A Short Story : A Story?

“Louis, Abby’s thirsty, get her juice in the fridge!” Amanda shouted all the way from the living room.

It all began with a simple phone call one Monday night after dinner. Lorenzo, my father hollered up the stairs, “it’s for you. It’s Alex, and he sounds anxious.” As I came downstairs to pick up the phone, I was curious, I was tired and had looked forward to a nice quiet evening at home, not another stupid adventure adventure with Alex. Thirty minutes later, however, Alex’s silver Mustang convertible swung into our driveway, and Alex was leaning on the horn before the car came to a full stop. Grabbing my coat from the couch, I walked out my front door with all enthusiasm as if I had a long-boring day of school ahead of me. As I got in the car Alex says, “it’s about Corey, he got a call saying his father was in a car accident.”

"Seriously, you should totally do it" Max threw his head while letting out a low laugh that was escaping his lips. His muscular body was leaning against the bar watching the sea of teens dancing and drinking around like it was their last day living

He was right there in front of me, kneeling with arms out-stretched, waiting for me to jump in them. His face was indistinguishable because of the shadow his cover cast upon it, but a smile was clearly on his face; and I knew, my eyes shining with emotion, were reflected somewhere under that cover. I ran to him as fast as my legs could carry me, but before I could reach him, the world around me transformed and I was alone once more. I was outside, in front of my climbing tree, around its trunk was the ribbon. I hated this ribbon and wished with all my might that I could tear it down. It was the yellow service ribbon- a, "ribbon of waiting" my mother used to call it. It was nothing but a reminder, a signal to everyone around us. All it did was mock me with its presence, mocked me with the cruel reminder that the man I was running after would always be just out of my grasp, unattainable to me.

Craig shifted in his seat; the wooden chair was so uncomfortable. He was in a corridor, lined with identical chairs occupied by more young men of about his age. The corridor smelled like polish and floor cleaner, and was painted a dull grey and cream. A few feet away stood a tough looking soldier, immaculately dressed in a dark green uniform and carrying a large wooden cane. Every few minutes a light bulb hanging above a doorway would flash, a buzzer would sound and the soldier jabbed the man sitting closest to him with his cane.

“Hannah drove her to the doctor,” Shaw told him. “She needed something to help her relax.”

I remember that sad day when my parents died. My dad died first, but my mom fought and fought for her life. She told me just before she died that I needed to pack up all of my stuff as I was moving with my aunt and uncle.

The rain was pouring down. There was no doubt that this was the worst storm they have ever faced. Lightning lit up the night sky and a clap of thunder goes off in the distance. It was sometime at eight o'clock when the storm started, and it had not stopped for three hours. The clopping of horse shoes against the cobblestone road echoed throughout. A horse and buggy flew down the street. The man driving fumbled in his pocket. He pulled out his pocket watch. 11:21, it said.

It was getting brighter outside of my bedroom window. The grass was greener than ever and the sky was a bright blue. My room was neat and tidy, the bed was a beautiful cyan. I walked up to my bed and lied down. Suddenly everything went into a swirl of darkness and I saw my father's body lying motionless on the ground, a gun beside him. I screamed.

Ringing the doorbell several times, Karen screamed, pounding on the door, she yelled, “Wake up Dan. Wake up, Dan! I need your help.”

He checked his rearview. Several cars back a white van followed. He’d noticed it twice now. It was the kind of van the mob used, no side or back windows, a solid screen separating the cab from the rear. He’d keep an eye on it. Doing so was second nature. Used to following, he was expert at knowing when he was followed. But the van turned off.

I awoke from my bed and saw my sister’s eyes filled, all of a sudden she shouted, “Mama is sick, wake up, mama is sick!”

The putrid purple of old bruises gleamed helplessly against the limpid replacements— it was all my fault.

Most people who’d undergone pain would say that going home after an incident would be the worst part, having to deal with the aftermath of their emotional outbursts and what was happening. Vivian, however, felt nothing as she walked. The cold wind was biting through her, and she could sense that rain was coming nearby, mainly due to the odd twinge in the air that she’d learned to avoid having a delicate instrument with her at all times. Yet now she walked through the streets alone, each step pressing on the cold stones underneath her and making her that much more worried as to what she was going to do.

Maybe if I die, things will be better. Your friends won’t care, they never care. Wait, you don't have any. Your Parents won’t either. You’ll be another corpse in the grou-