Sunshine streamed in through the curtains, making a dull blue room appear bright and cheery. Beyond the harsh buzz of an alarm clock, I could hear the typical sounds of morning. Feet scuffling, the clatter of dishes, a soft humming and the scratch of claws against wood were all apart of waking up.
“Maybe today will be different,” I think as I get out of bed, but deep down I know it’s not true. My name is Alan Weiss, and I’m fifteen years old. Every day I start with the same thing. I walk to the bathroom and knock on the door until my older sister comes out shouting. Then I slam the door and comb my ebony colored hair until every strand is perfectly in place. Afterwards I get dressed for school and head out the door with,
“Bye, Mom. I’ll be back after five,” then she always responds,
“Okay, Alan. Be safe,” and Snow, our golden retriever, prances over and licks my hand. After that, I’m gone. Truth is, I haven’t been to school in weeks. School really isn’t for me. I hate all my teachers, I’m failing every other subject, and nobody in my class is anybody. What I do is way better, or at least it used to be. I walk up to my friend Matt’s giant mansion and knock on the door. He cracks it and says,
“What’s the password?”
“It’s me, Alan.”
“That’s not it.”
“Open up or I’ll tell Tiffany Collins about your doll collection.”
“Okay, okay. Can’t you take a joke? Besides, they’re not dolls, they’re figurines.”
“They wear dresses.”
The door swings open. Every time I come in, the all white Victorian décor never ceases to amaze me. Matt’s parents are loaded and almost never home, which makes his house ideal for hanging out.
“Let’s hit the pool today,” I suggest.
“No can do. It’s being cleaned today. The usual will be fine, right?”
“Whatever.”
We head upstairs to Matt’s room, the only place in the Evans’s house not colored like a Winter Wonderland. Luke and Jake, the twins, and Greg are already there, eating pizza and playing video games on Matt’s 52” flat screen. They toss me a controller while Matt goes downstairs. When he comes back, he has two cases of beer.
“This is why we love you, man,” Luke and Jake chorus.
“I thought it was ‘cause of this sweet set up,” Greg adds with a mouth full of pepperoni. Matt just laughs and tousles his thick brown hair. He passes the beer around, but when he comes to me, I shake my head.
“No thanks. I’m trying to ease up on that stuff.”
“Come on, dude. Just take it.”
“Do it, do it, do it,” the twins start. Soon everyone joins in, their rhythmic chanting assaulting my eardrums.
“Okay,” I begin, but this doesn’t stop them. “Guys I-” these words just make them speed up.
“Okay, I’ll take one!” I shout. They let out a cheer. “But just one.”
The last time I counted, I was on seven, and that was four beers ago. Or was it five? My head’s too foggy to remember. The room is spinning, and I hear shouting, an earsplitting crash, then everything goes quiet. I close my eyes and drift off into darkness.
“Alan! Alan, get up!”
My eyes flutter open. Light blinds me, accenting the pain I feel in my now throbbing head.
“Finally, you’re awake. Do you know how much trouble you caused, and better yet, how much trouble you’re in? Answer me!”
When my vision clears up, I see a familiar face. Dark but graying hair, my deep blue eyes, with my bedroom in the background.
“Mom?” I say dumbly.
“No, it’s the Pope. Of course it’s me!”
I try standing up, but my body’s so heavy I can only get into a sitting position.
“What happened?”
“Your principal called and asked how your broken ankle was doing and when you’d be back. Then the Evans called and told me to pick up my inebriated son from their house. The Evans! Of all the people to embarrass me in front of, it had to be the Evans! Why, I’ve never-” I silenced her with a hug.
“I’m sorry. I tried to quit, really. But just one turned into three, and five, and then I couldn’t stop. I didn’t mean to.” By now, tears were coming in torrents, and I lost my words. She sighed.
“Well, I suppose all we can do at this point is to get some professional help.”
“Will I get better?”
“Yes, Alan. You’ll get better.”
“Promise?”
She closed her eyes. “I promise.”
----------------
A light, perfumey aroma floated on a sudden gust of wind. Petals drift in the breeze, tenderly caressing the air. The stately poinciana trees stood in rings around the grassy space in the meadow where we laid. A midsummer afternoon’s sun hid timidly behind one of the largest trees. Another shower of petals rained down on our heads, as our laughter echoed through a thousand boughs of blood red. Your hair perfectly matched the flowers, flowing like a waterfall around your daisy print dress. I always envied you for your beauty, how your scarlet eyes harmonized with your fiery hair, which framed a fair skinned face blemished only by the freckles that sat above your straight nose. You were my best friend, with your wiry frame and a voice so small nobody would believe how boldly outspoken you were. You were my only friend.
I lie awake in the middle of the night, sweating feverishly in an air-conditioned room during the middle of winter.
“You left so early,” I whisper to no one.
Rolling over, I glance at the pictures of us. There’s the one we took at the beach in Honolulu, next to it the one with you pushing me on the swings in Norfolk Memorial Park with a full view of the adjacent cemetery. My eyes rest on our favorite photo, the one where we’re sitting under the giant poinciana tree in our meadow. That was taken on our last day together. It’s in front of the music box you gave me that morning, along with your crystal figurine collection. I close my eyes and remember for the millionth time what happened so many summers ago.
I leap out of bed with an ecstatic yawn. Today was going to be the best day ever. After combing my dark chestnut hair until every strand is in place, I throw on my sunflower print dress, filled with excitement. My brother waits by the front door, smiling.
“Are you going out with Ania today, Millicent?” my mirror image asked.
“Yes, Lewis.”
“Come home early, okay?”
I batted my violet eyes endearingly. He rolled his matching pair at me.
“I’ll be home before dark, okay?”
“Okay.”
I gave him a hug and ran out the door. Lewis has always been protective of me since our parents died in a car accident five years ago, especially since he’s ten years older than me, twenty four back then, he believes he has to take care of me all the time. Ania’s house is just down the street, so it didn’t take long to get there. She was sitting on the porch steps wearing her daisy print dress like mine, holding a small box in her hand. She skipped down to meet me. Even though she’s about three inches taller than me, we’re the same age.
“Happy Birthday, Millie.” She held out the box.
“Annie, you know it’s not my birthday. And isn’t this your music box?”
“Mmhmm. I know you like it, so I decided to give it to you. Open it.”
I complied with her odd request. Inside the velvet lined box was Ania’s collection of crystal figurines, her most prized possession.
“Ania, I can’t take this. These are your favorite things in the world.”
“Yeah, but you’re my favorite person in the world. I want you to have them.”
I grudgingly accepted her ‘present’, and we walked hand in hand to our meadow.
All the time we we’re there, sitting in the middle of the poincianas, I never expected how that day would come to an end.
As we walked back home, you slowed down significantly. In a matter of seconds you were on the ground, not moving. No matter how much I shook, shouted, or cried, you wouldn’t move. The paramedics came, worked all their fancy gizmos and machines, yet they shook their heads. When the ambulance left and took you to the hospital, the doctor had the audacity to say there was nothing they could do, refusing to let me see you.
The next day you were gone.
Every night I lie awake, replaying our last day and hours together in my mind. Trying to think of different outcomes, I edit even the most miniscule details to make things work. But in the end, the original always comes back to haunt me. All I really want to know now is why.
Why didn’t you tell me you were dying?
-------------------------------------------------
Today is another day. I will see you, and you will see me.
Always flashing that smile of yours, while I try to think of words that can vividly
Describe the strange feeling I get when you’re next to me.
Some might say it’s walking on a quiet night, under a full moon,
While others suggest it’s listening to a soothing tune.
I’ve heard people say it’s being knocked off your feet,
But this is something a little less painful and a bit more sweet.
What do you think, do you know what I mean?
Maybe you’d know if I just came clean.
You look at me with that puzzled glare of yours,
A look that I know the one you’re with adores.
Are you with someone? I’ve never had the gall to ask.
Maybe that’s another thing you’re hiding behind that mask.
You’re never real with me, are you? Toying with my emotions,
Always testing my love and devotion.
Don’t you get tired of being this way?
I’ve known you forever, and a day.
It’s because you care about me, isn’t it?
Why won’t we do each other a favor and admit
That we’re hopelessly in love and always have been.
I’m only lying to myself, I know.
While I sit next to you, I remind myself to take it slow.
Silence is golden, patience is a virtue,
But I really hope one day I’ll hurt you.
“Why?” you ask. How much more dense can you be?
Because every time you look at me,
I want to die
So I can finally hear you confess the feelings I want you to have,
Even if it’s only a dream or a lie.
You always tell me I never know when to stop
And I’ll get what I want no matter what.
That’s what you like about me, though.
You’ve told me so much I can’t help but know.
I’m tired of sitting on this bench every day,
So let’s go to the park, pretend we’re five again, and play.
Today is another day, where we’ll be together.
Just like we always have been, forever and ever.
-----------------------------------
August 15th, 2---
Dear Journal,
I’ve decided to start this off with ‘Dear Journal’ instead of ‘Dear Diary’ because that’s what girls do. I’m not a girl, by the way. I am a fifteen year old boy (not for very long, I’ll be sixteen in four months). Why is a fifteen year old boy writing in a diary you ask? Because my aunt thinks it will be a good way to ‘get my feelings out’, which is her way of saying ‘learn what I think because I don’t talk to her’. I have not said a word since the War took everything I loved away from me. I will not speak.
The large room was lavishly furnished, clearly the work of someone with an eye for detail and deep pockets. Streaks of silver poured through a bay window, where a boy sat hunched over a book. He was lanky in the most awkward of ways, with a mop of auburn hair that begged to be groomed. His azure eyes scanned the freshly inked page, then rested on the canopy bed that took up most of the left side of the room. Setting the book down on the window seat, he hobbled on crutches across the carpet and threw himself on the striped linen. The boy shut his eyes tightly, but sleep would not come. Dull booms still resounded in his mind, robbing him of his slim chance at a good night’s rest.
The memory of that day was as clear as it gets.
Zinnia and phlox danced in the summer breeze, while grasses nodded their heads in wistful sleep. The boy sat cross-legged amongst hyacinth and amaryllis, while a plump girl braided forget me not’s in his auburn tresses, her own strawberry blonde curls flouncing. Their mirth was apparent in their behavior, and the girl’s was especially noticeable in the way her cerulean eyes beamed, which made her smile without the upward turn of her lips. A slight figure emerged from the house behind them. The woman wiped her hands on her checkered apron.
“Austin, I need you to go to the store,” she chimed.
“Soon, Mom,” was his curt response.
“Not soon, now. We’re out of milk and I’m baking a cake.”
“Fine.” As he rose to his feet, the girl clung to the hem of his pants.
“We haven’t finished playing. Don’t leave me, Aussie,” she pleaded.
“Let go of your brother, Morgan,” their mother began sternly. Then, softening, she added, “Come inside and I’ll let you taste the icing when I make it.”
“Yes’m.” Slowly, her grasp on him loosened, and she trotted inside the sliding doors. Hiding behind her mother’s gingham skirts, Morgan waved to her brother.
“Hurry up, Austin. I want you back here in an hour,” the mother said, her resemblance to him growing more as they both frowned.
“Yes, Mummy Dearest,” he mumbled as he sauntered out of the gate.
Half an hour down the road, Austin was still sulking. His mother had been in a sour mood the past week, but for what reason he didn’t know. She had stopped speaking other than to give orders, and the radiant smile that was usually plastered on her face was substituted by a stormy glare. He did not want to think of his mother anymore. He just wanted to get this outing over with.
He gazed at his feet with each step, then halted when he noticed a trail of ants scuttling across his path.
“Dumb bugs,” Austin grumbled with disdain. As he lifted a large foot to crush them, a thunderous blast stopped him. A tremor coursed through the earth, and he turned his head toward the sound. Barely within his field of vision, where a grand house once proudly stood lay an insignificant pile of rubble, covered in flames that lashed out in every direction. From the horizon came compact airplanes, their loud droning a warning of their proximity. Bombs rained from the sky, annihilating everything on their course. Austin turned and ran like all the hosts of hell were after him, stumbling now and again in panic.
“There’s no way the War could have spread,” he thought frantically, “Is there?”
If he was one to look back when fleeing from something, he might have had a better chance, surprisingly. But Austin had watched too many bad movies and believed it was better to keep his eyes fixed forward. He might have seen the bomber plane coming closer to him, and adjusted his position more to the left, but this was not the case. The bomb fell just a few feet behind him, the force of the explosion flinging him yards down the road as if he were nothing more than a rag doll.
The pain coiled its tendrils around his legs, digging thorns past muscles until they settled in his bones, where it took root and blossomed. Rushing water was all he could hear, and his eyes were caught under an intense haze. Crawling up his arm was a lowly ant, who waved her antennae in an expression of sympathy.
“You’re teasing me, aren’t you? I’m no safer from being crushed than you are, huh?” he whispered between ragged breaths. Austin fell unconscious with an eerie smile on his face.
Blurred hues of white were the first things he saw when he woke up weeks later. The second was his aunt speaking with a doctor at the foot of his hospital bed. He was petted by his mother’s estranged elder sister from the city as two sets of news were broken to him. The bones in both of his legs had been shattered in the explosion, leaving him unable to walk without some form of assistance for nearly a year, if not more. The second was much worse. He was the only survivor.
As Austin sat with his hands folded, his aunt spoke with the doctor out in the hall. He could hear the laughter mingled in between snatches of conversation, which made anger well up inside of him. How dare they laugh at a time like this? Did they not understand the gravity of the situation?
Austin endured the past grueling five months with his prissy aunt and her husband, choosing to go through the motions of life rather than truly live it. Now, he lay in his bed, thinking of the mother and sister who left him, who did not even receive as little as a memorial service or whose names were not allowed to be spoken. Not that he bothered to speak, anyway. He had not told them he loved them the very last time he saw them, because he had no idea it would have been the last. For the past few weeks, he had wondered exactly why he had stopped speaking since that day, especially when his silence drove his aunt clinically insane. Tonight, his answer came with the thoughts that haunted him. Austin did not say what was important when it needed to be said, so he just wouldn’t bother anymore. Besides, what was the use of talking when you had nothing left to say?
-----------------------------------------------------
He sat in a pool of scarlet, gazing downwards at the frail thing in his arms. The blood had slowed to a mere trickle. Her delicate features were no longer in sync with her now mangled frame. The ivory skin had turned a sickly agate gray. The lavender eyes framed by long, full lashes were nearly overwhelmed by black. The boy brushed a few strands of blood plastered flaxen out of her face, speaking to her as if she was still animate.
“Dummy. It’s all your fault. Now Mommy will be mad at me.” His auburn eyes scanned the dilapidated factory, studying each layer of graffiti like it was a work of art, and then once again rested on the girl he was holding. He ran his fingers along the nicks that went from her wrists straight to her elbows, crisscrossing here and there to form the intricate patterns so familiar to him.
“Matteo,” he heard a small voice call. For the first time since the unspeakable happened, he looked up at the surveyor’s deck high above them. Leaning over the rail was the same girl, just several years younger.
“Matteo, come up here with me.”
“No.” The response came from a very small boy on the opposite end of the room.
“I wasn’t asking you,” the girl replied, clearly aggravated.
“Nuh-uh, Del.” He shook his tow colored hair as a sign of his resolve.
“Come here now or I’ll tell Mom. She said to always listen to me when she’s not around, and you know how much easier it is to upset her after she’s had her morning scotch.” Her threat got through to him, and he ran straight to the ladder that led up to where she stood.
“That’s my Teo Bear.” In a blink, the children were gone. Matteo once again stared at his sister, and began moving her mouth.
“Go on, push me. You always have to listen to what I say. What, you don’t have the guts to do it?” he said in a falsetto. He changed his voice back to normal and sighed. “Turns out I did, huh?” After a short time, he felt hot tears slide down his face. Matteo sobbed bitterly, and his quivering caused Dellarise’s body to tremble slightly. He stopped crying, but not shaking. His eyes widened, even brightened a little, as he noticed this change. However, it did not take very long for him to realize that nothing had actually changed: his sister was still, and forever would be, dead.
The wailing sirens came closer and closer, until they were right outside. Matteo did not resist the police officers, and only flinched slightly when they took Dellarise out of his arms. For the first, the only, and the last time in thirteen years, the Brady siblings were forced to go their separate ways.
Marissa Brady was bubbling over with excitement as she pulled her red Honda Civic into the driveway. She couldn’t wait to tell her children about why she had been gone all afternoon straight into the evening. Her first Alcoholics Anonymous meeting had been a success. In fact, she was so thrilled that she didn’t even notice the police car parked on the grass. All Marissa could think about was how ten years of alcohol abuse and the awful things it made her do would slowly but surely be reversed, and how happy her seventeen year old daughter and thirteen year old son would be that they could finally be a normal, happy family.
------------------------------------------
The frigid air seared her lungs with every breath. Gravel crunched below the soles of the heavy combat boots she wore, the noise making escape even more unattainable than it already was. Her legs ached from the strain of running for so long without pause, but there was no way she could stop. They would have noticed her absence by now, and would surely send someone after her, if they did not come themselves. While she was the fastest and had a head start, it would not be long before she had to rest. And when they found her, they would kill her. But first they would have to catch her. As she broke through the first patch of foliage that signaled the beginning of dense forest, she could hear the rattle of the fence she was forced to hop over, and the protests of the gravel in the yard against the horde of feet that trampled it. The bitter memory of how she got in this predicament flashed in her mind.
She had established the Five. She was the indisputable leader of a group which had formed after a few days in a group chat room. Five people from completely different countries, who had come together for various purposes. She met them at the airport, and one by one they came over the course of a few hours. With each new arrival her excitement grew, from the ginger eyed Russian girl to the boy from Hungary with an accent so thick no one ever understood him, to the vibrant boy from Italy, who definitely wasn’t lacking in the department of charm. They waited for their final member, but after hours passed they all assumed he wouldn’t show. Just as the group headed for the doors, however, a shout caused their heads to turn simultaneously. A gangly boy with alarmingly pale skin raced towards them, laughing between pants. Their party complete, they left to explore the unknown.
Within the next few weeks they had become something none of them could have imagined. The group of children living in an abandoned warehouse had evolved to suit their needs, revealing skills they never knew they possessed. It started with the day they ran out of food and resorted to stealing from a convenience store. That sheer rush of adrenaline was what really made the Five into what they were. Theft came easily after, from small gas station hold ups to full scale bank robberies, and the girl was always in charge of these. After sometime, they all began to become bored with burglary. One day, by coincidence, she heard news of a gang that had recently risen to power in the slums where they resided. After she shared this with the others, they all came to the same conclusion. What was wealth without power? It took time, but soon they had successfully infiltrated them and ‘removed’ their leader. Now they were the head of a grand operation, holding the strings to hundreds of puppets. The team lived like kings from that day on. Everything had been perfect up until a week before she was forced to run for her life, when the letters arrived in the mail. Each of the Five had received one, contained five detailed lists numbered one through twenty five, the things each of them was afraid of, the persons they loved and loathed, their greatest weaknesses, the secrets they had hid, all out in the open. At first it was fine, until one of their underlings had announced that every member of their gang had received the same lists. Everyone knew the things they had guarded with unmatched ferocity, and they would surely be laughingstocks. Fingers were pointed in every direction, until they all landed on one person. They all believed she was responsible for all this.
Of course they would have suspected her. She was the one the others trusted most, who they confided in. They thought she had done it to make their subjects lose respect for them, then she would be able to take the throne for herself. Her simple logic of why she would hand out her own business had fallen flat. It was all just part of her plan. She was locked away and sentenced to be taken care of later. But by pure luck the person picked to guard her room would fall asleep, giving her the perfect means of escape by slipping out the doors while no one else was watching.
A sharp pain in her side broke her train of thought. She barely noticed when they had begun shooting, and a bullet just grazed her. Another one nipped off a few strands of hair. The footsteps were much louder, getting closer with each moment. As much as her legs could not bear it, she sped up. Just as she thought she might gain a bit more distance, a tree root decided it would intervene. She stumbled and fell with a deafening crash. They caught up within a minute, and while she couldn’t see them she had no doubt that they were smiling. Someone held something hard against the back of her head. At that moment, she closed her eyes and prayed for death to be swift. More footsteps approached. She waited patiently for her demise, but did not receive it.
“Wait! Don’t do it!” The voice was faint, but recognizable. It had to be Anastasya, her faint Russian accent lingering over the words.
“Yes, I mean, no! Don’t waste her just yet!” This one seemed closer. She lifted her head slightly. Francesco appeared suddenly, with the remainder of the Five in tow. Ariel walked around and offered a pallid hand which she swatted away. After she brought herself to her feet, she cast them all a sour glare.
“What is this supposed to mean?” she asked, voice tight with anger. Ariel went back to the others, then turned to face her.
“It wasn’t you. We found the real culprit.” At his words, Noel, the boy from Hungary, pushed a smaller boy in between her and their group.
“We really are sorry, and hope you can forgive us, Eisha.” Anastasya lowered her head as she spoke.
Eisha bit her tongue as she thought. These were once her friends, but this incident had given her doubts. Then again, this was the family she had made, and the only one she had.
“Oh, forget it. I would’ve turned on any of you the same way if I thought you’d betrayed my trust like that. It’s just nice to get a break from all that running.” Their subdued laughter was enough. After tossing the kid in a ditch, the Five walked back to their home, all relieved to be one again.
---------------------------------------------------
Streams of fire rained down on the treetops. A small town was nestled in the protecting arms of weeping willows and ginkgoes, the forest almost as old as the earth itself. On a hilltop so far away from the settlement, but close enough to hear the swish of leaves in the wind, a girl sat deathly still. She was not alone, yet the miserable ache called loneliness that had gripped her heart for the longest time did not move. That, however, changed the very second she bothered to turn her head and look at the person creeping out of the shrubs.
The boy was undeniably scrawny, although not so much as the girl, and towered above her even after he plopped down next to her. His olive eyes and bronzed hair stood out from his startlingly pale skin dotted with freckles. He flashed a dazzling pearl smile and she could not help responding with one of a similar nature.
She snuggled closer to him, resting her mop of obsidian colored hair on his right shoulder. For the first time in days, those hazel eyes were glistening. The multitude of scars and marks that encompassed most of her deep brown skin seemed to fade in her mind, and she was finally beautiful. She was always beautiful when she was with him.
Once again, the pair were up on the hilltop, the only place both of them were happy at the same time. She prayed the sunset would not pass, and that they could stay like that forever. She did this every day, and every day the same thing happened. The sun finally sank from its already low perch in the sky. Once again, she had to return to that wretched place.
"Do you really have to go, Catriona?" the boy practically whispered.
"Come on Lewis, you know I have to." Lewis rose to his feet, then proceeded to help Catriona up. Hand in hand, the pair began the journey to the sleepy little town she called home.
"You're going to keep your promise, right?" Lewis asked, voice edged with fear and anticipation.
"Of course," she replied, "As soon as I open the letters and read them, I'll call you."
"I know you're going to get accepted to everyone. I just know it."
Catriona bounded up the walkway, feeling surprisingly ecstatic. The mail had come, and she was holding all six envelopes in her already sweaty hand. She threw the door open, but what met her was not pleasant, as to be expected. Why should something that's been the same for eighteen years change all of a sudden? A thick odor hung in the air, the scent she associated with her home. On a good day, it was cheap liquor and burnt out joints, but today there was something stronger, too. She walked in a very circumspect manner across the floor that was crowded with debris. There had been more than one occasion that Catriona accidentally stepped on a broken bottle or pipe, or even worse, a needle. All of this could have been avoided if she wore shoes, but she hadn't owned a pair since she was two. Her ears had been tuned since she came through the doorway, listening carefully for any sign of life.
"Someone must be home," she thought. Catriona crept up the staircase, each creaky step resonating through what seemed to be an empty house. For the first time in a while, she shut her bedroom door without a forceful slam. There was no mother to argue with, or 'stepfather' to scream at, and therefore no reason to stomp and rant and rave as she did every day. Instead, she slunk in the furthest corner of her cramped living quarters and rested her weary head in marred hands. The envelopes lay scattered at her feet, each one embellished with a different ornate seal. Catriona reached out for the one closest to her, trembling with anticipation and dread. After ripping the seal and pulling out the letter, she only read the first sentence, her heart sinking with each word. Her application had been declined. She tore into envelope after envelope, and each letter read the same thing. Dismay was written all over her face, contorting it in the worst of ways. Tears nearly blinded her as she got up, dragging her feet through the soft carpet. Stopping in front of the remains of the mirror she shattered ages ago in a fit of rage, she stared at the girl who was Catriona Sinclair. Her eyes rested on the penknife that lay on the dresser.
“I can end it all, right now.” The dismal thought bounced around in her head. She gradually reached for the knife, but something pinned to the mirror caught her attention. It was a picture of her and Lewis at the park, one of the few pictures she owned where she was smiling. Her previous melancholy thought was swapped with cheerful memories, all of which involved him. He was the one who persuaded her to apply for college, to make something of herself so she could live a better life. They would live a better life. She grabbed the car keys and dashed outside.
The long drive on the highway always unsettled Catriona, but it was the only way out of their sleepy little town. The trip to Lewis’s house was nearly an hour and a half, and most of it was spent on that one road. She stretched her arm out to grab her cell phone, so she could at least let him know she was coming over. The few moments she averted her eyes from the road sealed her fate. By the time she looked back up, she could not avoid the massive Mack truck headed in her direction.
Lewis sat in the den, idly flipping through channels. He glanced at his new iPhone every few seconds, wondering why he had not received any calls yet. He stopped on the news. Turning around, he nervously eyed the clock. It was past eleven and there had been no word from Catriona. He wondered if she was okay. As he picked up his jacket to retrieve his car keys from its pocket, the voice of the woman on television stopped him.
“A horrible accident occurred earlier this evening on Rosemary highway. A large truck was seen barreling down the street on the wrong side of the road, and it struck a car head on. The young girl who was driving died on impact, and her body has yet to be identified. The footage taken by our cameramen was too gruesome to be shown tonight, but can be viewed on our website. The driver of the truck-”
Lewis stopped listening. He hated these kinds of stories, where innocent people died because of some drunken fool. He hurried out of the door, hoping the accident had not caused traffic to back up too much.
These are all the things I am considering submitting to the Art Writing Arena. By name, in order they are:
Quit
Last Day, RePlay
(Unnamed Love Poem)
Nothing Left to Say
Our Happy Family
The Fall of the Five
You Couldn't Walk a Mile in My Shoes
All of these were written for past English/Literature classes, mostly in grades eight and nine.
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