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Addict
Join Date: Jan 2006
Location: Portland, OR
Gender: Female
Posts: 146
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A Nervous Kind of Peace - Third Draft?
The quiet and still around us makes it seem like nothing’s wrong and I’m just playing a trick on you. But I know that I’m not, no matter what I try to think. No matter how many times I wish I could’ve done something to stop it, and no amount of yelling and screaming is going to help, and somehow you understand. But I still glance at my watch and can feel that you do too as I move my wrist, dreading as the minutes slip by our grasp. I never did really appreciate the passage of time.
It’s funny how this is going the opposite of what I’d planned. I thought that when we were old and ready to go it would just happen, but I guess I’m more of a naive kid than I thought. And now, when it’s not going okay all I want to do is go home like after a bad day in school. But I am home, left my mother’s comforting arms a while ago. I don’t have someone to cry on and to cling to and maybe it’s better, because otherwise I’d be panicking and, well, maybe I already am. I’d cling to you, but I don’t suppose it’d be too comforting with you clinging back just as fiercely.
Maybe if I’d had some sort of warning we wouldn’t be just sitting here, me feeling the ache bloom in my back as I refuse to stop clutching my knees to my chest. I haven’t been sick enough to be told I have only a few months to live – you did break your back that one time but you were okay after a month or two. And there wasn’t a war going on, or some fast killing disease. I wasn’t alert, and since I’m still here I guess I’m still less unaware than everyone else. But I suppose that had I been sick in a hospital I would be so high on morphine that I wouldn’t be able to think enough to tell myself that this is the end. I tell you so and you laugh.
The basement around us is nearly pitch black, the smallest window I’ve ever seen blocked by a bush so that an even smaller bit of light reaches the room. It makes me wonder though, and I suppose I should be surprised I’m not hyperventilating at the thought, but I must express it – is this what death is like? An odd feeling of panic that seems to turn on and off, flashing all of the things you could have done differently in your face? But I don’t have to wait too long, the moment I’ve been waiting my entire life is here. The moment of the inevitable death.
I think the absence of light makes it easier to convince myself that this isn’t really happening. But then again maybe it’s just better to die this way, in the dark, making it possible for my thoughts to really wind me up and tell me this is it. And it makes me wonder. What about Mom? Haven’t spoken to her in weeks. And I forgot to send a birthday card to my sister again. Some beautiful goodbyes I’ve given.
And I never mowed the lawn, never quite got to weeding the garden. I suppose the roses are all overgrown by now. I haven’t really looked. Tears prick my eyes for the shortest of moments and when I try to see the time I can’t. A wipe across my eyes with my sleeve helps, but I guess that knowing how much time I have left doesn’t.
Ten minutes, and I wonder where twenty of them went. I would’ve thought that sitting in the basement would have made the time boring, and make it pass slower, but of course it wouldn’t. Even if you did go out of the room the popcorn won’t pop any faster, and apparently if I go underground I won’t stop the time from passing either.
But I can’t help but hope, and want, even need the thought that maybe I’ll be okay if I stay down here. But of course I won’t. I live only two miles or so from the crash site, but why the hell wouldn’t that plane have a back-up, holding what it did – or does.
I reach a hand out to touch the floor where the light hits, glance at the dust dancing so calmly in the air. I breathe in deep, smell that indescribable smell of a cold, unused basement and wonder why I’m still down here. Not like it makes a difference. My chin rests on my knees still held tight by one arm, my forehead resting on your shoulder. I close my eyes for a moment, thinking of what I would do if ‘what if’ could really happen.
But a moment passes and no hopeful what ifs come to mind. I glance at my watch, and only two minutes have passed.
A sudden warmth hits my feet, making the rest of my chilled body shiver, and I watch as the beam of light covers my toes. Looking up, I see only a corner of the window still covered. It’s sunny out there, and with a start I realize it’s summer. Why, oh why couldn’t I have died during winter? When the cold would’ve made me numb and uncaring and I would almost be glad to have it over with.
My breathing is starting to speed up, and I jump a little again when a bird sings outside. Funny how it hasn’t left either. Wonder why. It probably didn’t have a warning either. I feel you shift and it seems you’re looking at it too.
It’s almost funny how a person can wonder a lot in the span of thirty minutes. You wonder if anyone you know will remember to come to your funeral with an empty coffin because no piece of your body will be left. Hell, all I'll get is some fancy stone with my name on it. If anyone bothers.
I can see it clearly in my mind though, one of those endless cemeteries filled with evenly spaced crosses; the thousands of names the only thing left of those dead people. No body, no nothing. But they usually died in war. With guns at their sides and hard helmets on their heads.
I glance at my watch again, glad that I'd finally bought one that automatically lights up in the dark, and feel a few tears prick my eyes. A little over three minutes. I wonder how many others feel the same way.
But I suppose they all left. I didn't have time, nope, not me, the one who lives alone and sleeps late every morning did not know what was happening before it was too late. Ironic, really, how something so seemly harmless as staying up late has gotten me to this point, crouching in the basement I've never used. But I’m happy you’re here, though we haven’t met too many times. City life is great, don’t you think? It’s such a big, great place that people don’t take the time to know their neighbors.
Two and a half minutes now, and I stare out the window. A little blast of wind moves the plant out of the way and gives me more light. My bare toes are submerged in it now, the warmth almost foreign. I squeeze your hand and look at you with a questioning look on my face, but when you look back I could swear you’re a saint. The light catches in a corner of your glasses, and your eyes are as calm as ever, a light smile on your face.
Less than two minutes to go, and I don't know what's wrong with me. Suddenly my legs are pushing me up and I’m pulling you up with me, dragging you really, and now we’re taking the stairs, my chilled hands opening the doors, my eyes wide with panic. And now we’re outside, the sun blinding me and the bright colors bringing a soft smile to my face. It's summer, I tell you, and picking a stray flower I sniff it and hope to remember the feel of it in my hand, the smell of it filling my nose. But how could I forget? No time for memories to fade, to be found one moment far off into time. I pluck a small petal off and throw it at you, and it lands in your hair. I giggle and somehow you seem to understand the need for distraction, because before I can calm myself you’re there, and you’re hugging me.
Thirty seconds. I pull myself from you and pick a few more flowers in haste, tickle my nose and after that I lay on the grass, you there beside me not saying a word, feeling how quiet it is here in the city. No cars, no barking dogs, no yelling or beeping horns. I glance up for the slightest moment and the sight of drawn curtains and litter lying still all across the street is foreign to me. It's silence. And I feel that peace come over me again, though my hands are shaking. You squeeze my hand in a most comforting way, the grass catching between our fingers.
Fifteen seconds. It's going to go off soon, so soon, and I can't do anything. I relax, and absently rub my cheek with my flower filled hand. I wonder what it's like to die, know that my answer will come soon.
Nine. I tense, squeeze my eyes shut and do something I've never done before. I say sorry for all the things I’ve done to deserve this, am ready to sell half my soul to just live and to just feel and hope and dream and sing without a thought that worries me.
Five. The eerie silence is somehow calming, making the tension go away. Is it normal? I don't know. Maybe I'll write a book about it, but wait, I can't. Too late. I hear you speak and just before the word fades, I catch it. Goodbye, you said. I whisper the same to you.
One. It's coming now, can feel the heat already, the rumble in the earth making my breath hitch.
Zero. Time's out, the wave's coming, it's coming, the heat just too much before it’s over. It’s....
Darkness, and.... A nervous kind of peace.
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EDIT: So, I decided I'd ask some more specific stuff about what you people think, since I'm going to try out a third draft of this thing.
-Should I add more information about this character?
-Are any parts just... awkward/going too far/boring/cliche?
-Do you get what's happening, or should I make it clearer?
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"Er... no? Unless cold water is hiding some odd stimulant that I'm not aware of."
Last edited by kalrarii : 01-08-2006 at 03:09 AM.
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