God

This is a short story that I wrote back in college for my creative writing class. It was meant to express a sense of loneliness and desperation. I found it while digging up stuff for a yard sale. It is complete fiction...

and taking a clue from a friends blog, any piece of fiction will be noted by the italicized script.

God

By Bran

Originally written March 4, 1997. Transcribed and edited July/ Aug 2006.


Her straight black hair fell around her face, grazing her knees as she sat head in hands, crying. The silence of her room surrounds her, drowns her. The noise in her head is deafening, thoughts flying at such a rate that only one becomes clear:

“I’m going crazy. I’m going fucking crazy,” she chants over and over, rocking her body back in forth in an attempt to keep the madness inside from erupting forth.

Evening has begun to fall, creating eerie shadows across her bleak room. It fits her mood, bare and cold. She wonders why she feels so alone, she knows she’s a good person, personable and friendly. But inside she has a hole in her soul that’s been there for years. Like a sucker punch, it took her unaware and left her bleeding. She never has stopped bleeding. Most of the time, the emotional bandages she made holds it all in. But today, this sunny cool March day, nothing can hold this pain at bay.

She thinks back, picturing the last time she was whole, truly and completely happy; her red and puffy eyes light with a sad smile at the memory of him, her former lover. Memories of him assault her: his eyes, the way they would crinkle up when he smiled, his laugh, and the way his sweet northern accented voice would deepen when he said ‘I love you.’ He had her heart completely, held her soul, once with loving hands, now as a prisoner… never to be freed. She had trusted him with all she was, her whole future had been in his arms. God she loved him, loves him still.

She remembers the day she met him, a day very reminiscent of today, standing in line for breakfast. She was right behind him and over heard him talking about theatre. She butted into the conversation and he looked up at her. His blue eyes met her green and the world slowed down. He stuttered in reply and put hot water in his mug instead of coffee. She laughed at him and followed him to his table. He was unlike anyone she had ever met. North to her South, country to her city, light, blonde to her dark, black. She can’t remember what they talked about any more, only the heady sensation of those first moments of falling in love. She never thought it could happen that fast, but in those first minutes, she knew she would never love anyone the way she would love him.

Her smile fades with the realization of what she once had and lost. This day, this moment of pure pain was proof of what his love had cost her. All the loving words, promises made, dreams and hopes were for naught. He had left her, in the fall when the trees were red and gold, when they were young and confused. He thought it was for her good. They needed time, space to grow up. Grown she had, into this sad creature with a tear streaked face. Oh there were times when a small gleam of sunshine broke through the clouds, times when she thought she might find love again, but the cloud cover always thickened up until the sky was black.

Suddenly, bitterness fills her entire being. Moving with determination, she walks to her bedroom, past the piles of clothes, the stack of books she should be studying from, to her dresser, where the simplest out could be found. Shifting through years of junk and memories, she finds it. He gave it to her when she left for college. He wanted her to protect herself; she smiles at the irony of it. Cold to her touch, it seems to beckon her. She walks back to the living room, stopping to look around at all the picture of her family and friends; she wonders where they are all now?

The gun feels heavy in her hand, as she checks to make sure it’s loaded. The click of the bullet sliding into place echoes through the room. “They don’t deserve a good bye,” she says to herself, placing the barrel to her temple. She says a quick prayer that if God is real, he'd find a way to save her from her pain. Her finger slips in and on the trigger, she closes her eyes, takes a deep breath.

Suddenly the room is filled with the shrill sound of the phone coming to life. She jumps in surprise and lets the gun fall to the ground. Hand shaking she moves to pick up the phone. “Hello?”
“Jess?”
“Yeah…” she exhales a shaky breath.
She had to be dreaming; maybe she was already dead and managed to get to heaven if this was the voice she was hearing.
“It’s me, it’s Drew,” Her old lover’s voice carried quietly through the line.
Tears began to stream down her face. Relief, shock, joy, anger wash over her at once.
“Jess, are you okay? Jess… I just had a need to call you. Hon, are you okay?”
His accent was still the same, he was still the same. She felt the insane need to laugh bubble up through her. God had a real fucking sense of irony… At least she knew that now.
“Jess, baby, talk to me… I love you, I’m so sorry for … well… everything” He finished lamely. His voice began to sound panicked.
“Drew, I need you,” was all she said and hung up the phone.
Her knees gave out and she sank to the ground. Her hands fell on the gun and she shoved it away from her. Holy shit, what had she just been about to do?

The door bell rang; she looked up and was almost afraid to answer it. There was no way he could be there… even Superman couldn’t fly that fast. As she went to answer the door all she could think was ‘Maybe… just maybe’

The door opened and a man rushed in. He took one look at her and gathered her into his arms. It wasn’t who she wanted, but it was enough for now.