Catie's Short Story Archive

Some of these are full-blown short stories, one is the beginning of a novel, and most are scraps of scenes that I happened to write down. Most of them will never be more than a small piece of a story, but some I have big plans for. Enjoy. :)

Thursday, July 22, 2010

haunted

Sixty-four years later and she still cries herself to sleep every single night. Alone, in her bedroom, she can’t help but be overcome by emotions of decades past; she lets the tears slide silently down her cheeks in the dark, calmly enduring the torture again and again.

It had happened in the spring, when the date and time were not important. Heads were fuzzy and serene, full of thoughts concerning sunshine, green grass, cherry blossoms, and of course, love. They would lie for hours upon the hill overlooking her home, she resting her head on his stomach, he softly stroking her hair. She remembers the feel of the grass between her bare toes, the smell of it that seemed to cling to the fibers of her clothing, the quiet crunching sound as she split the blades with her fingers. Sometimes they would talk without cease while they lay watching the clouds. Other times they were silent, listening to the chatter of the birds and the sound of each other’s movements, breath, and heartbeats, enjoying the beauty of just being together.

After so many years, she still remembers every detail. His eyes, a very light brown, were almost golden under the sun; his thick auburn hair was always parted on the side. He had nice, white teeth, and a smile that she couldn’t help but reciprocate. He was tall, with muscular arms that made her feel perfectly safe when she was wrapped in them. The only flaw to his appearance was a scar that ran from the bridge of his nose to the edge of his left nostril.

She never asked where he’d gotten it. She didn’t need to. He’d gotten home less than a year ago, physically unscathed save for the scar. “I fought” was all he ever said about it. She never asked where, or for how long, or what he’d seen. He didn’t want to talk about it, and she didn’t want to know. But she could tell sometimes, when they lay watching the clouds float overhead, that he wasn’t with her completely, that part of him was still there.

And so they spent their days together, laughing, sunbathing, and enjoying the company. Sometimes he would take her to the movies, or to go dancing, but both of them preferred their days upon the hill. Needless to say she was in love with him to an almost unhealthy degree. He was consistently the subject of both her thoughts and her dreams; she was infatuated, and certain that their romance would never end.

One day, he said the words she’d been longing to hear for months; he’d taken her face in his hands and pulled it gently toward his own. “I love you,” he’d said, “and I hope that you never forget it.” She didn’t. To this day, she can picture the way his brown eyes softened as he whispered the words.

That night he was gone. They found him in his bedroom, holding a note that said he’d seen too much, knew too much, but that he’d be waiting for her. She was broken, traumatized, alone, and had no hope of ever recovering. That night she cried the first of the tears that would never end.

Sixty-four years later and she still cries herself to sleep every single night. Alone, in her bedroom, she can’t help but be overcome by emotions of decades past; she lets the tears slide silently down her cheeks in the dark, waiting for death to claim her and bring them back together.

1 Comments:

Blogger adam_hamilton said...

This is some pretty vivid writing. Glad I came across this on your Google+ profile. I didn't remember that you told me you wrote until just now, but there's definitely a lot of raw emotion in here. I don't know too much about the real life influence you got for this, but it's awesome that you can use that as inspiration for what I've gathered to be your very elegant writing style.

July 19, 2011 at 3:41 PM  

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