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*
Tuesday, October 29, 2013
"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.
“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.
Saturday, October 5, 2013
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?"
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?"
Friday, October 4, 2013
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.
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.
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