A Short Story : A Story?

The war ended. Some people hadn’t come back yet. I stood by the door. Alice came through, “T-They’re back!” Alice said, panting from running. My mum and I went out, but he wasn’t there and neither was Alice’s dad.

As I closed the door, “Marie, honey we’re in here!” I heard from down the hallway.

His feet sunk deep into the fresh snow as he picked his way down the sidewalk, hood up, watching the crystal flakes drift past and fall onto a silent street. It was dark enough for his vision to be blocked, 5:30 at night. Malaki was out without parental permission, but he didn’t care. He was sixteen, he could make his own decisions. He was out “studying” with a few friends, if studying means partying that is. His parents should’ve been in bed when he got home but just in case Maliki would sneak in through his window. He crawled in his window, the room pitch black. He went to turn his light out but his mom had beat him there. She flicked his lights on and crossed her arms. Her husband shook his head.

Even though cuts were all over her arms she still always had the biggest grin on her face. Her eyes beamed with a mixture of blue and green as she said hi to everyone who passed her down the dark narrow hallway. She knew what to do, and where to go. She knew the drill. The drill of a mental hospital. Her name is Megan and she was my roommate at the hospital. She made things happy when things were sad. She would stay awake with me when I couldn’t sleep and talk about why I was in there; why I was staying there for seven days.

Snow was a blanket upon Atlas’ austere domain, almost blindingly glistening against the waning sun. The chilling breeze bit at cheeks and battered noses until they were tinged pink. Children wandered the streets with deftly-crafted snowballs and prepared for a winter’s war while adults huddled cozily inside by the crackling fire. The bitter, arctic season was upon them.

“Hello sweetheart” I hear a man whisper in my ear. I turn around so fast I heard my neck crack. I couldn’t see anyone. I set down my book I was reading and looked inside the Cafe I was sitting at but there was no man except for one man at the cash register.

Kissing the driver good-bye, Marlene exited the Malibu and waltzed across the parking lot. The raven-haired beauty with a taste for the finer things in life, unlocked the Mercedes parked in the doctor’s parking lot. Driving out onto Imperial Highway to Highway 74, her thoughts lingered on the last few hours spent with her lover. On the way home, Marlene drove fast to get there ahead of Jerry and Andrew. Entering the garage without seeing Jerry’s car, she smiled. Marlene went into the house, made a fresh pot of coffee, and glanced through the mail while waiting for her husband and father-in-law to arrive.

“Whoo hoo” said Klaus, as the cold breeze hit his soft face. Stefan, klaus and Damon were driving the new yellow convertible car on one lane road surrounded by green rolling hills. Steve was driving the car while Klaus cheering him for going over the speed limit since they were the only one in the road. Stefan and Klaus were reckless while Damon was more mature and just wanted to have fun without causing any trouble. Damon was not interested about having this trip since he knew it wasn’t a good day but it was hard to believe when the sun was shining so bright.

The man sat up straight, now showing interest in what he had to say. “Whatchu need that place fer? No, don’t tell me, it’s better not to know. It won’t be cheap I tell you that.”

As I returned from my walk I hear voices, her voice seemed different; like she was relaxed and happy for once. I slammed the door open,”What are you doing,” I screamed. While grabbing the first thing I could find, two glass bottles, and stormed over to Van and whatever her name is.”You should learn that I always get my way. Be quiet and don’t fight me. You will be fine if you do what I tell you to do when I tell you.”I lifted up the first bottle and struck her first, but as it shattered over her head I heard a shriek of a high pitched noise right before she passed out. I stumbled back, stunned that such a horrid noise could come from such a small being. I just stared at her; she looked sad, but what did I care, this was fun. I picked up the other bottle and started to walk towards Van, he just looked at me and said,”Please no, please.” He was out within seconds of being hit.

Marie's hair fell into rings of gold kissed with strawberries as she finished the last stroke of the brush. Looking in the mirror, she sighed to herself before standing up and brushing off the dust that collected on her satin dress from cleaning her room.

The year is 2100 and swirling flames of destruction are engulfing New York City. Alone in the hostile environment stood Duncan Smith, a thin 16-year-old boy with blond hair and wire rimmed glasses. Duncan came from a poor family and he always felt like things never quite went his way in life. He had never really believed in himself before, and most other people hadn’t either. Regardless, he loved life. But one day, two years ago, everything was taken away from him. In the middle of the school day, a UFO landed on top of the Empire State Building. Shortly after, he watched in horror as more and more flying saucer’s swarmed the city, destroying everything in their paths, including his family. After the smoke cleared and the destruction was finished, Duncan and the other survivors from the attack hid in the dark alleys of the city.

Hetty brought a tortoise the day after her daughter died. Her only daughter, as it turned out. Her only daughter and her only tortoise, as it had also turned out. That was almost twenty years ago. The tortoise, Bertram, was, all these years later, still going strong. Still ambling around the house like an old man with dementia, bumping into furniture, getting lodged beneath furniture and nibbling said furniture in case it turned out to be as edible (or more edible) than it appeared. Sometimes, often in fact, he would creep up behind Hetty while she was doing the washing up or making breakfast, lunch or dinner and she was now in the habit, had been for approximately nineteen and a half years, of checking where she was putting her feet before moving away from the sink, the cooker or the kitchen surface, or anywhere else she had been standing still for longer than a couple of minutes, so as to prevent herself from feeling Bertram’s hard carapace beneath her foot, or worse, hearing the soft crunch of that carapace being crushed beneath her shoe.

A humming engine roars through the brisk morning air. Two men dressed in grey suits drive in a white car, their dress matching the dull sky. The driver has light brown hair, slicked straight back. His partner in the passenger seat sports dark hair and dark brown eyes, his short hair parted to one side.

It was the smell of smoke that was the reason I awoke on that dreadful night.The smoke was not from that of a candle nor of a fire, but rather the heavy pungent smoke from a cigarette.The unmistakable scent sent shivers racing up my spine and memories seeping into my brain.In the 25 years, I have lived only one individual I had encountered smoked strawberry cigarettes.I sat silently and pleaded that I was still dreaming, that the scent was conjured up by my imagination.And when I finally did sit up in bed I let out a blood-curdling scream.Standing in the doorway of the room watching me intently was my father.