it. It was more like the sound of the shower hitting the bathtub, but not quite. The little girl was horrified. The sounds kept resonating, ceaselessly, endlessly. She was afraid. Shivers ran through her body, and the agonizing unknown kept eating away at her. Finally, Emily could not bear it any longer. She had to know what that sound was. She quietly slipped away from her covers and went towards the door. The door was not closed, so she gently pushed it open, making sure the old rusty hinges didn’t creak. Somebody was sleeping nearby, so Emily tried not to make too much noise. She headed towards the place all the people had come from. The familiar smell of old wood and mould filled her nostrils, and her bare feet felt the tingling sensation of rough flooring. The sound was getting closer. The coldness of the stone entryway sent shivers up her body. She felt for the door, and stretched out to reach the knob. Finally, she was able to exert enough pressure to twist it open, and the heavy gateway to the outside world slowly but surely was pushed away. The sound was now stronger than ever. The barefoot girl ventured outside, and was immediately surprised by the strangest sensation, cold, sticky, wet, ticklish. Her feet were engulfed in something gooey. She shivered uncontrollably, but kept on advancing further and further outside. Emily was struck by the suddenest and saddest of realizations. It was so terribly sad, she couldn’t hold back her tears, constantly washed away by the falling water from the sky. She wept, and wept, and for the first time she knew, she was now certain, that Mary was never ever coming back. She would never answer her call again. After all, even the world was crying, so it had to be the case. |
georgiApr 26, 2010 2:56 PM
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