By A.Myers85
Part One
The blinking cursor taunted her.
Once, twice, multiple times it flashed, waiting for the words—the ones she needed for an assignment, the same one due by the end of the week.
The one she couldn’t write.
Frustrated, she slammed her laptop shut and shoved it to the side of her bed before flopping on her comforter, her arms covering her face. What’s wrong with me? The thought flared, and she rolled over, covering her ears with her hands. I’ve never had trouble writing an essay before. Unbidden, a kernel of memory flared, and she squeezed her eyes shut. No, I’m not going there!
She bolted upright and swung her legs over the side, her hands gripping the edge of her bed, eyes staring at the carpet. When was the last time I vacuumed? Lips pursed, she glanced around and huffed. Maybe a snack will help.
Downstairs, she gathered ingredients for a sandwich. Then, as she sat to eat, her body slumped, her sudden bout of energy gone. A familiar itch burned her throat. Teeth clenched, she shoved away from the table and moved to the nearby window. The sky, overcast and gray, promised rain. Nearby trees swayed in the breeze. Maybe a change of scenery?
Her abrupt sniffle broke the deafening silence, and she hurriedly shoved her feet into her shoes and decided a quick stroll around the neighborhood would help. She paused at the closet but shook her head. She wouldn’t be gone long. Then, careful to avoid looking at the pictures decorating the wall, she grabbed her keys, locked the door, and fled.
The screen door slammed shut with a resounding bang.
| Author Notes |
This is a fictional retelling of my parents' college days. They never gave me specific details about this incident, and I regretfully never asked. However, something inspired me to write and commemorate their love story.
I've been itching to write again--the words crowding my head, the stories begging me to write them, but I also haven't felt motivated. This is probably stemming from my pending cataract surgery. I have them in both eyes, but the cataract in my right eye is exceptionally debilitating; therefore, reading and seeing in general is difficult and tiresome. I also fell down a flight of stairs about two weeks ago--right before a trip with my brother--and sliced open the bottom of my right pinky toe. Thankfully, we enjoyed the vacation, and while I could walk and enjoy the various activities, I'm worried I may have indeed broken my toe--the same one I broke years ago. I'm seeing a doctor on Friday to ensure I didn't break it again. Fingers crossed. I hope to post more updates soon. |
By A.Myers85
Part 2
Her abrupt sniffle broke the deafening silence, and she hurriedly shoved her feet into her shoes and decided a quick stroll around the neighborhood would help. She paused at the closet but shook her head. She wouldn’t be gone long. Then, careful to avoid looking at the pictures decorating the wall, she grabbed her keys, locked the door, and fled.
The screen door slammed shut with a resounding bang.
Aimlessly she wandered, eyes fixed on the ground, hands buried in her pockets. Overhead, the sky darkened—the promise of a downpour imminent. I should have grabbed my jacket or umbrella, she thought while berating her thoughtlessness. You should have known better, Lesha. Wincing at the chill seeping through her sweater, she rubbed her arms, eager to escape the lingering cold. Yet, even as the walkways emptied, others heeding nature’s warnings, she didn’t go home. She couldn’t. Instead, her feet propelled her forward, their destination unknown.
Abruptly, raindrops speckled the ground.
One drop. Two drops. Three drops. Soon, more darkened the ground. Cars rushed past, their tires slicing through the growing puddles, waves of water drenching the already wet sidewalks. Her clothes, soaked and a second layer of skin, slowed her movements, but her feet continued moving forward, demanding, urging her forward. Bits of hair clung to her face while other strands oozed liquid ribbons down her back.
Where am I going? The thought tumbled through her mind, restless, urgent like the nearby swaying trees, their leaves and branches fluttering in the wind.
Then, her feet stopped.
Stumbling forward, she blinked the rain from her eyes and gasped, the familiar gated entrance haunting her vision. No! No, no, no, no! Loud protesting screams threatened to erupt from her throat; yet, she could only glare at her feet, her vision blurring and fists clenching. Damn it, feet. Why did you bring me to the cemetery?
| Author Notes |
Part 2 has arrived--and boy, did writing this leave me raw. Lesha was my mom's name and my story's protagonist. Her love interest, Ron, will come into the story during parts 3-5. Please let me know what you think of this.
Update on my toe: thankfully, it's not broken or fractured! The doctor thinks I might've torn a ligament, which I did years ago when I stupidly tried to walk on a sleeping foot. Regardless, I can still move around, so hopefully, it won't take long for my toe to heal. |
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