Unbreakable by Canis Pratt. November submission

Hooves pounding the ground, the smell of wet, moldy pasture. A rod of steel in my mouth, sudden lashing of pain across my backside. I thrash, swinging my head and shoulders around trying to break free, but I am tied. I try to escape, but the pain gets worse the more I struggle. Exhausted and gasping for breath I have to stop. I can't move as I feel hands on me. “You’re a good girl” I hear him say. My stomach is churning as I wake up suddenly.

Not morning sickness, even though this happens a lot when I wake up like this. No, I can't have kids, and I am old enough now I don't think I want to. My name is Kathleen, but many call me Kat. I am a social worker with CPS, and I hope to continue to do this good work for as long as I live. I consider every child my child in a way, I don't need any of my own, I have my hands full as it is. So much wrong in the world, I am doing my part to make it right.

Early to rise for my 45 minute commute. Feed the cats, peek out at the horses, feed myself. Why do I eat so much disgusting garbage? Oh because it tastes good, and I don't have time for something better, and I'm already fat, so what does it matter? My boyfriend isn't here this morning, so I don't have to do anything more anyway. Which jacket with this blouse? Hair, makeup, nails perfect. I'm gonna go out and get this day!

Sometimes the drive in the morning is really hard. I come up with my best ideas for the non-profit when I am alone driving. But then sometimes I am so tired and I think of just going to sleep and driving off the road. Somehow the thrill of that always wakes me up and I am ok again... I wonder why he didn't call last night? Maybe he was with someone else. That's ok, he wants to keep it any open relationship for now. He has kids, he doesn't want to commit too quickly. It's liberating, actually. Soon he will call, I am sure. Ug, I think I need a tums...

Delving in at work, I have a million emails as usual. Somewhere in the last decade I have become the go-to gal for all things procedural, and many things political in the office. It is perfect for me, I love my job. It fills in the time between client meetings, I don't like down time. Fill my day up from dawn to the middle of the night!

Ring Ring * My cell phone, it's Jeremy! “Good Morning!”
“Hey hey hey Pussy Kat. How are you this morning?”
“Good, Just tired”
“What were you up to last night that made y0ou so tired?”
“Oh no, nothing. Just working on the website, couldn't sleep as usual. Glad it's Friday though. Will I see you tonight?”
Pause for three beats, I realize I am hungry again “That depends. Do you have other plans?”
“No no, just hoping to see you. I miss you.”
“What do you mean?” He asks, sounding annoyed. “We just went out to dinner two nights ago! I have other obligations, princess”
“Oh honey, I just can't seem to get enough of you though! Please say you will come over?”
“That's for me to know, and you to find out. Maybe I'm going crazy if you can't hear what I'm trying to say. We're not on the same page. Make my favorite and we'll see. I gotta go”.

No 'I love you's yet. He's not ready. That's ok, you can't force love. Like they say, a bird in a cage is worth two in the bush. I get up for another cup of coffee to go with my creamer and back to the grind stone.

My day whisks by. One boy appears malnourished. The parents are poor, but they have state insurance and have been to the doctor regularly. He also has some indications of ADD, but so far the doctors haven't diagnosed it. This may be a case of over reporting. I'll flag it for follow up... A new case of drug addicted parents. At least one of them is seeking treatment. When did heroin come to town? I've lived in the area all my life, and even with the crowd I ran with after high school I never heard of heroin. Now they have the methadone clinics, not sure if that's working, or just dragging the problem out. Proceed to request court ordered follow up and testing... What's this???! I need to check this out. One of our foster families is accused of allowing their biological child to molest our placement!! What's the story here...

“It is reported that on a trip to the riverside park a friend of the family was in the back seat with [the foster child] and the oldest son, aged 15, when he teased [the foster child] that she would fly out of the car if he didn't 'hold onto' her while going around the corner. He reportedly said “You wanna hug me? The way you grab me, must wanna get nasty” and tickled her in an inappropriate way. The father reportedly laughed and seemed to approve (per observer) from the front seat. This is in addition to some physical signs that have been observed by biological parents during supervised visitations...”

I always take biological parent observations with a grain of salt, I remember how my mom would make excuses for my bruises or behavior. I can remember now how creative she was. These people just don't want to be in trouble. They want their kids back so they can do what they want with them, and so they can tell people it was all just a big misunderstanding so they won't be embarrassed anymore. Not every parent is like that, but too many, way too many are. And sometimes the foster families are no better. Initiate investigation, and bring down hell... I'm shaking a bit, must be lunch time. Not sure I have an appetite, or if I'm starving. I'll grab things at the store for dinner and get a little Caesars to bring back. Maybe this time some of it will make it back to the office hahaha.

Getting home, I haven't heard from Jeremy yet. But the horses are happy to see me. I get the oven going, and go out and brush the horses and give them some grain. The smell of soft earth seems comforting now. It has been a couple weeks since I have ridden, seems like whenever I am seeing someone this happens. I will go riding this weekend. Maybe. They like being free too, so it's ok either way.

Work on the website for an hour or so, still no call. Dinner is nearly ready. Turn the oven down to keep it warm. Glass of wine. TV on the couch. Falling asleep, snugly blanket...

What do they make dreams for?
Baby can you breath?
Cuz now you're winning, here's your beginning.
No...
What do we need steam for
When you got them jeans on
you the hottest bitch in this place

I always wanted a good girl
Please....
you know you want it
panic starting...
Can't let it get past me
Must wanna get nasty
Go ahead, get at me
Do it like it hurt, like it hurt
It hurts!
What you don't like work?
even when you dress casual
I mean it's unbearable
Let me liberate you
Jeremy!
Yeah I had a bitch
but she aint as bad as you
I hate these blurred lines
You know you want it
I know you want it
I hate them lines
you're a good girl...
I'll give you something big enough to tear your ass in two

NO NO NO NO NO!!!!

Cold panic wakes me up again. 1 a.m. And Jeremy is standing over me. I rush into his arms needing reassurance. It happened three decades ago, but sometimes the memories are really vivid like this, and I can't wait for them to fade away when I am awake again. I need Him to make them go away. I work every day to stop these dreams from ever happening to anyone else. I can't have children, but they are all my children.








Written by Canis Pratt 11-27-13
Inspired by Project Unbreakable.
http://projectunbreakable.tumblr.com/
http://www.buzzfeed.com/regajha/27-survivors-of-sexual-assault-quoting-the-people-who-attack

….And “blurred lines” by robin thicke

Moonlight: November's Writing Challenge by West Christy (Non-competing submission)

Moonlight. Beams reflecting down to earth. And to reveal what to me? More of the concrete pathways created by predecessors. Ones most likely void of mortal breath now. Ones most likely gone to the wind, the earth and the stars.
But what I did not expect the moonlight to reveal was her. This thing, this creature of such beauty she could not be of anything but ethereal form. There was no way that such a creation was not wrought from God's own hand. Eyes of light sapphire, hair of spun sunlight. Even in this place of reflections she cast her own light. This was not a mere borrowing of essence. This was her own.

"Hello." Her greeting was so full of steel, as if it were meant for me. As if we weren't strangers passing in the night.

"Hello." I returned. The coquettish smile flashed and I returned it. I felt suddenly enamored, attached. Addicted. This woman had hypnotized me. My hand in hers was so perfect, as if it were meant for hers and hers alone. And I fell.

The night began to swirl around me. I was lost in her eyes and on the road. I drove and drove and track after track on the radio fell into the darkness much like our first touch did.  Every touch of hers sent me further into that utter bliss. And finally when our lips met, fire erupted through my veins. We exploded into our own light that moment. Nothing shone brighter than we did. Nothing out in that world of creatures, a world man had barely touched. Our final destination that night I imagined, not watching the stars directly, but reflected in her eyes.

"The sun rises soon." The truth was hardly worth noting.

"Let it rise. Let it set. We will always have this night. It will never end for us." I proclaimed. Those words parted us as she moved away from me. Even in leaving she was perfect. A goddess of a creature that I was wrong about before. No God could fathom this, could imagine this much beauty.

"It is not so simple." Tears hung like dew drops in her eyes as she returned to my gaze. Alarmed, I shot to her side, to hold her. To bring her close to me. I feared I'd lose her, just then. To something greater than us.

"What is it my darling? My love?"

"I belong to the night. I belong to world of frights, of spooks. Of goblins and creatures beyond your mind to manage." This set my curiosity going! What does she say? Such crazy things to drive me away?

"Then I will follow you into this realm. This world of frights and spooks!"

"No! You mustn't say such things! My beautiful beautiful Byron. You must promise me you'll stay here! You'll let this night end, and bleed into day! That you'll return to the city! Promise me!"

I pulled her into my bosom and kissed her deeper than before. Deeper than I imagined. My breath caught not on the warmth of her but the cold. The cold musty deep of the grave in her lungs. I did not let my surprise betray me. I pulled from her slowly to promise something I wasn't sure I'd be able to keep.

"I promise my love, my Lindsey" The steps she bore were the worst I'd seen anyone take. They were the final steps away from me. "But in my heart, this night will not end."

"Nor in mine, my love." And with the first sunbeam of the morning, she bore away. She faded as night had faded. My heart raced faster than it had in our first embraced. It threatened to leap from me as the last of her faded from my vision. I collapsed to my knees as the realization swept over me. So hard, so strong. Tears filled my eyes.

"My darling Lindsey, my dear dear dead Lindsey. I will not let this night end. You are my love, my life." I cried out. "Never, will I forget!"

I returned to town as fast as I could, knowing that the moon would never again reveal what it had revealed that night. And a part of me was glad of that.

"I Don't Want This Night To End"- Luke Bryan.

Challenge 2: Courtney Scott

She laid in a pool of her own blood.
She pulled me in close, to whisper her dying words...
"This bullet was meant for you"

Challenge 1: Michal Christy

We looked up with unfathomable fear. His many golden eye stared down at us. In a breath, we were unmade.

*Shuffle* Michal Christy's submission to the September/October challenge.

My brother has always been an inspiration to me for my writing. He's always been a good idea man and I'm glad to see he's finally writing. This is his submission for this month. He is the first to pick October's challenge to do. He has two days to run uncontested.

*SHUFFLE*

       Tina came home in a huff, shucking off the heavy coat that absorbed more than its share of the heavy drizzle, falling heavily outside. Her day had been horrible. Beyond the general unpleasantness of her job. Her car felt it a good idea to let the air out of both back tires. Rendering her spare and her father's insistence she learn how to change a tire useless. As if that cake did not have enough icing, her crappy phone reared its sub par head with a dead battery.

        At least she was home now, she begrudgingly thought as she removed her sodden shoes. Rubbing her aching feet was the best feeling she had all day. With regret she stopped and stripped out of the clinging damp clothes and tossed them straight into the dryer. The rain could at least serve the purpose of a washing machine if nothing else. Chuckling at her own lazy wit she plugged her phone in to the kitchen wall and stared at the glass reflections cast in her windows. Deciding she did not want to be there if her neighbors happened to look in, she went upstairs for a much needed shower. As she climbed the stairs slowly and with more than a few superfluous grunts she held out a bit of false hope that the water would be hot enough to sooth the day from her memory.

       The shower worked nearly as well as she had hoped. It had rarely felt so good to slip in to warm comfortable pajamas. Flopping on the bed, among laundry and rumpled blankets Tina felt as if she could finally relax. She knew she should get to sleep early, she would have to walk to work after all.

       But the allure of her current novel was to much for her to resist. Throwing the sensibility of sleep out the window she shut off her overhead light, and curled under the cool sheets and turned on the bedside lamp before opening her novel and diving in.

*scruffle*

*SHUFFLE*

       The sound woke her slowly as she brought her head up from between her now light-less pages. Confused she fumbled and dropped the book beside the bed. The thud was reassuring, she did not know why, but a wave of fear had enveloped her. She had never been afraid of the dark even as a child. Thinking on this she realized her cause for confusion and the twinge of fear. She had fallen asleep with the light on, but now it was now darker than she had ever seen it. A dull green glow came from the corner of the room, barely seen with her adjusting eyes. She should have been able to see the numbers on her clock. Her breathing quickened as she realized just why should could not see the numbers. Something was between her and the clock. With a pant she lunged for her lamp desperate to see the obstruction. Quicker than her the silhouetted shadow moved.


"This place really that cheap? Man John I am jealous."

 "Ha, don't be" John said quickly surveying the empty apartment living room. "It was only so cheap because someone was killed here." John tried hard to keep the interest out of his voice and fill the void with mock remorse.

"Really? That doesn't both you? I would be so scared." John's friend Bill scrunch himself up in over-exaggerated terror. And failed to hold the pose as they both burst out laughing. "So how did they die?"

"No one really knows." John proudly displayed his perfect teeth in a grin of morbid pleasure. "Hard to determine cause of death when they only find your legs."

"The legs? How does that happen?"

"No clue, owner told me it looked like a shark had ripped the poor girl in half."

"Damn" Bill said shaking his head "I thought monster hid in closets, but sharks? Count me out"

 ---

       Cleaning up after Bill and his housewarming was not that hard. Few beer bottles and empty pizza boxes now filled his small garbage can. With a sigh and a few glances around his new apartment, John climbed the stairs with a self satisfied grin. Finally, he had an apartment that was just his, no roommates, no pets. All his. His room was not much. Just a mattress on the floor. He plopped face down on the bare mattress. Listing the things he would need to get tomorrow quickly lulled him into sleep. He did not notice the growing shadow in the corner.


*shuffle*

"23 days this past year. Since Last November" By James A. Long. Submission for September/October challenge

September's didn't see a single submission so it was extended into October (along with a special Halloween challenge). This is James A. Long's submission to the "23 Days in the last year, since last November" challenge.

“23 days in the last year, since last November”


It’s never been such a cool day since I’ve last anticipated the calm and cool that’s never selective, the discomfort of it so unsettling that my nerves have forgotten to quake, now left to lie in slumber. Only on these days do I daze so unbecoming, too placid to inhale without quell of sensible exhale. In her eyes I could see the endless wonder I always wanted to ponder without portending a set future. In her eyes, I saw a future ever so boundless. And yet, for days on a counter like sand in the hourglass, fire put its rage on display for me to try and temper. She is mine, though she may not be mine. I tenderly cry at the wander of my thoughts, as to why I yearn with such fraught to carry her as an anchor.

        But upon recollection it was unto a breach of cold water… That had my heart aflame. Decidedly, it was defiance of her way that drew her to my mind so often I could nary resist a persistent smile and stare. Yet I could never put a pulse to her desire, only hope. Indeed, impulse had me less wary of her disposition, and you can, usually, always sense the temperament of such a woman. I discipline my constraining thoughts to better heed her reluctance, only to vie even more for an affection met in each glance.

       It matters little, it seems, the deep turn of definition of love we’d enhanced by our stars aligning. Without a lie, we redeemed our reward of either’s presence, and with only a kiss, sealed our fates as if it were a fortnight of thought despite the whine of time so occluded by time turning against us by days past, or yet to come, alike.

       But with only 23 days in the last year hers and mine, since the cold meeting of our hearts last November, I could never meet my own eyes in hers and concede to the horror of us having nothing left. Lest she be mine forever with less to give, than lost to me with my heart to take, break.

A Kept Promise by West Christy (Non-competing for 23 days challenge)

"How long ago was it Milton?" Carl stared across the deep walnut table at his best friend of almost 70 years. "How long ago did we write this up?"
    Carl held the letter gently in his fist. The crumpled yellow paper had become thin like an old Autumn leaf as he had unfolded it and read it many times. Especially in this last year. Milton only grunted, his flabby chin against his chest. His aged-dull eyes stared out from under thick eyelids and even thicker eyebrows.

    "Guess that's not important." Carl shifted uncomfortably in his seat across from Milton. "Milton..." Carl sighed. Milton's mouth hung open as he took ragged breaths. Carl always thought the oxygen tube in his nose should have helped his smoke ravaged lungs but it didn't seem to. Milton had been wheezing and coughing for 35 years now. It was one of many things going in Milton that brought Carl here today.
    "I don't want to do it friend." So many memories stood fresh in his mind as he laid the letter down on the table between them. Meeting in the war. Carl and Milton were in the same company. Each one of them watched as their team was torn apart. By wars fought abroad and at home. Carl watched as a young private dissolved to tears as he found out his mother had died while he was gone. Milton performed surgery on a man who tried to take his own life after receiving a Dear John letter from his less than lovely girl back home. It was these events that brought Milton and Carl closer together. Their hardships were few. They had both left nothing at home. Nothing when they came to their stations.  The only hell was before them. It was nothing compared to the hell they endured in aging. A hell that brought Carl here today.
"23 days this past year...since last November. If I remember correctly." Carl licked his old wrinkled lips. He reached into his tattered brown windbreaker and rested his hand there. "23 times I've come here Milton. And..." The tears stood at his eyes now. It was starting to become more real now. "You don't remember do you?"

Milton licked his lips now. 

"Do you remember how we got to this stupid promise?" Carl tapped the paper. A tear fell down his cheek. God, when was the last time he really cried? He had to think about it. The 60's? The 70's? No, it was 1986. The day Milton's oldest daughter died. The cancer got her. That night Milton had called Carl in tears. All Carl heard was the hello before he was pulling his savings from under his pillow to fly across the country where Milton lived. Pulling his friend into an embrace at the hospital made him cement an idea he had been playing around with in his mind. Carl made the move later that year. And he and Milton had hardly been separated since.

"Why...don't...you tell me?" Milton wheezed, his chin still pressed to his chest, mouth open to gasp in as much of that sweet air as his lungs allowed. The sight of him. The very sight of him made Carl hurt. Over the years he watched as Milton slowly fell apart, slowly crumbled like the great Colossus. His strong friend fall to an enemy no strength in the world could destroy. Age. He watched as Milton could no longer walk. He watched as he could no longer hold his grand-kids, his great grand-kids. He watched as Milton could no longer go to the bathroom by himself. Each time something new came up Carl wanted to cry. Wanted to scream. Every obstacle in the world they had fought together and won. But not this one. No this was impossible. It got to the point Carl could no longer watch his friend wither away and he started to make himself scarce. It was rare that Carl wasn't there but he wasn't so sure Milton noticed. There were no calls, no letters. No emails (blasted things) from Milton's wife Caroline. Carl began to feel guilty about November when Milton was given an expiration date. Like a gallon of milk. That's when Carl began to see Milton twice a month. This was the first in October. The last. Milton had began forgetting the visits.
    "The promise. I remember visiting you there in Brewster, up there in Washington. What was it? 1956?" Carl didn't know why he was asking. He'd only been thinking it when he found out Milton's mind was going. "And we were going down to drug store to get a coke. Hot somnabitch that day too. Damn..." He wiped his brow as if he were sweating at the memory. Truth be told it was colder than a witches tit in there. Milton always liked it cool.  "And we watched old lady Gebber being pushed down the road by her grandson. Remember that Milton?" Milton just kept staring at him.
    "Anyway. She began yelling at him. Screaming not to take her. He was kidnapping her she said. Everyone stared and the grandson looked horrified." The image stood with him as clear as day. The look of Gebber (the name escaped him) and the look of pain on his face. It wasn't the fact she was causing a scene. It wasn't that half the town had turned up out of the wood work just to see Old Lady Gebber lose her cool. It was that grandma didn't remember him that wounded him the most. "We watched at how much that boy was sick at the thought of his poor Grandma not remembering him. It was more than that. We didn't want to put anyone through that. So that night...that night drunk on cheap whiskey we vowed that we couldn't go through that. We promised each other that if our memories began to slip. If we were ever at risk of hurting the ones we loved by forgetting..."
With that, Carl wrapped his hand around the thing in his windbreaker. He slid it out and set it on the table between them. It was Milton's old service pistol. Carl had acquired it from him a long time ago and kept it clean and in working condition. Just for this. Just for the promise. Carl didn't bother finishing his sentence. He let the revolver speak. Milton did not look surprised. He only stared forward at his friend. The look in his eyes was one of compassion. Of love. Carl could read his best friend like a book. This was a lot harder than Carl had thought.
"I...remember." Milton grunted. He took a deep breath and coughed. He was able to raise one feeble hand to his mouth and spat wetly into a cloth. Carl knew there was blood in it. He didn't need to see it to know Milton was dying. "What...do you remember...Carl?"
"Milton. I can't...I can't stand to see you like this."

"It's been...more than...23 days."

"What?"

Milton grunted and closed his eyes.

"Caroline..."
Carl looked up towards the door to see if she was there and sure enough, there she stood. Caroline in all her timeless beauty. Her grey locks on her shoulders. He smiled at her the same as he always did. With respect and love. She was like a sister to him and he like a brother to her. They even fought sometimes. Over stupid stuff. What the color of her shoes were. What band sang a certain song (she was right most the time). Even so much as what's in a Cosmopolitan back in the day when closing the bar down was often in the cards.
"Has Milton told you about the promise Caroline?" He felt he should explain the pistol sitting between them.

"Many times Carl. In fact, every day. For the past year you've told me about the promise." Caroline rested her hand on her husband's fat shoulder. Carl narrowed his eyes at the both of them.
"What are you talking about?"

"Your...mind..." Milton started to cough in deep meaty whoops. Carl thought that sounded really bad and he began to get the pit of fear in his stomach.
"You really don't remember?" Carol moved and sat at a chair beside Milton's wheelchair. Her hand was in reach of the pistol. Carl thought about moving it before his eyes met Carol's. The fear shifted in his stomach. What was the meaning of this?

"Remember what?" Carl felt tears leaking out his eyes again.
"Read the letter Carl."
Carl looked down at the letter. The promise that he and Milton had made so many years ago. But that's not what it was at all.

Carl,
This is you. I mean me. A letter to yourself. You used to write those a lot. Remember that buddy? You might not. You're not remembering a lot these days doc. And that means one thing. The Promise. You will be scared. And you will try to talk them out of it. In fact you have many times. But this should be the last letter you read. Because you are hurting them.

The exact thing you two created the promise for. Truth be told Milton is going too. But Caroline and him have made a promise too. And that just leaves you man. You could do it yourself but it scares you more than you know. That and for some reason it seems pathetic. You've done a pretty good job not being pathetic, despite being a perpetual bachelor for eons right?

These two love you a lot doc. Let them send you off the way you want to go. The way you and Milton promised so many years ago. The single gunshot. The way your war buddies went off into the wild blue yonder. And Milton will be taken care of. Caroline is after all...what was it Milton called her...'The male version of you'. Love you Buddy.

Carl looked up from the letter to Caroline and Milton with tears in their eyes.
"How many times have I read this letter."
"23 times. You don't read it everyday." Caroline dabbed her eyes with a handkerchief.
"And why haven't you guys kept your promise."

"You're...damn charming." Milton smirked this time. Carl laughed out loud at that. Milton had always tried to make him feel more confident with hyperbole. It worked this time.
"I'm going to miss you guys."
"We'll...see you...again...friend."
"We'll miss you until then though." Caroline slid the pistol to her and slowly made sure it was loaded.
"I love you guys. I hope I haven't hurt you."
"No. You could never do that Carl. We're sorry."

Carl closed his eyes. Maybe he could just do this again tomorrow. If he forgot maybe he could forget he asked for this.

No. He couldn't do that. He couldn't keep doing that to them. He smiled.
"I'm ready."

He barely heard the gunshot. A mere echo rather than the actual noise. That was fine, because in that moment Carl saw his whole life flash in front of his eyes. But oddly enough it started with Milton. The war. The friends they lost. The friends they gained. Carl's first car. Milton's first drink. Carl's college degree. Milton's kids. Carl's failed marriage. Losing Debbie to cancer. When Milton's first grandchild Deborah was born. Milton and Caroline's joy that was never any different when they found out they were having another grand-baby. All of it. He smiled. And felt himself fall asleep. Fall into death. This was going to be peaceful.

"24 days this past year...since last November." Milton watched Carl lick his old wrinkled lips again. And Milton realized again for the 365th time since November, that he'd rather repeat this moment over and over again with Carl, than lose him because his mind started to go. They always did everything together. And he wasn't going to give this beast of Age the satisfaction of knowing it beat them prematurely. He would do whatever it took. Even if that meant making him think this was his first time being here. Carl had forgotten something else that they had promised each other. That they would take care of each other. No matter what. Milton would always keep that promise.


"Why...don't...you tell me?"

The Recurrent Apparition by Courtney Scott (September/October submission)

September's didn't see a single submission so it was extended into October (along with a special Halloween challenge). This is Courtney's submission for the challenge: A story containing the sentence "23 times in the past year...since last November"


23 times in the past year...since last November.
That's how many times I've seen her.
It's always during the day when the sun is shining just right through my windows. She's pretty. But the plain kind of pretty.
She's always in a different part of the house when she appears.
Sitting quietly on the window seat, lost in a book.
In the kitchen, preparing some sort of meal.
Walking into the bedroom talking on her phone.
She seems happy.
I've tried to talk to her, but she can't hear me. Sometimes I swear she's looking right at me, but I know deep down she can't see me. We both reside in this house, unaware of each others existence. I don't want to tell her to leave, this is her home too.
It's always a welcome site when she appears. It's nice to know, one way or another you're not really alone. I've lost all my friends, my family. It's just me now. But knowing I get to see her from time to time, keeps my spirits up. It gets lonely in this place.
So I'll stay quiet. ….Living in peace with this person. If you can call it living.
I'm dead. I know I am. I remember the day well, one second I was driving in the rain, I lost control, there was screeching tires, and breaking glass. Then I was back here. I watched my loved ones pack up my things. I heard the sound of the “For Sale” sign being placed in my yard. And then I was alone. Until...her.

For some reason I'm stuck in this plane of existence. But seeing glimpses of the living, seeing the girl who now lives in my house, is somewhat comforting. Maybe someday I'll be able to move on, until then, I'll keep count of the times I catch glimpses into the world I used to live in. I'll sit here and wait for number 24.

"The Sound Outside Two Windows" by Bryn Ray

In the soft, muted stage, between awake and asleep, Shelby moved in her bed, twisting the sheets around her legs. 

"There is that sound again, I don't want to hear this, I'm scared!" Dad always says, " Don't worry so much kiddo, I will take care of everything, " 
Shelby moans, "Dad, don't, come back!" 
Again Dad tells her, "You worry too much kiddo, it's just a sound outside." 

But he never came back! 

Suddenly Shelby sits up in bed, her heart pounding in her chest. That sound, just like that night so many years ago, I hear it now! Shelby turns on the light, looking around the room, the sound soft in her ears. It can't be happening, not here, not now! She turns and looks around her room, the solid walls around her. 



There are no windows in a spacecraft!

"The Sound Outside Two Windows" by Chrissie Green

Chrissie is our third submission. You can read her blog over at Fill The Space With Words. She hasn't written there in awhile but I figure it's only a matter of time til she's back.

My name is Joe, I don't have a home. This neighborhood is my home. It's trees, it's houses, it's people, all of them. They are my home. I know everyone, well mostly everyone. They know me. They say hi to me as I walk by. Everyday I walk by, I walk through my neighborhood, my home. I make sure that everything is OK, everyone is safe, everyone is taken care of. I have a few favorites, like the little family at the corner house, I've sat and watched them all day before, the man and woman that live there, are always so nice to me, they have a little blonde girl who runs around the yard. She always smiles at me, she waves and squeals “Hi Joe!” every time I walk by. I also really like the small, brown hair woman who lives by herself, she always makes me snacks and talks to me for hours. She lives across the street from tall,lanky man's house though. I don't like him, I usually cross the street to avoid his house, that is how I met brown haired woman.
Today is no different than any other day. I was walking the neighborhood as usual, when I heard a sound. A strange thumping noise that caught my attention. It stopped me in my tracks, making me listen to it, making my mind take over my body as I slowly crept towards it. Before I knew what I was doing, I had wandered into someone's backyard, completely entranced by this noise. When the noise suddenly stopped I was instantly aware of my surroundings. I had walked into the tall lanky man's backyard, right into the middle of it. Looking around his yard, I noticed Its not a very big yard, but that's because he has a huge tool shed at the back of it, taking up most of the space. There is about 10 feet between the back of the house and this shed. I am standing in the middle of the yard, between two windows. A window on the back of his house, and the window on the shed. Between these two windows the thumping sound has stopped.
As I stand here waiting for it to start again, I feel myself starting to lose interest. I turn to leave the yard but am frozen again when the noise returns. It is deeply muffled, strangely familiar and definitely right below me. I lay down with my ear pressed to the ground. Thud. Thud. Thud. There is no rhythm, its erratic, but fierce.
The cracking sound of the back door of the house opening, snaps me to a standing position. I turn and run in the opposite direction. Quickly looking for a place to hide,the bushes next to the fence seem big enough,so I dart into them. Tall lanky man is walking out his back door. Same look as always on his face, a blank, empty one. The only expression is the slight irritation of the sun on his eyes. He always looks clean, and put together. Dark brown pants, with a white t-shirt that is always tucked into his pants. He walks out to where I was standing. In the middle of his yard, between the two windows. He can hear the sound too, he knows exactly where its coming from. He is not confused, or curious. He knows what it is and where it is coming from.
He listens to the thumping for a second, then scans around him. He's looking to see if anyone else hears it as well. His eyes pass me in the bushes, He doesn't know I am here. He looks satisfied that no one has heard it, so he steps to the side, his body now facing towards the shed. Instead of walking forward, he bends down. His knees pressing into the grass, and his hands lifting the grass, like it was a blanket. A large blanket of grass, covering a large concrete door. In the ground. He spins a combination into a metal lock attached to the door. It clicks and he slides his skinny fingers into the crack, lifting the door up and open. The smell hits me first, the smell of sweat, dirt, and urine, days worth, leaking up through the opening. It's so strong, it makes my eyes water. I have a pretty strong nose, but most smells don't bother me. This one, makes me want to run the other way.
Even though I know someone is in there, it still makes me jump a little bit when I see a bony, dirty hand slowly reach up through the opened door. Tall, lanky man is not shocked though, he knew this hand was in there. He expected it to reach up to him. To motion for help, for mercy. Tall, lanky man is not a man who cares, he is so empty, this does not concern him. With as little effort as he can possibly give, he pushes the hand back into the hole. He bends down further and I can see his lips moving. I can not hear what he is saying. His lips move slowly, but with purpose. Without being able to hear him, I can tell he means what he says. His face so still, so blank, all that moves, is his lips.
My crazy, beating, heart stops, when his face is no longer empty. He looks, startled, confused and angry all at the same time. It takes me a second to realize that his face has changed so drastically, because he is looking directly at me. Without even realizing it, I had started to crawl towards him. Wanting so desperately to hear what he is saying to the hand. I had crawled out of my bush, and within his line of sight. We stare at each other for what seems like an eternity, neither one of us breaking eye contact. I can't move, I cant breathe, I can just stare. At tall lanky man's dead brown eyes.
His eyes break first though and, his body quickly moves. He drops the door back into the ground and I can only assume that he locks it again and puts his blanket of grass back over it. I don't know though, because as soon as that door hit the ground, I was gone. I am running as fast as I can, running until I start to forget why I am running. He didn't follow me, he was too old, too slow to ever catch me. Not that even if he was fast, he would run to catch me. No one is ever concerned about what I see, or what I will do. He wasn't angry that I had been watching, he was angry that he hadn't known I was there. I can tell tall, lanky man does not like to be caught off guard. He won't come to find me, track me down, to keep me silent. He has no fear that I will talk, that I will tell anyone. He feels safe, with his dirty secret, covered with the large,concrete door and his blanket of grass. But just because I can not talk, does not mean I can not stop him.
The next day I am waiting, laying here in the bushes. He will not know I am here, because he was sleeping when I crawled into them. I have been here all night, not sleeping. Just waiting. The only thing that could give me away is my growling stomach. Brown haired lady has not been at her home in a while. So I have not gotten any snacks. I will not let it get the better of me. I will save that bony, dirty hand in the hole. I will stop tall, lanky man, I just have to wait. I am determined to do so.
I wait so long that my eyes have betrayed me, and I have fallen asleep, so I almost give myself away when tall lanky man opens the back door again and it scares me so bad, I jump in the bushes. He does not notice though. He does not look my way. He walks out to his spot again, in the middle of the yard, between the two windows. The sound is much fainter today, the bony, dirty hand must not have as much energy to make as loud of a noise. Tall lanky man must do this every day because he does exactly the same as yesterday. He scans the yard, this time staring a little more intently at where we had met eyes yesterday. Again satisfied that he is alone, he steps to the side, bends down, lifting up his blanket of grass. This time when he opens the big concrete door, the bony dirty hand does not reach up to him, there is no hand. Tall, lanky man looks victorious, like he has won, and it makes me mad. He props the door open with a big metal stick, and I seize my opportunity. I crash out of the bushes, charging, running at him as fast as I possibly can. With all my force, I knock him into the hole. His head hit the concrete wall on his way down into the hole, and he does not move again. He lays there, and I can see the blood pooling underneath his head. Now I feel victorious, I am the one who has won. He wont be able to hurt another bony, dirty hand. He wont be able to hurt this bony, dirty hand anymore, the same hand that is reaching out to me now. Wait....its reaching out to me! The hand is OK, the hand is still moving, the hand is....the hand is attached to brown haired lady! Before I know what I am doing, I am jumping into the hole, and brown haired lady is wrapping her arms around me.
“Joe...” cracks her strained voice. She knows I am here to help her. So I snap to action. I stand up and begin to push her towards the top of the hole. I push so hard that she just barely reaches the top. I keep pushing, as she is pulling her self out.
“Joe...my hero” she cracks again from the top of the hole. “I...will be right...back, Joe. I will get help.”
And she is gone. I can not see her at the top of the hole. I am alone with tall,lanky bleeding man, in the hole in his back yard. I try to jump to reach the top of the hole, but I can't. It is too far away. I feel like it has been so long since she left. Where is help? My stomach growls again, I really hope she brings a snack. I am glad bony, dirty hand is OK, that my brown haired lady is OK. She is one of my favorites, after all. Maybe after she cleans herself, she will talk to me again for hours. That is my favorite thing ever.
“Over here, please come, over here!” Brown haired lady's voice still rasping , yells. She is back, with help, and a snack...I hope. A large, bearded cop appears at the top of the hole. He surveys what is before him, obviously something he has never seen before. Brown haired lady is right behind him, she reaches down into the hole for me, but the cop pulls her back out.
“Ma'am, you have to let the ambulance check you out. You have to be severely dehydrated!” he is holding her back and she tries with what little energy she has to push away from him and reach back out to me. It is a lost battle though, as another cop, this time a woman, wraps a blanket around brown haired lady and pulls her from my view.
“Just help, Joe! I want to make sure he is OK!” brown haired lady's voice is fading as she is being taken away. I hope they help her, I really like her. Another cop hands large bearded cop a ladder and he slowly lowers it down into the hole. He climbs down and picks me up. As he climbs half way up the ladder, another cop grabs me and pulls me out of the hole the rest of the way. They take me over to where brown haired lady is being looked at by the ambulance people. She is laying in a bed with wheels, and several doctors are hovering around her.
“Is Joe, OK?” She asks, her voice getting worse every time she speaks. One of her doctors walks over to me, and looks me over. She seems satisfied that I am OK.
“He looks fine, not a scratch on him.” Brown haired lady sags in relief, and it makes me happy that she cares that I am OK. My doctor walks back over to brown haired lady, and they all lift her bed up and into the back of a big red car. She sits up a little, as I walk closer to the back of the car.
“Can Joe please come? I don't want him to be left alone!” She starts to panic, and the nice doctor tries to make her lay back down.
“Joe can come. Come on, Joe” So I listen, and I jump into the back of the big red car. I walk over to sit next to brown haired lady's bed with wheels, and she reaches over and hugs me again. She still smells really bad, but its OK because I am glad she is OK. She strokes her hand across my face, and looks at me.
“Good dog, Joe. You are such a good dog. Thank you for saving me. “ She strokes my face again and closes her eyes. The big, red car begins to make a really loud noise, as it starts to move.

~

It's been a couple of weeks since I saved brown haired lady from dead,tall, lanky man. I have a different home now. Well a home within a home. I sleep on brown haired lady's bed, and she feeds me snacks all day long. She walks with me as I walk around my neighborhood. As I visit everyone else. She tells everyone about how I am hero, and how I am such a good dog. I really like living with her. She talks to me too, all day long, while she strokes my head. On today's walk, we stopped by dead, tall, lanky man's old house. There was a large truck in the backyard, it was pouring, what brown haired lady tells me is concrete, into the hole. She called him a bastard as we watched the hole fill up. Brown haired lady still seems scared every once in a while. Which is why I am always with her. I am glad that the concrete will make sure there is never that sound outside those two windows again.

"The Sound Outside Two Windows" By James Long

James was the second submission to the challenge. 

A whisper to the window of consternation’s trance I whisper whilst incensed by unduly bedazzlement of poetic license. A celebratory exclamation to another window though seemingly this time it is of an offering display, I am just trying to be faithful to this inane triage of mind's query, to find the monument of constitution adequate enough to maintain strengths in will to fulfill the ache of yearn. However, the entrancement of policy keeps it all to an auspicious quake of quell upon quarter, with sharer and I’s quantifiable quibble making our complacency more so quixotic. Though how to see the relay of calm to audibility within the misinterpretation of one sound outside two windows somehow disavows a shared frequency. How else does the eldest per se of such a wily diverse order come to be the most deferring to the yearn, properly accented foremost of what is on display. One would consider not listening to the uproar of consideration, to such offering, as thus abodes mystique for want veers more powerfully than requisite stake. Yet the whisper so overpowered does opportune better reward, with reservations of absolution.

And to not speak of the desolation is to bring about just as much a quandary to my mind to know, affirmation as I may think it, afar due in plentiful hue art of thought too stubborn to mistake, that it’s a must to instill the uncovered truth to amass an understanding versus a continuance of ponderous possibilities. May a caster of prose suppose inspire by abounded muse of original and tawdrily unique iteration upon interpretation; that one would think to read more than once so whence understood come comprehension? So mire the prospects of inaugurals where to emanation spawns determination, if it’s grasped, through thus findings will find resolutely. Of cause for what cause for the whisper or the yell, who’s to tell. It must be of my mind’s delusions to hear one sound two ways of windows yet paired, the pains and panes though sealed still hold taunt awry to my name upon thus rarity of call. Where am I, so unkempt upon my own self’s inner inceptions; that trickery and deceit meet me in the reflection from one mirror to the other a match the same through my diamond eyes, and indeed I must be bound in inanity of oust to ablaze with tendency adherent to a disposition fraught with suppose. Are I to involve upon reach to confine another’s benign heeded loss of resplendence for my own sake wherein dependence at this moment is so new that I know naught of how to co-depend or keep to self-reliance, neither? To have heard such sound unrequited to each other’s plea though of the same call, I fear the is no keeling to my will, I must best the struggle to find the unwind of tension to better appreciate my mind to be found again, filled with apprehension.

"The Sound Outside Two Windows" by Courtney Scott

Courtney was the first to submit her story to The Writing Challenge. You can read her blog over at Ramblings of a Semi Sane Person

I sit in my room, from day to day. It's dark and lonely, sometimes scary. There's two windows in this room with me. But there is no scenery. It's a gray day outside, every day. Shadows dance. Can't tell when it's day, or when it's night. It's as though the shades are always drawn. You see, when they built my house, they forgot to put in glass panes, but instead put in shutters.

The benefit of not seeing out my windows, is my heightened sense of hearing. I can hear everything, from the lightest pin drop, to a plane flying overhead. I imagine it cutting through the clouds, if I only knew what clouds really looked like. I imagine they are wondrous things. Big, immense. But what is big...when you have nothing to compare it to?

I can hear people outside my windows everyday. I can hear deep into their soul. Most people are ugly. Cruel. Spiteful. I can't understand why they are loved so. Maybe it's because I can't see them. Maybe I can hear what they really are. I can hear the monsters that lay deep beneath the make up and fake facade people put on.


Like the woman who even though, looks like a wonderful mother on the outside. Has several children, who smile, and laugh. She always seems happy and composed. But maybe that's because underneath the smiles and composure, is pure hatred. Abuse. She takes her stress out on her children, who sit night after night, hungry, because mom is out on a date, drinking drinks with strange men, rather than feeding her children, who are fending for themselves on leftover Ramen and rice. They don't know their fathers, they don't really know their mother. But they know the punishment they will face if they let on the life they lead behind closed doors. So they put on the mask for the world...the mask, I cannot see.


Or the working father, who has a wife and kids. He comes home from work every night, picks his kids up, spins them around, and kisses his wife with the most intense passion. I'm sure he looks the part, suit, nice car, white picket fence. But underneath all that bullshit, lies a gambler. He leaves work on a lunch break to find any way he can to spend his savings, his wife's nest egg, his children's collage fund. Horse races, video poker football games. It's almost all gone. Pretty soon they will be homeless, selling prized possessions just to eat, or keep basic necessities in their life. He's selfish, and has a problem, and rather than seek help, he seeks another way to get rich quick.


And the darkest of all, is the man down the hall. He's a sweet old man, People always say hello, asking him how his day is going, making sure to make small chat with him, because he is all alone. But what they don't know is how evil this man is. I can hear it, I can hear the demon deep within him. I can hear his computer keys clicking away at night, searching for his prey. He pretends to be a friend when a young one needs someone to listen. He'll listen. He'll be everything you want him to be. He'll tell them they need to get away, he'll help them. And before you know it, they are brought to his home, late at night. He steals their childhood away from them. Takes pictures of the innocent faces to trade like baseball cards among him and his monster friends. Makes them face this demon alone. I can hear the cries, but I can't do anything about it. For I cannot see where the cries are coming from. Only shadows and darkness. But still people say Hello, they wave, he smiles, his gruesome, evil smile.




I have almost but lost my faith in humanity. People are dark, selfish creatures. There was once a time when out my windows I could hear genuine laughing. Kindness. I'm almost glad I'm trapped inside this dark room, I would rather spend my life in here, then out there with the monsters.


There are a few people left on this planet that help keep my faith in humanity alive.



Like the case worker who came to the house of the abused children. They were able to put down their Ramen, grab the tattered teddy bears that have given them security during these hard times. She came in like a super hero, and took them to their Grandmother's house. A house full of love, caring, and cookies. A house where the color returned to their little faces. A house where they were embraced in hugs and safety, instead of fear and hate. The lady was “only doing her job”, but I could hear in her voice, the genuine concern, and care she had for these children. And for her, my heart is filling up with happiness.


Or the friend of the husband, who stepped in, to show him what he was about to lose. His beautiful children, his caring wife, his picture perfect house and life. It was all going to go away because he couldn't keep his hands off his check book. He offered support, sat with the husband when he faced his wife, and children to admit he had a problem. He went and visited his friend every day while he was away making himself better for his family, and was there to take care of the family in his absence. A true friend who didn't judge, who didn't mock, or ruin, someone who truly cared about his friend. He too helped the light shine just a little through these shady windows.


And the officer, who came to the aid of a little boy. He was visiting his “friend” and was alone, and terrified. The officer came in, carried that boy in his arms and told him the nightmare was over. He put silver bracelets on the man, and made him walk, in front of all the neighborhood for everyone to see the monster I always knew was in there. The streets were full of “I had no idea” and “He was always so sweet”, but those are the scariest of monsters. The ones that blend in, the ones that make you feel welcome. That officer got a medal, and even though the damage was done with the boy...he always knew there was a hero looking out for him. He wasn't alone in that dark basement. He had a guardian angel looking out for him.


So here I sit in my dark room. But I like it in here. I like being able to hear a persons soul. There are no masks, there are no cover ups.


Some people think being born blind is a disadvantage, but from where I sit, my handicap, is a blessing. For my windows are my eyes. Broken and blank, but seeing more than a person with sight can see,

"The Sound Outside Two Windows" by West Christy

This submission is a non competing submission.



There was little regret to be had by Meagan as she slammed her door shut. God, she hated her parents so much. Selfish, sadistic human beings. At least to her. Of course her brother loved them. He got everything handed to him. But god forbid she wants one thing. It was just a cell phone. And they bought Ryan one. Who cares if he had a job?

She screamed and slammed her fist into her pillow. Over and over again.

"I hate you!" She screamed at the top of her lungs. The effort struck her and she choked. Then began to cry. Tears streamed down her face in thick rivulets, causing her mascara to run. She didn't care. They'd know how unreasonable they were being when they saw how upset she was...


"Who do you hate?" The voice was so quiet she almost didn't hear it. Meagan wiped her mouth and looked around.


"Who's there?" She was startled. She curled up on her bed.


"I'm sorry. I didn't meant to startle you. I'm next door." The voice was soft and calming. Curious, she got up and approached her window. The night air felt good on her raged skin. She took deep breaths and poked her head out.

Outside, immediately across, the window to the neighbor's house stood open. But it was dark. Very dark.


"Who are you?" The question was apprehensive. She wasn't sure she should ask it. This was a complete stranger after all.


"My name is Terrance Arthur. What's yours?"

"Meagan." The voice was quiet on the other side.

"I like that. 'Meagan'. Means pearl doesn't it?"

She looked back over her shoulder at her door. It seemed a good distance away but she wasn't sure why she was looking. Terrance seemed nice. And there were two windows between them.

"I...I don't know."

"I believe it does. What's wrong?"

And she couldn't hold it in any longer. Nobody had asked her that question before. Nobody! So she let it all out.

"My parent's won't buy me a cell phone. They won't teach me how to drive. They won't let me get a job, they say 'I need to stay in school'. They won't let me get my tongue pierced. They won't let me go out on a date..." And she kept going. It wasn't too long before she realized how long she had been talking and stopped. Almost mid sentence.

"I'm sorry Terrance."

"No. It's ok. Feel better?" And she had to think to herself before answering.

"I do a little bit. Thanks Terrance."

"You're welcome. I'm going to head to bed. You have sweet dreams. Ok Meagan?"

"Ok. Thank you. Good night." Meagan strained to see if she could catch a glimpse of him moving, to see what he looked like. But there was nothing but darkness. How could he see in there? It was no matter. Shrugging, she pulled open the closet to get to her PJ's. It was her bedtime too.

The next day at the bus stop Meagan strained to look into the windows of the house next door. But the shades were drawn. The three other girls that shared the stop kept side glancing her as if she were doing something unnatural but Meagan as usual ignored them. They often talked behind her back and passed nasty notes in class. Being a reject at school was something she thought to talk to Terrance again tonight, if he were there. Yes, she smiled despite the giggles behind closed hands, she'd talk to Terrance tonight and it'd all be better.

"Terrance?"





"Yes Meagan."

"How are you tonight?" It had occurred to her that she hadn't asked him a single question about himself.

"I'm good. How are you?"

"I could be better."

"What's wrong?"

And she broke down. All of it poured out. The girls. The rumors. The back stabbing. The lying. The boys. The sneaking around. The kissing. The cheating. All of her problems and why her life at school sucked.

"Stop Meagan."

She almost choked on her words. Terrance had said it in such a calm voice that it was almost a wonderment he was telling her to knock it off.


"But..."


"No. I want you to do something."

"Um...ok. What is it?"

"Listen."

Meagan waited for him to talk. But he didn't. Instead she heard chirping. A cricket. She pictured it on the ground, using it's legs to create it's tell tale noise. A bird chimed in too. Subtle. She had no clue what kind of bird made such a noise so she had trouble picturing that one too. A breeze wafted in a fresh scent of roses. She breathed it in deep.

"Listen to what?"

"The world. Just listen."

Normally she would have thought this was a stupid idea. But for some reason coming from Terrance, this was not a bad idea. She closed her eyes and listened. Off in the distance a car drove by. It backfired and rattled off. A plane was going by in the distance, probably coming in for a landing. Ryan's music filtered from the upstairs window and played lightly on the air, so as to not disturb the crickets and the birds. Again she breathed in and caught pine in the scents. The act brought a smile to her lips.


"That helps. Thank you."

"Good night Meagan. Sweet Dreams. "

"Good night Terrance."









That was the final straw! An F? How could she get an F? She studied and studied and studied. Maybe because she didn't have a computer in her room, she didn't get current enough information. Or maybe because Ryan distracted her with his stupid music. Maybe because her parents had her living in such an inhospitable environment that she couldn't concentrate. It didn't matter now. She had an F in Social Studies and the lecture from her parents would be enough to kill her. God she hated her life. So much.

"Terrance. You there?"

"Yes. How are you tonight Meagan?"

"Not good."

"Then just listen."

She tried doing that for a few minutes before she gave up. Obviously Terrance didn't want to talk tonight so she told him good night. He sighed, and bid her the same. He skipped the sweet dreams this time though. Meagan thought that maybe it was a little weird, but it had only been three days. Shrugging it off she went to sleep.


Days became weeks and weeks became months. Every night though, Terrance was there to talk to Meagan. Recently she had a group of guys and girls befriend her on Facebook as a cute senior at her high school. When she found out they were pranking she got really depressed. Terrance told her to breath and listen. And while she did, it again didn't help. Terrance stayed and talked to her when that didn't help. This time he gave some advice.

"They're just words. Negative sounds. Just listen to them. But give them no heed."

And the more she thought about that the better she felt. The talks still continued into the night. And every day she felt better about everything.

The lights hadn't startled her at first, until she realized where they were coming from. Meagan jumped off the bus, cutting the sniveling, conniving girls out of her way as she barrelled outside. The ambulance sat in front of Terrance's house. She wanted to go over there. To see if he was ok. But her mom stopped her.

"Listen Meagan." The words startled Meagan that she looked up wide eyed at her mother. "Terrance Arthur passed away last night."

"What? No. He was ok. I talked to him. He was ok."

"Honey listen. He had a lot of medical problems. He was in pain all the time. He couldn't leave his house..."





"He what?" The idea startled her. He couldn't leave his house?

"He was bedridden Meagan. He was paralyzed from the neck down. He had a live in nurse, that's who found him." Meagan's mother turned back to the house. But Meagan couldn't hold it in any longer. She ran. Into the house. Past the paramedics. Past the nurse. Into Terrance's room.

There was nothing in his room but his bed. There wasn't a single decoration on the wall. Not a single thing of his in the room. He had almost nothing.


Every night she'd listen to his voice. Every night she'd talk to him. Every night she'd unload on him and he would tell her to just listen to the sounds outside.

The tears and sobs broke through loudly as guilt ran through her. She was so selfish! So stupid! Here she was with an able body. Here she was 100 percent in her faculties. She had her health, her parents, her brother. She had a house and decorations and stuff and was well fed and taken care of. She screamed loudly at the top of her lungs as the final thought struck home.

She had all of these problems that were nothing. They meant nothing. Cause she had everything in life you could want.









And all he had was the sound outside their two windows.









And he had shared it with her.

"The Sound Outside Two Windows" Challenge

Challenge: A story titled "The Sound Outside Two Windows"

This challenge I came up with when I overheard someone talking and they said something about the sound outside their windows. I thought they had said the sound outside two windows until I realized that couldn't be right. But still, the sentence for some reason stayed with me. Then I got the idea for the writing challenge. At first it was just a facebook post. Then it became The Writing Challenge Facebook page so more than just my friends could join. So enjoy the submissions for August (we still have a few days for some submissions so more will come up) and thank you and write on!