drpepper96
06-15-2011, 03:38 AM
Another story i had to throw down for English. My theme was "mysteries and paradoxes of the human spirit" and after several overhauls of the plot, this is what i came up with. Critisicm is more then welcome, and I hope you enjoy.
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The Grand Optimist
The clock read 12:55
Five more minutes, Sheila thought, and then I’ll go to bed.
She had been waiting by the phone all night, waiting for his call. It wasn’t like Carl to let her down like this.
He said he’d call when he got to his Ashley’s house.
Ashley, she thought. This was all her fault anyway. She was the little… jerk… who was stealing Carl away from me. Now he is dropping out of school to move to the interior to support her and her drunken dad. Maybe she’s pregnant? Oh god I hope not oh god oh god…
A quick glance at the oven revealed it was 12:56
We had a fight, she admitted, and took another swig of her drink. Sheila scowled as the bitter black liquid singed her tongue, and burnt its way into her empty chest. An intense feeling of warmth started in the pit of her stomach, and slowly spread to the tips of her fingers and the ends of her toes. She relished in the feeling of warmth for as long as she could, but snapped back attentively when it ended. It was the first time she had felt anything in years.
12:57
She could not even remember what started the fight, or why it had gotten out of hand so rapidly. Faint pieces of the argument, the slamming of doors, shouting of words neither of them had meant were all that echoed in her head. It felt like it had been years since he stormed out of her house, and out of her life.
12:58
Time had been passing faster now, no doubt due in part to the dwindling liquid in the bottom of her glass. She could remember watching his little red car ripping out of the driveway like a bat out of hell. A flash of scarlet lightning was the last she had seen of him that night.
12:59
Sheila’s heart was pounding in her ear, as her gaze was fixed on the dull, green light of the oven clock. Her breathing was quick, and shallow. Hands shaking, she finished what was left of her rum, took a deep breath and looked back up at the clock.
The clock finally struck 1. No word from Carl, although she had expected none. She waited for the knock at the door. She would walk over, confused, and answer it to discover two state troopers. Carl had been driving to his girlfriend’s house when a drunk driver decided the rules of the road did not apply to him, ran a red light, and collided with Carl’s Honda Civic. The pictures of his car strewn across the highway divider as though it had been picked up and roughly placed by an insane deity still haunted her dreams.
There were no troopers though, no nervous sobs, erupting into full blown tears and screams of ‘no’, and ‘this can’t be happening’. As though if she pleaded hard enough with police, they’d tell her it was some kind of elaborate joke.
None of this happened though, nor had she expected it too. In the back of her mind she had known all along, although her subconscious still allowed her to play through that evening for the fourth time. Like her mind had been stuck on rewind tonight, Sheila slowly picked up a picture of him by the front door, the last picture that was ever taken of him. Carl had been killed by a drunk driver.
Four years ago.
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The Grand Optimist
The clock read 12:55
Five more minutes, Sheila thought, and then I’ll go to bed.
She had been waiting by the phone all night, waiting for his call. It wasn’t like Carl to let her down like this.
He said he’d call when he got to his Ashley’s house.
Ashley, she thought. This was all her fault anyway. She was the little… jerk… who was stealing Carl away from me. Now he is dropping out of school to move to the interior to support her and her drunken dad. Maybe she’s pregnant? Oh god I hope not oh god oh god…
A quick glance at the oven revealed it was 12:56
We had a fight, she admitted, and took another swig of her drink. Sheila scowled as the bitter black liquid singed her tongue, and burnt its way into her empty chest. An intense feeling of warmth started in the pit of her stomach, and slowly spread to the tips of her fingers and the ends of her toes. She relished in the feeling of warmth for as long as she could, but snapped back attentively when it ended. It was the first time she had felt anything in years.
12:57
She could not even remember what started the fight, or why it had gotten out of hand so rapidly. Faint pieces of the argument, the slamming of doors, shouting of words neither of them had meant were all that echoed in her head. It felt like it had been years since he stormed out of her house, and out of her life.
12:58
Time had been passing faster now, no doubt due in part to the dwindling liquid in the bottom of her glass. She could remember watching his little red car ripping out of the driveway like a bat out of hell. A flash of scarlet lightning was the last she had seen of him that night.
12:59
Sheila’s heart was pounding in her ear, as her gaze was fixed on the dull, green light of the oven clock. Her breathing was quick, and shallow. Hands shaking, she finished what was left of her rum, took a deep breath and looked back up at the clock.
The clock finally struck 1. No word from Carl, although she had expected none. She waited for the knock at the door. She would walk over, confused, and answer it to discover two state troopers. Carl had been driving to his girlfriend’s house when a drunk driver decided the rules of the road did not apply to him, ran a red light, and collided with Carl’s Honda Civic. The pictures of his car strewn across the highway divider as though it had been picked up and roughly placed by an insane deity still haunted her dreams.
There were no troopers though, no nervous sobs, erupting into full blown tears and screams of ‘no’, and ‘this can’t be happening’. As though if she pleaded hard enough with police, they’d tell her it was some kind of elaborate joke.
None of this happened though, nor had she expected it too. In the back of her mind she had known all along, although her subconscious still allowed her to play through that evening for the fourth time. Like her mind had been stuck on rewind tonight, Sheila slowly picked up a picture of him by the front door, the last picture that was ever taken of him. Carl had been killed by a drunk driver.
Four years ago.