Post by Piro on May 24, 2007 14:36:38 GMT -5
Yeah, well, I had to write a 10 page [
] story for a class... I wanted to try to write a more serious one, and it failed, but I got a 92. =D The ending is really fast, though... Anyways, please tell me what you think, if you manage to muck through it all. IT'S TOO LONG!
With a start, I jolted up in my bed, my eyes opening as I did so. I stopped, waiting to see if I had just screamed in my dream, and no one downstairs was emitting the bone chilling cry. After I minute, I shrugged it off and began the hard task of unburrowing, unearthing and untwisting my body from my blankets. I tugged on a sweatshirt to get ready for the day as a boring unemployed high school graduate. When I looked in the kitchen, I realized that what had awoken me was not a dream, but indeed very real.
My mother sat on the kitchen floor, her arms hugging her own chest as she rocked back and forth slowly, almost carefully. She was biting her lip hard enough to make it bleed; in fact a small trickle of blood began to come down her chin. A stray piece of paper lay next to her on the floor.
“Mom?” I walked into the kitchen hesitantly, then stood beside her, my head tilted to one side with curiosity. “Mom? What’s wrong? What’s on the paper?”
There was no response for a moment. I waited, not wanting to push since she was so obviously distressed. She didn’t look up at me, she just put one finger delicately atop the paper and slid it over the floor next to my foot. Her shoulders were shaking, so the paper jerked with each heave of a sob. I wanted to bend down and comfort her, but personally I like to know what I’m comforting about before I do the comforting, so I picked up the paper, my breath coming in scarce gasps.
“Dear Mrs. Lenain and family,” I moved my mouth slowly as I read the words to myself, trying to keep my shaking to a minimum to have the paper still, “we are sorry, but your husband and father,” – I wanted to shut my eyes, shut out the words. I wanted to run and scream already, but I read on, hoping for the best and fearing the worst- “Milo Lenain has been killed after three years of service in the US army-” The words went on, but my mind went blank and I couldn’t tell a ‘R’ from an ‘O’. They became a blur; a blur of bitterness, sorrow, loss and confusion. I sunk down next to my mother and began shaking just as hard as her. We didn’t move for a long time- just sat and cried.
Four hours later- only four short hours. I numbly gripped the large serving spoon and scooped noodles onto Shelia’s plate. She grinned up at me- an innocent grin free of the fact that she no longer had a father. I glanced over at Mom, hoping there would be some indication that she would tell Shelia about it, but she was looking down at her plate with an expressionless face. I let out a small sigh, watching the two small pig tails atop her head bounce as she munched happily on her noodles, and she looked up at me.
“Rosie, when’s Daddy coming home?”
I stopped, silent. Mom didn’t move either, her shoulders just let out another small shake. Shelia looked from me to our mother, then scowled. “When? I wanna know!”
I sighed and kneeled down beside her, brushing her bright red bangs back with one hand. I lowered and softened my voice, as if carrying an egg- if done too hard or harsh, it would break. “Daddy’s not coming home, Shelia.”
Shelia blinked at me, then, expecting me to yell: “Just kidding!” as I had thought with Mom, she grinned. “Don’t be silly, Rosie.” She set her hands on her hips in a rather ambassadorial way. Of course, that was Shelia for you: The little Diplomat. “I wanted to show him the picture I drew last week, and tell him about the new baby turtle that-”
Shelia stopped short, and looked over at Mom, her mouth hanging open. I let my hand drop from Shelia’s brow just as my mother slammed her fist on the table again. “He’s not coming back!” I cringed at her harsh tone. She almost never used that tone with me, and never with Shelia, though I can’t say I could blame her.
“Mom…” I stood again, and went to attempt to comfort her, but had a sharp slap delivered to my cheek. She stood up, sending her chair screeching, then falling back against the ground. She stalked to her room, slamming the door behind her, leaving us alone; me holding my throbbing red cheek, and Shelia beginning to cry.
I slept in Shelia’s room that night, for obvious reasons. I held her and rocked her to sleep as I had done many times before. It was finally morning and I set my sleeping sister down on the bed, still in the same sweat shirt I had had on since yesterday morning. I closed Shelia’s door gently behind me, then glanced at my mom’s. Still the same, unopened. I decided to try and cheer her up, and make her some breakfast, since she hadn’t had anything from the time of the disaster lunch to now. I peeked in to announce a half- hearted cheery greeting, but then froze.
My mother lay on her bed, one arm hanging off her bed, the other tucked in an almost relaxed position behind her head. Her eyes were closed and she smiled, giving her a peaceful and happy look. Only one thing ruined the relaxed and happy picture of her. Her face was a pasty white. From each thin wrist came a stream of bright red blood. One stream of the liquid ran down her cheek; a small waterfall of red. Small droplets of burgundy emanated from her other wrist and pooled on the floor, a small flood of the deathly substance covering a portion of the carpet.
Shelia let out a loud scream from behind me and I slammed the door, trying to shut out what happened. With a sobbing eight-year-old clinging to my legs, I numbly walked over to the phone and dialed 9-1-1.
I cradled Shelia in my arms, holding her tight to my chest. We were both crying, though mine were not quite as loud. A police officer came out of Mom’s room. He offered a small smile to me, then Shelia, which neither of us accepted. “Your mother…” He cleared his throat, and I could tell that he wanted to talk about this just as much as us from the tone of his voice. “Was she suffering from depression?”
I opened my mouth to answer, but found that my voice had so cruelly left me, only letting choked sobs emerge from the back of my throat. I bit my lip and tried again, forcing a small and almost squeaking noise out. “My dad died. We got a letter yesterday, from the army.” I looked over at the kitchen floor, then found it not there and took in a deep breath, trying to make my voice less hoarse. “She must’ve took it.”
He nodded, then furrowed his brow, shifting uncomfortably from one foot from the other. “We were wondering about her. She not only had slit wrists, but large bruises on her neck-” Shelia let out a loud scream and covered her hands over her ears. I looked down at her, and hugged her even closer to myself, inwardly thanking her. I didn’t want to hear about it anymore than her. The police officer looked relieved also, then nodded to both of us and started back towards the room where they were now carrying a large black bag out of.
“Rosie!” I turned only my head around, then stood up, still clinging to Shelia. Perhaps if I hadn’t just become an orphan, I would’ve smiled. But my face had become almost chiseled out of stone, leaving it forever in the deadened look I had worn for two days now.
“Hello, Aaron.” I said, fighting to keep my voice steady. Shelia squirmed to the floor, then ran over and hugged his legs tightly. I told myself that I was stone, I wouldn’t start crying. But then I felt Aaron’s arms come around my shoulders, and I cried. We all stood there for a long time, not saying a word.
After what seemed like hours, Aaron pulled himself away from me gently, then motioned down to Shelia who was now asleep but still clinging to one of his legs loosely. “You going to raise her?”
I nodded, then sighed. “I don’t know how I will, though. The house hasn’t been paid for, and I’m nineteen and unemployed.” I shrugged, trying to not be mad at my mom for just leaving her two children alone in the world.
Aaron attempted a small smile, and placed his hand lightly under my chin. I would usually pull away and smack him on the head, but human touch is what I then longed for the most. “You can stay with me, Rosie. My apartment has a bedroom that you and Shelia could use-” I was about to ask where he’d sleep then, but he cut in, -“and a couch that I could sleep on.” He grinned brightly. “You can stay as long as you like.”
I hugged him and rested my head on his shoulder, shutting my weary eyes as I choked out a hoarse whisper. “Thank you, Aaron.”
Minutes flew into hours, hours to days, and before I knew it, Shelia and I had been living in Aaron’s apartment for six months. Six months since I’d seen my mother. Six months since she or my father had been alive. Shelia began to smile again, one day when Aaron bought her a small rabbit. Every day seemed the same: I would wake up, send Shelia off to school, and then go to work when Aaron did. I suppose it wasn’t an exciting life, but it kept us all busy, which is mainly what we wanted.
I made my way up the two flights of stairs to the apartment that had for half a year been my home. I opened the door to find Shelia and Aaron both stretched out on the ground, playing monopoly. I grinned, and walked over to the pantry, picking out the ingredients for our dinner.
Dinner was quiet, as usual. Though we had, for the most part, gotten over them, no one was quite happy enough yet to sit and chat happily. For half an hour we sat and ate in silence, until I noticed Shelia’s head drooping. I’d worked late tonight, and thus made supper late, so I sent Shelia to bed and began clearing the table. When I was done, I sat down at the table, resting my chin on my cupped palms.
“What’re you thinking about?” Aaron’s head poked out of no where and into my line of vision and I stifled a small giggle.
“Nothing much.” I sat up straighter in my chair, removing my elbows from the table. “You still don’t mind us staying here?”
“’Course not.” Ha said, grinning and leaned forward. “I’ve never had a cook before.” He laughed, touching his hand lightly on mine. I frowned and jerked away curtly, and he sighed, leaning back in his seat. “Still too young to date, hm?” He raised a brow, as if skeptical of my late father’s words.
I glowered at him for a moment, not quite caring about the bite in my voice. “Aaron, I told you, I don’t like you like that. You’re my friend.”
“Ah, yes, and besides that is the fact that your parents didn’t approve of me.” He sighed, lowering his gaze to the table, then glanced up at me again, his voice soft. “You know, Rosie, they’re..” He shrugged obviously uncomfortable. “You know that they’re-”
“I know they’re dead!” I snapped; my look obviously not half as soft as his. “But just because they’re dead doesn’t mean I’m going to pretend they never lived.”
Aaron sighed as I stood with one last glare, then stalked into my room and curled up onto the bed beside my slumbering sister.
] story for a class... I wanted to try to write a more serious one, and it failed, but I got a 92. =D The ending is really fast, though... Anyways, please tell me what you think, if you manage to muck through it all. IT'S TOO LONG! With a start, I jolted up in my bed, my eyes opening as I did so. I stopped, waiting to see if I had just screamed in my dream, and no one downstairs was emitting the bone chilling cry. After I minute, I shrugged it off and began the hard task of unburrowing, unearthing and untwisting my body from my blankets. I tugged on a sweatshirt to get ready for the day as a boring unemployed high school graduate. When I looked in the kitchen, I realized that what had awoken me was not a dream, but indeed very real.
My mother sat on the kitchen floor, her arms hugging her own chest as she rocked back and forth slowly, almost carefully. She was biting her lip hard enough to make it bleed; in fact a small trickle of blood began to come down her chin. A stray piece of paper lay next to her on the floor.
“Mom?” I walked into the kitchen hesitantly, then stood beside her, my head tilted to one side with curiosity. “Mom? What’s wrong? What’s on the paper?”
There was no response for a moment. I waited, not wanting to push since she was so obviously distressed. She didn’t look up at me, she just put one finger delicately atop the paper and slid it over the floor next to my foot. Her shoulders were shaking, so the paper jerked with each heave of a sob. I wanted to bend down and comfort her, but personally I like to know what I’m comforting about before I do the comforting, so I picked up the paper, my breath coming in scarce gasps.
“Dear Mrs. Lenain and family,” I moved my mouth slowly as I read the words to myself, trying to keep my shaking to a minimum to have the paper still, “we are sorry, but your husband and father,” – I wanted to shut my eyes, shut out the words. I wanted to run and scream already, but I read on, hoping for the best and fearing the worst- “Milo Lenain has been killed after three years of service in the US army-” The words went on, but my mind went blank and I couldn’t tell a ‘R’ from an ‘O’. They became a blur; a blur of bitterness, sorrow, loss and confusion. I sunk down next to my mother and began shaking just as hard as her. We didn’t move for a long time- just sat and cried.
Four hours later- only four short hours. I numbly gripped the large serving spoon and scooped noodles onto Shelia’s plate. She grinned up at me- an innocent grin free of the fact that she no longer had a father. I glanced over at Mom, hoping there would be some indication that she would tell Shelia about it, but she was looking down at her plate with an expressionless face. I let out a small sigh, watching the two small pig tails atop her head bounce as she munched happily on her noodles, and she looked up at me.
“Rosie, when’s Daddy coming home?”
I stopped, silent. Mom didn’t move either, her shoulders just let out another small shake. Shelia looked from me to our mother, then scowled. “When? I wanna know!”
I sighed and kneeled down beside her, brushing her bright red bangs back with one hand. I lowered and softened my voice, as if carrying an egg- if done too hard or harsh, it would break. “Daddy’s not coming home, Shelia.”
Shelia blinked at me, then, expecting me to yell: “Just kidding!” as I had thought with Mom, she grinned. “Don’t be silly, Rosie.” She set her hands on her hips in a rather ambassadorial way. Of course, that was Shelia for you: The little Diplomat. “I wanted to show him the picture I drew last week, and tell him about the new baby turtle that-”
Shelia stopped short, and looked over at Mom, her mouth hanging open. I let my hand drop from Shelia’s brow just as my mother slammed her fist on the table again. “He’s not coming back!” I cringed at her harsh tone. She almost never used that tone with me, and never with Shelia, though I can’t say I could blame her.
“Mom…” I stood again, and went to attempt to comfort her, but had a sharp slap delivered to my cheek. She stood up, sending her chair screeching, then falling back against the ground. She stalked to her room, slamming the door behind her, leaving us alone; me holding my throbbing red cheek, and Shelia beginning to cry.
I slept in Shelia’s room that night, for obvious reasons. I held her and rocked her to sleep as I had done many times before. It was finally morning and I set my sleeping sister down on the bed, still in the same sweat shirt I had had on since yesterday morning. I closed Shelia’s door gently behind me, then glanced at my mom’s. Still the same, unopened. I decided to try and cheer her up, and make her some breakfast, since she hadn’t had anything from the time of the disaster lunch to now. I peeked in to announce a half- hearted cheery greeting, but then froze.
My mother lay on her bed, one arm hanging off her bed, the other tucked in an almost relaxed position behind her head. Her eyes were closed and she smiled, giving her a peaceful and happy look. Only one thing ruined the relaxed and happy picture of her. Her face was a pasty white. From each thin wrist came a stream of bright red blood. One stream of the liquid ran down her cheek; a small waterfall of red. Small droplets of burgundy emanated from her other wrist and pooled on the floor, a small flood of the deathly substance covering a portion of the carpet.
Shelia let out a loud scream from behind me and I slammed the door, trying to shut out what happened. With a sobbing eight-year-old clinging to my legs, I numbly walked over to the phone and dialed 9-1-1.
I cradled Shelia in my arms, holding her tight to my chest. We were both crying, though mine were not quite as loud. A police officer came out of Mom’s room. He offered a small smile to me, then Shelia, which neither of us accepted. “Your mother…” He cleared his throat, and I could tell that he wanted to talk about this just as much as us from the tone of his voice. “Was she suffering from depression?”
I opened my mouth to answer, but found that my voice had so cruelly left me, only letting choked sobs emerge from the back of my throat. I bit my lip and tried again, forcing a small and almost squeaking noise out. “My dad died. We got a letter yesterday, from the army.” I looked over at the kitchen floor, then found it not there and took in a deep breath, trying to make my voice less hoarse. “She must’ve took it.”
He nodded, then furrowed his brow, shifting uncomfortably from one foot from the other. “We were wondering about her. She not only had slit wrists, but large bruises on her neck-” Shelia let out a loud scream and covered her hands over her ears. I looked down at her, and hugged her even closer to myself, inwardly thanking her. I didn’t want to hear about it anymore than her. The police officer looked relieved also, then nodded to both of us and started back towards the room where they were now carrying a large black bag out of.
“Rosie!” I turned only my head around, then stood up, still clinging to Shelia. Perhaps if I hadn’t just become an orphan, I would’ve smiled. But my face had become almost chiseled out of stone, leaving it forever in the deadened look I had worn for two days now.
“Hello, Aaron.” I said, fighting to keep my voice steady. Shelia squirmed to the floor, then ran over and hugged his legs tightly. I told myself that I was stone, I wouldn’t start crying. But then I felt Aaron’s arms come around my shoulders, and I cried. We all stood there for a long time, not saying a word.
After what seemed like hours, Aaron pulled himself away from me gently, then motioned down to Shelia who was now asleep but still clinging to one of his legs loosely. “You going to raise her?”
I nodded, then sighed. “I don’t know how I will, though. The house hasn’t been paid for, and I’m nineteen and unemployed.” I shrugged, trying to not be mad at my mom for just leaving her two children alone in the world.
Aaron attempted a small smile, and placed his hand lightly under my chin. I would usually pull away and smack him on the head, but human touch is what I then longed for the most. “You can stay with me, Rosie. My apartment has a bedroom that you and Shelia could use-” I was about to ask where he’d sleep then, but he cut in, -“and a couch that I could sleep on.” He grinned brightly. “You can stay as long as you like.”
I hugged him and rested my head on his shoulder, shutting my weary eyes as I choked out a hoarse whisper. “Thank you, Aaron.”
Minutes flew into hours, hours to days, and before I knew it, Shelia and I had been living in Aaron’s apartment for six months. Six months since I’d seen my mother. Six months since she or my father had been alive. Shelia began to smile again, one day when Aaron bought her a small rabbit. Every day seemed the same: I would wake up, send Shelia off to school, and then go to work when Aaron did. I suppose it wasn’t an exciting life, but it kept us all busy, which is mainly what we wanted.
I made my way up the two flights of stairs to the apartment that had for half a year been my home. I opened the door to find Shelia and Aaron both stretched out on the ground, playing monopoly. I grinned, and walked over to the pantry, picking out the ingredients for our dinner.
Dinner was quiet, as usual. Though we had, for the most part, gotten over them, no one was quite happy enough yet to sit and chat happily. For half an hour we sat and ate in silence, until I noticed Shelia’s head drooping. I’d worked late tonight, and thus made supper late, so I sent Shelia to bed and began clearing the table. When I was done, I sat down at the table, resting my chin on my cupped palms.
“What’re you thinking about?” Aaron’s head poked out of no where and into my line of vision and I stifled a small giggle.
“Nothing much.” I sat up straighter in my chair, removing my elbows from the table. “You still don’t mind us staying here?”
“’Course not.” Ha said, grinning and leaned forward. “I’ve never had a cook before.” He laughed, touching his hand lightly on mine. I frowned and jerked away curtly, and he sighed, leaning back in his seat. “Still too young to date, hm?” He raised a brow, as if skeptical of my late father’s words.
I glowered at him for a moment, not quite caring about the bite in my voice. “Aaron, I told you, I don’t like you like that. You’re my friend.”
“Ah, yes, and besides that is the fact that your parents didn’t approve of me.” He sighed, lowering his gaze to the table, then glanced up at me again, his voice soft. “You know, Rosie, they’re..” He shrugged obviously uncomfortable. “You know that they’re-”
“I know they’re dead!” I snapped; my look obviously not half as soft as his. “But just because they’re dead doesn’t mean I’m going to pretend they never lived.”
Aaron sighed as I stood with one last glare, then stalked into my room and curled up onto the bed beside my slumbering sister.
Definite *karma* for that. Absolutely amazing job.
Really? I think I might do that. =D Thank you, Spirit! ^.^