Short Story 1

this is something i wrote a really long time ago, but i recently revisited and changed a little bit. i hope you like it.

You know that feeling you get when you wake up and roll over and reach for them, only to find the bed empty and cold? You just have to roll over, onto the floor, and for one terrifying minutes, you can’t remember how to breathe. You realize that there isn’t a reason to have woken up, they were your reason.

He was mine.

All of this repeated over and over in my mind for a few minutes till I gained enough strength to stand. I stood, but didn’t move. I swayed for a minute then turned, crawling back under the covers. I curled my legs up to my chest, wrapped my entire body around a pillow and bit into it. I dared myself not to cry but when had my emotions ever listened to me before? One shuddering, agonized sob escaped from my lips as the first tear made a trail down my cheek and soaked into the pillow. Many more would follow.

Biting into the pillow didn’t help. My sobs echoed through the whole house. Images, like movie clips, flashed through my mind. A dusty old book shop on the 4^th of July. A bouquet of daisies. Going swimming. Playing bingo at the retirement home.

Another reality hit me like a brick wall. Those days were over. But what now? How can I possibly be expected to totally reorganize my life without any warning?

Blink. Blood. Blink. Broken glass. Blink. Sirens.

I squeezed my eyes shut and willed it to stop

Blink, twisted metal.

I screamed and threw the pillow across the room. Standing up, I ran into the kitchen, and tripping over the unfinished carpet in the hallway, I landed on the cold tile with a thud and didn’t get up. I screamed again, sitting up and curling into a ball, my face buried in my knees, my fingers yanking at my hair. My scream turned into a sob.

“WHY!!!!???” it was a scream but halfway through the word my voice gave out in a shuddering moan. I let my head hang back and cried.

The sadness slowly boiled into an anger, a hate, one I’d never experienced before in my life. I opened my eyes and saw the ceiling. A realization hit me.

“You took him from me.” it was God’s fault. “The lord giveth, the lord taketh away.” A hate overflowed from my very inner soul. I stood but a sudden helplessness filled me. I collapsed to my knees and looked at my arm.

Like a blubbering idiot I started to rip off the bandages. “Take me instead.” It started as an almost silent plea, through gasps of air. Then grew louder and louder till I was almost hoarse. “Give him back and take me!” I was ripping at my medical tape and the gauze. “I don’t even want to be here! Let me go! Let him stay! You’re god! You’re all powerful! I know you can do it! SO DO IT!!!! Take me! Kill me! PLEASE! Please!!!! Please!” I repeated the word over and over till I was lying on the floor, passed out, surrounded by bloody gauze.

Loretta rang the doorbell, a tissue in one hand, a casserole in the other. She was here to visit her daughter-in-law. She'd barely been able to get out of bed herself, her sons death had been such a surprise. He'd been her only child, now she was a motherless woman. She felt empty, like her only meaning in life was gone. All of her men were dead now. She'd never really liked her daughter-in-law, but she remembered the day after her Wesley had died, she'd been a completely mess. At least he'd died in war and she'd been somewhat prepared for it to happen, her more daughter-in-law had been blind sided, quite literally and he'd been taken from her.

She rang the doorbell again. Melanie was probably lying in bed, crying, not wanting to move. But Loretta had to see her. She had to tell her about her Wesley dying, she couldn't stand the thought of her sons true love having to go through what she'd gone through without any help.

She rang the doorbell a third time but realized there was a horrible feeling in the pit of her stomach. She reached down and tried the handle, the door was unlocked. She stuck her head inside and looked around, there were pillows everywhere.

“Melanie?” she shouted into the house letting herself in and shutting the door behind her. She began to make her way back to the bedroom, but when she set down the casserole on the coffee table the phone rang.

“Hello?” she asked, feeling awkward about answering her sons phone.

“Mrs. Taylor? Wife of Robert Taylor?” the man on the other line asked.

“this is his mother.” she answered.

“oh, well hello ma'am. I'm calling with good news. Your son is alive. The doctors were able to revive him, they didn't call last night because they didn't expect him to make it, but he did, he's doing okay. Can you and Mrs. Taylor come to the hospital?”

but Loretta had noticed something. There was blood on the kitchen floor. She looked at it, confused. She took a step to the side and saw a pale, white foot in the sea of red.

“can you please send an ambulance to this address?” she asked the man on the phone.

“what wrong?” he asked her.

“i think my daughter-in-law has tried to kill herself.” she answered and set the phone down.

She jogged around the corner and into the kitchen to find Melanie lying on her side in the middle of the kitchen floor surrounded by blood, her red hair soaked in deeper red, her bright green eyes staring blankly, empty, at the outside of the cabinet. Her pale irish skin was even paler, completely empty of colour.

Loretta fell weak, her hand went over her mouth and her eyes grew wide.

The only thing that would take the picture of Melanie's corpse was the picture of her son, alive, barely.

She and the doctors agreed to tell him that Melanie had died in the accident, he didn't need to know about her sacrifice.