Short Story: Write about a reason for running away and going back home.

Image result for run away

The words are hurled at me and despite clasping my hands into fists and staring straight ahead, a few tears slip past my control and trail down my burning face. I hate myself more than anything in this moment, more than her and definitely more than him, who looks at me smirking form the side-lines.

“Are you listening to me you spoilt useless brat?!” She screams getting right up in my face, her breath toxic with alcohol, “you think crying is going to soften me huh?”

She pauses and I can’t believe my body has the audacity to indulge her as more tears trickle down, my mind is clouding from the breath I don’t want to stop holding but I’ll do anything to stop the tears.

She slaps me hard across the face.

“Next time you answer me!” she says grabbing my face: she looks at it, contempt written in every line of her still youthful face. I hate that she is pretty, that she is stared at when we leave the house together, that she is the youngest mother at my school; that some of the teachers openly lust after her and the guys in my stare at her with wide eyes. She loves it and she flaunts it.

I stare at her defiant and she steps even closer.

“No wonder your dad left me,” she whispers, “sick and tired of taking care of you, if I could do it over, I’d abort you in an instant.” She clicks her fingers in front of me as she releases her claw like grip of my chin.

It’s an insult I’ve heard before, but as she steps back her face slyly victorious she knows that it’s hit its mark. She turns and walks back to her boyfriend her face so altered that even he does a double-take, but he still follows her upstairs.

I am rooted to the spot, angry beyond my own comprehension. I fist my hands even tighter, I want to hurt myself, I fist my hands tighter still but my freshly cut nails only leave faint imprints. The thought is enough to jar me from that insidious path I’ve taken more than a year to shake.

“Leave the environment,” I whisper to myself, that’s what my school councillor advised me and I listen, because even though the feeling of hurting myself is still a beating pulse in my chest I don’t want to end up like Tiffney, I shake my head at the image.

I walk out of the house, it’s surprisingly warm outside, the sun not yet set, it’s actually a beautiful day, I walk briskly to the end of our road, then I pick up the pace as I walk a little further, a glance back and I can still see the house. What if I just take off, what if I just run. Better yet what if I don’t come back.

The thought causes me to actually smile and as I wipe at my face a kind of madness sets over me as I begin to run.

I’m running and it feels so good.

I run for a good long while, slowing down, almost stopping before I speed up again, my thoughts always galvanizing me forwards.

It’s late now, the sun has well and truly set, she’ll not worry, she never worries but she’ll wonder.

“I hate her!” I say vehemently and it feels good to say it out loud to own the feeling.

I’m always tip toeing around her and her latest squeeze, because she lets me eat her food and sleep under her house. I’m on guard all the time, more than that I’m fearful, especially after the incident, I almost believed she cared that time she punched the guy who was trying it on with me. I remember her rushing to me to see if I was okay, hugging me tightly and turning to threaten the guy, I’ll never forget that look of fury on her face as she protected me, I was only ten but still that memory of that day was crystal clear.

I’m crying again. I hate myself but the tears keep coming and I’m gasping for breath because I want my mummy, I’m pathetic and stupid and idiotic and weak. I keep up a stream of insults until the tears run dry because I know I have to go back.

The walk back home is much longer and I pause a few times trying to think of radical ways I can leave home forever, but I can’t. I know how hard it is out there being a runaway, and my situation isn’t half as bad as others I’ve heard of, I just have to make it four more years, then I’m off to Uni, then I’m gone for good.

I keep up the stream of positive images like my councillor tells me to do, but it all falls short when I see the house. I don’t have a curfew because she doesn’t care to set me one but still I know it’s late; past eleven at night.

I walk in – they are both cuddling on the coach, but she jumps up when she sees me and follows me to my room.

“Didn’t have the balls to go through with running away?” She sneers.

I sit on my bed and glance up at her, my exhaustion is weighing down on me and I show no surprise.

“Answer me!” She says angrily.

I nod suddenly I’m bone weary and just want to sleep.

She glares at me her face suspicious; she’s moving her weight from one foot to the other. I glance at her questioningly.

“Well next time –”

“Don’t worry there won’t be a next time. Three years, then you won’t ever have to see me again.” I want to say it firmly and confidently but it comes out strangely detached and she flinches.

She hesitates before she says; “go and wash those dishes in the sink!”

I nod slowly and I can see that my indifference is getting to her.

My councillor always tells me not to react and I don’t I just stand there and take her abuse but this is something different – I’m acting like I don’t care because I really don’t.

 

 

 

 

Snapshots through time: Eleanor remembers the past

Embrace me Jonah

Embrace me Jonah

Jonah waited beside Eleanor’s bed, the doctors were confused, a woman of thirty with no history of health issues didn’t simply have a seizure and slip into a coma for a month. Jonah didn’t care what the experts said, he would wait for his Eleanor, he had already waited one life time for her and he didn’t mind waiting another.

It came as no surprise to him when she awoke and called out to him.

“I remember,” she said softly. “My darling Francis, I remember.”

“If it hurts you, then don’t.” He had said to her, brushing her dark her away from her forehead, so different from the lighter shade she’d had in her previous life, with the thought came a piercing pain in his head but he fought through it.

“I have to know, I need to. On the train tracks that day, what happened?” She asked her voice urgent, as though she knew her mind wouldn’t last long in this fluid state.

“We were supposed to meet one last time, but the train it hit you,” Jonah said carefully, “I died a few years later, working on the railway, I couldn’t be away from trains from you.”

Eleanor smiled sadly.

“How can it be that we have loved each other for two lifetimes, but never really get to be together?”

Jonah hugged her tightly as his mind started to rebel.

“I don’t know Miss Marie-Ann, I don’t know.”

Snapshots through time: Marie-Ann’s ring

one-ring

Sanella looked up as Ezra stormed into the office.

He looked down at her, his anger a palpable thing in the air.

“How may I help you?” She said pleasantly.

“A letter? You think a letter was enough to convince someone – regardless of the amount of coincidences she shared with Marie-Ann,” he interjected when she opened her mouth to argue, “was enough, you’ve taken out something, tell me now!” He demanded, his eyes too bright.

“A little obsessed?” She said with a smile.

He gave her a strange look, “Of course,” he said so earnestly that Sanella actually believed him.

“Marie-Ann was given an engagement ring when she made the deal with the Mayor’s son. Expensive and oddly unique, the ring has been lost for decades.” Sanella said and reached into her desk and pulled out the ring.

“Eleanor knew exactly where it was,”

Ezra gazed at it, he looked almost fearful.

Sanella smiled and said softly, “It is one thing to believe, quite another to be proven right.”

Ezra met her gaze. He opened his mouth to say something and closed it again.

Snapshots through time: Marie-Ann’s The Letter

old-letter

“Her name was Marie-Ann, we couldn’t be together, back then people couldn’t mix like they do now. She was white and I was black,” Jonah told Liana, “we kept it secret for as long as we could but we were found out. To say life got unbearable would be an understatement, the tenuous peace we were working towards blew up. It split the whole town in half. She cut a deal with the mayor; Mr Hopkins, to marry his son, an ignorant and violent young man, but she agreed so they would leave us alone.”

Liana had then been presented with a letter, soft and worn with age, she had the paper authenticated. It was real.

Much as I love you, and I do love you, I can no longer accept what we are doing. Your nearness, it causes great pain when you leave. Despite knowing that I will regret this decision forever, I can no longer take the pain of your presence any more – even for you. I will not put myself through it. Maybe in our next life we can try again. – MA

MA had stood for Marie-Ann Jean who had been born in 1953 and died in 1975.  Eleanor Avenoso had been born nine months after Marie-Ann had died. When she had first read the letter, she had collapsed and slipped in to a coma that had confused the Doctors. But it was when she had woken up that the real problem began.

Snapshots through time: Jonah’s story

rocking-chair

Liana paused outside Ezra’s office, she could see him reading her research, her heart began to race as she saw him pick up the letter that had started her on this path. She could still remember the look on Jonah’s face when he had presented her with the letter.

She had been working at the Havers mental institute for four months wondering if she would ever match the success of her first thesis when Jonah stopped her for a chat. Usually out of his mind on multiple medication, he seemed lucid as he gestured her over.

“Do you believe in reincarnation?” Jonah had said.

Liana had sighed and shaken her head.

“I can prove it to you.”

Liana still didn’t know what had made her stay, maybe it was the small smile on his face, but she had listened to him, and what he had said on that day and the months that followed proved to her something she would months ago had insisted was impossible.

Jonah had always wanted to prove the existence of reincarnation, but it seemed like whenever he had gotten his story straight his mind would rebel against him, as if he wasn’t supposed to remember. As if his mind was self-sabotaging to stop him from remembering to prevent him from telling his story.

But it seemed like providence when a world-renowned psychiatrist had started working at the institute, it had taken his months to get his meds reduced to he could be gather his thoughts. Despite this he hadn’t expected her to believe him, but she had. It had taken her months to get the full story out of him, relapses dogged his footsteps, the more he remembered the more his mind rebelled. But the letter and the story surrounding it, that he would never forget.

Short Story: Snapshots through time

Short Story: The Witness part 2

Door

Cool hands on her skin that felt feverishly hot.

“Miss Nansam?”

Eseme jumped and he removed his hands.

“Miss Nansam?” he said again.

Eseme looked up, and around the room, they weren’t alone, a least seven other people were staring at her, had witnessed her seizure, not a single one of them were medical personnel.

“Get out,” Eseme said, her voice hoarse from screaming, but only at the need had she screamed, throughout she had been silent. What kind of monster was she to not scream as she was subjected to what she saw? Only at the end when it was already too late.

“What was that Miss Nansam?” the detective asked leaning forward.

Eseme cringed away from him but repeated her request.

He looked confused for a moment before turning around to the other people in her hospital room.

“I think she wants you all to leave,” a nurse who had just walked back in said firmly.

There was a moment of indecision as the detectives and other law enforcement officials looked like they wanted to argue before filing out. Six men and four women in total.

The detective that had been speaking to Eseme hesitated at the door before the nurse ushered him out.

“I’m so sorry for what you witnessed,” the nurse said before heading out.

Eseme nodded.

What she witnessed, not what happened to her because nothing had happened to her, she was perfectly fine, a few scathes, maybe a bruise or two, but she had left that road with her life, which was more than she could say for the others who hadn’t been fast enough, who hadn’t been spared, and she made no allusions about this, she had been spared. Why? She didn’t know.

Short Story: The Witness

O God she was shaking. All she could feel was her body convulsing. All she could hear was the gushing of blood in her ears.

“Did she witness everything?” a rough voice asked.

She had hadn’t she, she been there from the beginning, frozen in fear when everyone else’s sense of self-preservation had kicked in and got them the hell out of dodge. But obviously her body worked differently. She hadn’t run, she hadn’t so much as moved, her eyes peeled back, unbelieving yet unable to look away.

“Is she passing out?” a different voice asked.

That probably explained the darkness clouding her vision and the heaviness she felt settle over her before oblivion claimed her.

Someone was calling her; they sounded so far away, their voice so soft it sounded like the wind itself. Eseme didn’t respond, she felt bone weary, most likely brought on from pulling an all-nighter at the archives, she really should hold on to sleep for as long as she could, but the voice was getting louder more insistent.

Then someone was shaking her.

Eseme’s eyes’ flew open, large hands on her, a male face holding her down as he shouted words she couldn’t understand at her.

She was being assaulted again! Eseme tried to struggle away.

“Stop! Breathe!” He said.

For some reason she couldn’t understand she obeyed the rough command and realised he wasn’t holding her down, but holding her still, she had been having some sort of seizure.

She took a few deep breaths as she looked into eyes the colour of warm chocolate.

She pulled away from him and he let her go as she sat up.

Eseme looked around.

She was in a hospital room.

It was real, she hadn’t dreamt it, she had really seen – she began hyperventilating.

Short Story: Galactic Confessionary

Welcome to Galactic Confessionary – where for a small fee you can unload all your secrets, judgment not included in the price.

maxresdefault2-696x392Magnus read the sign on the door with ambivalence, he didn’t know what he was doing, he hated places like this, but then who else could he talk to about something this…he searched for the right word – delicate. Yes the situation was delicate. On his home planet of Ganzar, he would be detained for the knowledge he held, but here on Hoxcer, a planet that courted it lawlessness he was fine. He could share this secret that had been haunting him for weeks and could very well haunt him forever.

Magnus stepped into the booth.

“Welcome,” an appealing feminine sounding voice said in the universal language, “please feel free to begin whenever you are ready, you have purchased thirty minutes, it starts now.”

Magnus nodded, even though he knew she couldn’t see.

He took a deep breath and nothing came out, he was a little surprised to find himself nervous, he knew that the Galactic confessionary was played on the radio waves, and despite his disguise and paying in jewels that were untraceable he hesitated.

“Don’t worry,” the voice said softly, “there is no judgment here but the one you pay for.” It was said almost kindly that he almost believed her.

“Sure.” Magnus said slowly.

Then as if suddenly made conscious of the time he began speaking.

“My wife, my ex,” he shook his head, “she’s not my ex she’s my late wife, my late wife.” He took a deep breath.

“My wife was having an affair, I suspected, strongly suspected, so I had her followed, nothing, I put bugs around the house, still nothing, I took leave from work, and I still couldn’t catch her, she was good, very careful.” He said with a small smile, even in death he was still drawn to her ingenuity and cunning.

“Two solid weeks and nothing. I had to go back to work, going half-crazy thinking there was something wrong with me, I was too paranoid, too mistrusting but I’m a –” he stopped mid-sentence, almost revealing what plane he was from, he took a deep breath, “basically, my instincts are never wrong.”

“Never?” The voice said in surprise.

Magnus started at the voice, so altered from the cool indifference she had previously spoken with before.

“Never.” Magnus said with confidence, and he waited a moment trying to edge closer to the partition to see the face that belonged to the voice, but a kind of haze had been put on her so she seemed to shift and move.

“So, as I was saying, my instincts are never wrong, I knew she was cheating I just didn’t know how. Last week, I was on my way to a friend in another galaxy but I’d forgotten my compass, I went back, and I witnessed her murder. Or rather her death. The distinction is very important because on my home planet; murder is punishable by murder the only exceptions are proven cases of self-defence, sanctioned revenge and proven cases of genuine accidents.” Magnus paused.

“Her lover, a Santarian, a true teleporter, hence why I never caught her, is to be murdered for her death, because he was found with her. He pleads innocent, no one believes him because no one was there, except me. I saw the whole thing, and he is right, it was an accident. She tripped and fell he didn’t push her. And a better man than me would come forward as a witness.”

“But you’re not a better man.” The voice said.

“No judgment.” He said calmly.

“Sorry, do go on.”

Magnus gave her a look.

“The Earthlings call it karma, who am I to get in the way of it.”

“If it was truly karmic justice, then you would not have witnessed it, providing him with a means to escape his sentence of certain death.” The voice said gently.

“Well you’re just full of judgment aren’t you?” Magnus said with a small smile.

“My apologies, if you want I can charge you extra.” It was said coolly, but Magnus could almost detect a smile.

“Then tell me what to do.”

“I don’t need to because you already know.”

Magnus nodded and made to leave, just as she whispered.

“Goodbye, Ganzarian.” She paused and switched to Gandour. “For a race that is thought of as the proudest in the galaxy you seem almost decent.”

“Coming from you, who I suspect is an Angel or at least a half-breed; that might be the nicest compliment I’ve ever had.” Magnus said before he walked out.

Short Story: The Longest Bus Ride

I opens my eyes, I’m not awake, but this isn’t sleep. I’m drowsy but my mind is focused. A jolt of electricity rushes through my body. The pain is powerful; like a whispered secret in my ear. I control the trembling by concentrating on the noises washing over me. The whispers and the silence. The movements and the stillness. Another jolt, the pain wants my attention. I focus for a moment, and really try to feel. Should I be alarmed that I knows this much pain? But it’s like music, da dum da dum da dum, with every pump of my heart, fresh pain. I marvel at the body’s ability to endure so much, it’s like war and I have not yet learnt how to lose. I suck in a breath. My moment of weakness has cost me as someone turns to look.

Concern? Fear? Suspicion?

I wants to explain; I opens his mouth, then closes it again.

More attention from the stranger.

A splash of water on my trembling hands. I forgot about the tears.

I jolt in my seat as the bus stops, my eyes flutter momentarily and I almost lose control of the reins. The stranger gets up and with one last look leaves me.

I’d feel relived but all my body knows is the pain, all my feelings and all my mind. The whole world is pain.

The pulsing in my head blurs my vision for a few moments and my body stops taking in oxygen as panic seeps through vulnerable thoughts.

My stop is fast approaching and I prepare my body for what I’m about to do, but obedience will not be had and the pain ups the stakes.

It’s my stop, my eyes strain as I gazes at the open doors slowly closing.

I lurch out of my seat, my ears pick up alarm from the other commuters but all I know is the exit. I stumble but I do not fall.

Slowly I’m made aware that the bus is not moving despite my presence on the pavement. I’m being looked at but I have no time for them.

I’m single minded in my need to get home. Every step is absorbed by my body.

Stopping never occurs to me.

Something more important is demanding my attention and that’s time. I can feel the countdown scarping against my bones. The beat is obnoxious in my eardrums.

I’m through the front door.

Alarmed voices and softly spoken words. I’m at the centre of the calmest storm.

My body wants to give in and I’m tempted but peace will not be found at home.

The wait almost breaks me but I endure another ride on a different type of bus.

I’m lying still; the screams are so loud but I can’t open my mouth to voice them. The pain doesn’t no defeat but nor do I.

The Hospital is close but I know the pain is in my lifeblood, my very DNA, my sickle cell anemia.