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 Posted: Sat Jun 13, 2009 6:32 am
Here's a short story I wrote. I think it started ok, but I'm not a big fan of the ending... Ehh.
I hope you enjoy it or whatever.
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There Was a Sigh in the Silence
There was a sigh in the silence. A deep, heavy hopeless kind of sigh. The kind of sigh that comes up from the stomach and claws its way out of the mouth like some monstrous creature with long claws that it uses to pull apart the lips and launch itself into the silent atmosphere of the outside. If anybody else, besides me, were around, they would have been surprised to hear that such a sigh came from the slightly chapped lips of a seemingly attractive young girl lying in the sand of a sunny southern California beach. Laid out before this sighing girl was a vibrant, colorful landscape of an overly warm day in the beginning of spring. Again, a deep sigh welled up from within the inner reaches of the delicate looking girl, after which she sat up, leaned against her arms, and stared out at the fast approaching waves that were beginning to come close to lapping at her flip-flop shod feet. With great lethargy, the girl rose to her feet and casually walked off the beach and onto the hard, cement walkway of the bordering street.
Now that she had begun to move, albeit slowly, I noticed an odd swaying to her stride. She was rocking back and forth, shaking her head as she slid. Hands in her pockets, and with a rebellious teenage slump, the girl continued her sway-walk with an added sharp movement of the head. As the wind picked up, I saw something white in her ears with a cord trailing down to around her belt where it attached itself into an odd looking box shaped device.
Oh, wait, it’s just an iPod.
“At least she isn’t crazy,” I thought to myself as I followed—not stalked—the young girl to wherever she was heading.
After a few minutes, I found myself getting annoyed with the slow pace of the girl. As I was about to change my position, she changed direction and walked straight through the open front door of a nearby house. Well, I’m not so sure it was a house at all. The windows were boarded up, the door was immense, and it didn’t seem that anybody actually lived there. Before I had decided whether or not I wanted to enter the building, I saw her leaving the same door through which she had just entered, protectively carrying a strange looking paper bag close to her chest. Finding this strange, I wrote the event into my journal—not diary—and continued to follow her out of the area and back again towards the beach, though she would not in fact return there that day. After much walking, head nodding and swaying, the girl approached yet another door, closed this time, and produced from her pocket a shiny, copper key. Inserting it into the lock and turning, the door swung inwards. From here, I could not follow her, without risk of being seen, so I swiftly scanned the area, leapt down from my vantage tree, and returned to the beach. If I was lucky, the water wouldn't have covered the area which she had so recently vacated.
I think I'll end my scouting here today. After all, it's just so nice out.
------------------ (change in POV)
Another day of boredom in this hollowed out excuse we call a town. There’s nobody I can depend on, other than that weird kid who keeps shadowing me and chattering to himself. Maybe he believes he’s being sneaky, but he’s certainly a failure at the art of subtlety. Went home earlier than I expected today ‘cause I didn’t have to wait around for that loaf of a pusher. Most days are like this: go out, sit for a while, buy the goods, go home, listen to music, eat, and sleep. There’s nothing worth doing. Nothing at all. I go to school to learn things I don’t use in daily life. Then, college, where I study more for The Future and success. The Future, what a vague concept. I don’t even know if I’ll live to be old enough to see these supposed benefits. And what is success? Why do people believe that there is a point to this miserable existence, and why are they always scurrying about, working towards objectives and goals that really don’t matter at all? I just don’t get it.
As I walk in the front door, my mother greets me in that loud, superficial way of hers. Loud voice, flamboyant gestures, and a disgustingly huge grin stretched from cheekbone to cheekbone.
“Hello Megan, dear. How’s the weather today,” she grins. The smile touches her eyes today, but I don’t care.
“Fine,” I reply. It’s the perfect word to use that answers the procured?? Presented? question, but conveys absolutely nothing. My perfect response makes me grin inwardly at my cleverness, and I make sure not to look at my mother’s contorting face as I brush past her, water-wrinkled, labor-hardened hands flicking and moving about in the slick liquid as she busily washes some carrots in the kitchen. Some kind of food was simmering in a closed-off pot on the stove, and I could see the waves of murky heat shimmering around the metal cover. Making sure to avoid the probably dangerous concoction (her recipes tend to be overtly moronic ”inspirational” and lacking in any prior thought. I’ve had to help her put out grease fires from her negligence and lack of cooking insight) and dodging our ever-present mutt of a dog who tried to wind his way around my feet, I pushed my way to the fridge and pulled out a Coke.
“Dear, drinking such sugary drinks will spoil your appetite for dinner, and it’s none too healthy either,” she sang in her peppy concerned-parent way from over by the sink without turning around to look at me. This has all gotten to be routine now. Every day, upon coming home, I take out a coke and mum calls me out for it, usually with some sort of health related news bulletin But who buys these cokes and puts then there anyway? This has become such a regular routine that her words have ceased to mean anything and are more of a formality than a chiding.
Ignoring her as I always do, I gulp down the can, throw the tab onto the kitchen table, and make my way up to my bedroom. Mother never asked about the paper package I was clutching so tightly to my chest, as she had never actually noticed. She’s that kind of person, acting all happy and loving but never really looking you in the eye. I suppose this semi-negligence of hers allows me to do and feel things that most other people like me would never have been able to experience. However, dwelling on things like that never gets anywhere, so I quickly put these thoughts from my mind and stride upstairs, taking the stairs two at a time. It is only after I have reached the confines of my bedroom, and locked the door, that I open the paper parcel before me.
“He really didn't skimp this time,” I smirked inwardly, slightly disgusted by the memory of the yellow-toothed money-grubber. It’d be so much better if I never had to deal with him, or anybody for that matter. I again put the thoughts from my mind, and prepared myself for a trip. Setting up the stuff as usual, I waited for the rush…
But something felt strange.
Instead of a calm, elated sort of air-headedness, there was a growing, numbing pain. It was like nothing I’d ever felt before, and I instinctively knew that I would never feel it again. My mind was gone, long gone, and I could barely distinguish the objects around my Spartan bedroom. Everything that happened then was barely registered, but I was still dimly aware of something creaking, breaking inside of me as I slipped quickly away from consciousness.
---------(Change in POV)
I went to the beach today and the girl wasn’t there. This is very strange, very strange indeed. This is the first time that she hasn’t been here since I started observing her, and I’m wondering what could have happened .
The day is cloudless and warmer than ever. The waves continue to lap at the shining, sandy beach, the sun still beats down upon the uncovered heads of a group of German tourists who are taking snap-shots from rocks of each other and the natural beauty all around, and so life goes on.
---------(Change in POV)
Harsh, cold, white light awoke me from a forced sleep. An unnatural light, blinding in its brightness that forced me to close my eyes. The oddest thing about this light was not the color, nor the suddenness of it’s appearance, but the fact that it did not hurt me. I knew my eyes blinking, but not from real pain or a want to re-establish my vision, but instead because of a natural, human reaction. After a few seconds of more rigorous blinking, the light became four distinct, pale faces, two of which I could instantly recognize. Why were my mother and brother looking so anxiously into my face? Why were my mother’s eyes wet?
Sitting up was scary. As soon as I lifted my head, the momentum of the movement sent me hurtling up towards the ceiling, and out from my very body. I, almost distantly, heard my mother gasp and begin sobbing anew as she saw my head move. As I saw my head move. I am outside my body… Am I dead? What happened and why am I here?
Seeing my mother and brother be lead out of the room by a slender nurse, I panicked and attempted to fumble myself along the ceiling, using my hands to “paddle” myself forward as I tried to call out .
“Don’t you see me? Right here, on the… Ceiling.”
I must be hallucinating. I gave up trying to grasp after my family. Writing in disarray, I tossed about on the pillow as if I had been having a nightmare, the reality of the situation hit me. There is something very, very wrong with all of this.
-----------(Change in POV)
It’s been a long time since I last saw her, the object of my surveillance. What was she carrying that day? Did it have anything to do with her disappearance? I must note this irregularity.
Hmm. It seems that I’m the only one who notices her absence. The waves still beat the shore around where she usually sits so serenely, unceasing and unconcerned that there is one less pair of pale feet to wash with salty brine. No physical trace of her being resides in the sand. The wind blows and the tides break. Nature may not remember her presence, but I do, and I still intend to for at least a little while longer.
---------(Change in POV)
It has now been a few days since the incident. I’ve found that I’m able to move away from my body completely. What is going on? Why is this happening? Every waking minute I see people rushing past doing all sorts of incomprehensible things to an uncountable number of people. Now I know why hospital-dwellers are called patients. Everybody waits their turn and the whole organization continues to move like a well oiled car engine, each person a small cog. Apart they look insignificant, but together they push against eachother in just the right way to make a bigger goal come into mind.
Every night I return here to check upon my body. Really, I’m beginning to become very scared. I cannot feel, cannot speak, cannot touch, but I still hurt and see.
For the last few days, I have begun venturing away from my body little by little. My mother always told me that I needed to “get out more” and “think of others for a change.” With my own body comatose, it’s the only choice I have.
When my mother came during the morning visiting hours, staring at my body so stoically as if a blank mask was affixed to her face. All her smile lines around her mouth were flattened down. I’ve never seen my mother like this before, but then again, I haven’t really looked her full in the face for years. She always seemed like such a hindrance, but now she’s here, looking at me. Where’s her smile gone?
Spending less time than usual, my mother left after only fifteen minutes of silent vigilance.
Quickly floating after her, I followed my mother down the bustling corridors and out into the bright, Californian sky. I’d never noticed before how vast, clear, and just all encompassing the sky was before. In the blink of an eye, I found myself back on the beach in my usual resting spot. The tide had left the sand damp and sticky, but not a single grain of sand was shifted by my incorporeal form as I lay down and rested the back of my head on my curved arms. Slowly panning around, my eyes took in the true beauty around me. Everything from the freezing waves to the tanned feet of locals running from place to place was bathed in a new light. I… I’d never felt anything like it. I was significant, but only so much as every person was. Sitting up and lying on my elbow, I looked over my shoulder to see a boy. A young boy. My own personal little golden blonde haired, blue eyed, silently staring creepy stalker boy. He was staring straight at me.
------(Change in POV)
Sitting on my usual observation post (the second highest branch of the tree overlooking the great outcropping of rock known to the younger generation as Obsidian gorge) I continued my examination of the pale, sandy beach. There were more tourists today of the Asian variety. Twelve altogether, consisting of 7 females of varying ages and 6 males, presumably their spouses and children, were standing closely together snapping photos of whatever greenery they could find as the local who was leading them droned on about the construction of the pier.
They didn’t stay long as their tour guide appeared to be bothered by the stark sunlight shining down on their balding plate. After the troupe left, there were no people in the immediate vicinity. I closed my eyes and stuck my head out through a cluster of perfectly symmetrical green leaves and tentively looked down upon the usual sight of my attention. In the time it took me to open my eyes, I noticed a slight shimmering of the atmosphere and, as if by magic, the girl was there again. She looked both the same and different synonymously. Glancing down, I checked my notes of the last time I saw this girl some days prior.
“Jeans… jacket… iPod…”
She looked exactly the same. No physical change, and yet her face was transformed into an expression I had never seen before. I was drawn in by this anomaly and failed to notice her turn around and stare at me eye to eye. There was no anger there, but no happiness either. Just a deep, looming, understanding, but of what? Is this really the girl I had been observing? What happened next was one of the biggest shocks of my entire life. I can still remember what she told me word for word:
“You really aren’t very good, you know.”
“I,” my throat was suddenly dry, “I … what?” I questioned.
“Stalking.”
So she knew.
“Why didn’t you just come up and say something?” She questioned sarcastically, not even trying to hide her knowing smirk. What did she think that she knew?
I couldn’t answer her. Averting my eyes, I stared out at the ocean, trying to take the quiet calm into myself to still my emotions.
When I looked at her again, she had turned back to facing the scene.
“Humans really are alone, but in that isolation we find unity and a common soul,” she whispered to the breeze.
Taken aback by this sudden statement, I shifted my gaze, trying to find her eyes again, but as soon as I thought I glimpsed her face, she was gone.
That was the last time I ever saw that girl.
---------------- (End)
Sorry, but I just realized that my formatting may have messed up when I posted this. If you have trouble reading it, please lemme know and I'll edit stuff.
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Posted: Wed Jun 24, 2009 8:01 am
One thing I have to say for the first paragraph, those lines that say something - not sentences mind you - are kinda unsubtle. If someone would be writing this in their journal (not diary xD) they would of already convinced themselves and not written little notes likes that... Unless that was intentional. Quote: Maybe he believes he’s being sneaky, but he’s certainly a failure at the art of subtlety. If it was, then I have to say it was brilliant :'D I became very interested as to what was happening to her >___> sad ending is sad. But good :U Correctioooons: Quote: “Fine,” I reply. It’s the perfect word to use that answers the procured?? Presented? Quote: and puts the n there anyway? Quote: Twelve altogether, consisting of 7 females of varying ages and 6 males
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