46: A Short Story

“For a moment the last sunshine fell with romantic affection on her glowing face; her voice compelled me forward breathlessly as I listened - then the glow faded, each light deserting her with lingering regret, like children leaving a pleasant street at dusk.”

I lay awake on a freezing night; As cold as an arctic snowstorm, and as dark as a planet with no sun. My eyes were open as wide as a deer's in front of a moving vehicle. There was one thought in my mind, one thought only, the love of my life. Her long silky hair, her smooth, tanned skin, her pristine beauty and her effervescent, godlike personality were all I ever desired; she was as sweet as a honeycomb and as unique as a sparkling snowflake in a vast blizzard. Absolutely immaculate, absolutely flawless was our relationship; or so I thought. There was only one problem, one only; it seemed as though no matter how hard I endeavoured to fulfil her desires, I just couldn't. For I had endured thousands of long

Ernie has always been a little messed up, he has lived in Missouri for the 32 long years of his life. On the day that changed his life forever, November 22, 1996. Him and his family were driving to the mall and they got into an accident. His Mom and Dad both died and Ernie was very depressed. He got the notes, of what made the car accident happen, an inspection failure with the Engine. He did not know what to do with his life. He almost committed suicide, but then out of rage, the decided he was going to make the person who caused the car accident. He went searching for months, and finally came to the conclusion that the person that last assessed the car was Eddie Thompson.

Her enthusiasm lasted till lunchtime, fading only when no one came forward to talk to her, to tell her how beautiful she looked that day, to apologize, perhaps, for the late-night phone call. She is so desperate to know who it was. For her this is one in a billion of amazing things that happen to her. Today would be no different at all, she realized. It was just as if nothing had ever happened. What if it never happens again? Thinking to herself she thought that maybe she was sick and this was all just a dream. No one could ever like someone like her, I mean she wasn’t the prettiest and she didn’t have the “perfect

Ray Karner was a 35 year old man who shovels dead bodies into furnaces. He was the type of person who loved memories. Anything he thought was meaningful, he immediately jotted down in his diary. He had a daughter and a wife who he loved dearly. Many memories of them took up about half of his small pocket book. One after another, great days would pass by. But later he soon came to realize that things don’t always seem the way you want them to be.

“Sorry. You fell asleep so fast I thought you must have been exhausted. So I thought I would let you sleep for a little. Mya sat straight up. “How long have have I been asleep?”

Day 37: I’m with my little sister in a forest trying to get away from the chaos. My mom and dad are gone and I don’t know where my twin is at. I see bodies everywhere. I want to go home, I want this to be over, when is it going to be over.

She is the one I want, the one who’s there for me, and the woman I am going to marry.

I'm Robert Leavitt and it's been a month since it all started the end… we've been living well more like surviving day by day.

I remember the day just like it was yesterday, the pale color and coldness of her skin. The sky was clear blue, soft, with a touch of red, and the trees seemed stiff in their bright green shade. The wind was blowing with its humid dry air. And All I could do was stand silently in disbelief, caught up in my own thoughts and calm as I ever been. Wondering what I could have done differently to change the course of time, life had taken us upon. Since that very day a chunk of my heart was ripped away, and broken into pieces… “Oh how I miss her so much.”

46. The house is in Africa. 47. The car is old and is missing one door. 48.

And I was there, too, hoping to find you and say to you, Come back, come back, there's only one street, one door, we didn't mean it, we didn't know, whatever was wrong will be different. Several times I decided you were dead, even wished you were dead, but then another postcard would come, with another message to ponder. And I've always read them, even when my husband said not to, even if they've driven me to tears or rage or a blankness when I've no longer cared if you were dead or anyone were dead, including myself. I've been faithful, too, you see. I've always looked up where you were in the atlas, and put your postcards in the box. Sixtythree postcards, four hundred—odd lines of scrawl: our life together. Why are you standing there like that? my daughter asks me. I must have been away somewhere, I say. But I'm back. Yes. You see, Mother, I always come back. That's the distance that separates us. But on summer evenings, when the windows are open to the dusk, I sometimes smell cities … wheat fields … oceans—strange smells from far away—all the places you've been to that I never will. I smell them as if they weren't pictures on a postcard, but real, as close as my outstretched hand. And sometimes in the middle of the night, I'll sit bolt upright, my husband instantly awake and frightened, asking, What is it? What is it?

I sat down at a park bench as Sweat dripped off of my forehead from my morning jog. It was early in the morning, about 7:30 am and the sun was just beginning to rise. My break only lasted a short amount of time because today I had more important matters to address. The name's Rose Marie Johnson, it rolls off the tongue and sounds sweet and regal, I want you to know that this isn't a journal, you could say it's a cautionary tale but it's not a tale it's my reality.

She let her guard down and fell in love and in that moment she felt safe not knowing that the boy who made her feel safe and calmed her deepest fears would be the one who would make her live in fear of losing him for the rest of her life. Yet she was the girl who would never give up. In the back of her mind she wonders if he thinks about her late at night. The way he needed to love me: selfishly, intimately, out loud and all the time couldn't be done. Know that I come with a past. A past full of heartbreak and happiness. Pieces have been took from me over time. So little that I didn't even notice it until I did. Something was took from me that couldn't be replaced. A sense that along the paths of heartbreaks, I lost myself. I lost a happy and beautiful soul full of love.

We rested on slabs of rock, having deep conversations about all that was happening in our lives. We were so engrossed in conversation that we talked until sunset. We watched as a fiery crimson orb of light gradually sank below the skyline and threads of light lingered in the sky, coloring it orange, then red, then dark blue, until all that was left of the sunset was a chalky mauve and then that melted away in turn as darkness stole the sky. The clouds parted and a lustrous, argent disc appeared, emitting brilliant streaks of moonlight onto the dark grounds. I glanced over at Linda, who was wondering at the night sky with an unwavering gaze. The fascination on her face made her look the most beautiful I had ever seen her- almost angelic. An unexpected surge of warmth rushed through me. Linda and I were apart for four years and things around us changed, yet one thing remained. I still loved her and she still loved me. Right then, I realized that our love would never truly go away. I would always love her because we shared the best moments of our lives together and will continue to make more lasting