April Submission - So Far Away

I can hear them echo. I hear the last cries of the children in my sleep. I hear the last scream of the gunshot victim in the sunlit park. I hear the last exhale of the elderly that is as brisk as the waterfall that swiftly flows in my backyard.

We all have something in common. Rich or poor, man or woman, black or white, short or tall, gay or straight, smart or stupid, we all share the same thing that lays ahead of us.

People have no idea of my gift, I put on a smile whenever I see a familiar face. It’s not like they’d believe me if I attempted to tell them anyway. Sometimes I don’t even believe what I’m hearing. Sometimes I think I’m insane. Then I remember the papers that printed on those days of the echoes.

Pouting will get me nowhere though, I can’t stay in bed all day. The voices won’t leave me alone even if I try to rest.

I started the day out by making my bed and cooking myself some scrambled eggs. They taste the same as they always do.

I walked over to my CD player. Among the mess of CDs and cases, I found the one I was looking for. The one labeled 1971.

I pressed the “eject” button and the player spat out its slot, coughing dust into the humid air. I put the CD on the tray, pushed the slot back in, and pressed play as I walked back to the table to listen to Carole King.

So far away

Doesn't anybody stay in one place anymore

It would be so fine to see your face at my door

Doesn't help to know you're just time away

Long ago I reached for you and there you stood

Holding you again could only do me good

Oh, how I wish I could

But you're so far away

One more song about moving along the highway

Can't say much of anything that's new

If I could only work this life out my way

I'd rather spend it being close to you

When the song ended, I got up from the table and opened the front door. It was eight in the morning, the paper ought to have come by then. Sure enough, today was no exception. It rested on the stoop, as if calling my name. I read one section of the paper everyday, I may as well get to know the new voices that would torment me.

Today, was the exception. Large bolded headlines. The front page picture was covered with flashing police lights, yellow tape, and confused onlookers. Below the lights sat a picture of a young, beautiful woman in a wedding dress. Anna Harrington. I knew her.

On weekends I would go and get coffee, she’d sit off in the corner, burying her face in the book as the barista informed me that there was no espresso left. Her hair was always brushed to the side, and she always squinted her eyes as she read. This was an annoyance, as her eyes were something of beauty.

I read the caption that was underneath her picture in the paper. It was in past tense. I tore out her wedding picture, and put it in a wooden frame on the wall. She was in a cute pose, smiling at the camera with her big blue eyes of innocence. Now I would know what her voice would sound like; I flipped to a section of the paper and made my new friends.

--

“H-Help,” a voice echoed from outside the well. It was Caleb Gallagher. He was nine when he became my friend and a voice. I heard him everyday when I came here.

“I f-fell in!” Caleb echoed from inside as he struggled. I never gazed inside the chasm, I’ve heard him struggling everyday, there was no need to see him try to save himself.

“I can’t swim!” Caleb gasped as I heard water sloshing onto the brick wall of the well.

For the first time, I walked towards the well. I knew it would pain me, but I had to see him. I knew there was no saving him. But, I had too see what I’ve been hearing all these years. I gazed down the chasm. I saw him. Wet hair, 80’s clothes, freckles. He was a young boy, his eyes widened as he erratically tried to grasp onto the brick wall, but it was as smooth as paper. It was useless. There was nothing he could do, and he knew it.

“M-Mom save me!” Caleb gurgled as he made one last valiant effort to grip the wall. He went under with one final scream, and his cries stopped. I got up and walked away from the well as he began to drown again. I needed to see Anna.

“H-elp,” Caleb proclaimed as he struggled in the distance.

--

The police tape had been cleared, the officers were gone, and a small memorial was set up. A pile of teddy bears, candles, letters, photographs, and gifts all circled the site. No one was there, the world had moved on. It was time for another person to pity.

That’s when I saw her. Anna, her beautiful red hair swept to the side, her squinting eyes, buried in a book at a nearby cafe table. She looked stunning in her sundress that mixed with her blue eyes. She looked so calm, poor girl had no idea what was coming.

I sat down next to Anna. She didn’t look up. She didn’t see me or hear me. But I saw and heard her. Her squinting eyes darted across the book.

I found myself pulled by her rhythm. Her delicate eyes sucking in the words, her soft hands turning the pages every thirty seconds, and her bracelet that jingled as she danced her hands from page-to-page.

Suddenly, her routine abruptly ended as she jolted her head up and made eye contact to the view on her right. An invisible man, a man I’d never see except in the papers. Terror flooded her delicate eyes, her soft hands started shaking. The bracelet jingled.

“I told you to leave me alone!” She whimpered meekly. “Why are you here?”

All I could do was watch.

“We’re over, don’t make me call the police!” Anna shook as she closed her book.

I started sweating. I saw the paper. I read the article, this wouldn’t end well. For her or the invisible man.

“I was about to go home anyway, it’s late,” Anna stood up to leave while clutching her book, but she flew back into the chair as if someone pushed her. “Don’t touch me!” She put her hand in front of her, but I could see the invisible man grab it as she desperately tried to shake it free.

All I could do was watch her struggle against the invisible man. Her braid lifted up, as if someone was tugging on it as she screamed in pain.

“Please stop!” Anna cried as she lost her balance and flew onto the ground.. “Someone help me!”

I would have helped her. I wanted to help her. She did not deserve this, no one did. However, I could not do anything.

Anna looked up from the ground, her nose was bleeding from the impact on the pavement. Her blue eyes turned from an ocean to a hurricane. “No..you wouldn’t dare-”

All I could do was watch her scream. Her book stayed rested on the table, untouched.

--

She lay on her back on the cobblestone. She shook and whined as tears flew down her face. Her blue eyes were now faded, her braid was a mess. Her dress was badly wrinkled, especially the skirt.

“Y-You did this to me, now you’re gonna shoot..” she said quietly as she stared up at the sky. The invisible man must be hovering over her. “I can’t believe..I once loved you.”

Then she did something I never would have expected to happen in a million years. She rested her head in my direction and her eyes lit up. She saw me. She could see me.

The words escaped me before I can comprehend them. “I will never forget you,”

“I’m glad we met,” She smiled as she gazed into my eyes. I was in shock. I had to say something.

“I-I wish I could have helped you,” I said as I felt a tear roll down my face.

She smiled, exposing her white teeth. “You already did, thank-” a gunshot sounded and she vanished.

Her book did not. It still rested on the table, untouched. As if it’s owner was on a simple bathroom break. I picked up the book and examined it. I didn’t recognize the title, it must not be popular. I tucked the book under my arm, and walked away from the table without looking back as the memorial watched me.

"I told you to leave me alone!" Anna whimpered meekly.

I didn't want to see it again.

--

“H-Help,” Caleb struggled in the well again. His end was quick, I heard it often. I sat on the edge of the well, and shifted through the pages of the book as Caleb’s cries echoed behind me.

It wasn’t a novel, it was a sketchbook. Anna was an artist, and a damn good one. She dated each drawing, the first one was from early 2009, and the last one was from two weeks ago. The further I got into the book, the more emotional and dark the drawings became. This must have been her escape.

Then I got to the last page. It was a polaroid picture of her, snuggled in the arms of a man. The same man from the papers. However, there was a big red X over his face.

I closed the book.

“H-Help!” Caleb struggled in the waves.

I turned behind me, Caleb was flailing his arms around as if swatting a fly, desperately trying to cling to the rocks.

“I-I fell in!” He screamed.

I extended my hand.

THE END

WORD COUNT: 1690

March Submission - Relief (TIED FOR FIRST)

I knew had to find it before anyone else did.

No one could know about the panic attack I had in the bathroom. No one could know about the moment my eyes widened at the two pink stripes. No one could know that the pink lines clattered onto the white tile as I cowered against the wall. No one could know that I picked that shit up and hurled it out the window, where it buried itself in the thorns of Mom’s rose bushes. No one could know that I googled a list of clinics the next day. No one could know that I found one nearby. No one could know I scheduled the procedure.

       I knew I had to find it before anyone found out that I was carrying something inside of me, and I was taking that parasite out of my body.

       “Carrie?” Mrs. Monroe pulled me out of my thoughts with her voice.

“I’m here,” I stammered quickly as I looked around the room. The walls were splattered with a dull gray color; it made me dizzy. Maybe a side effect? A picture of Mrs. Monroe and her husband was nailed in with a wooden frame. He sat on a marble bench drenched in sunlight, not in a poetic way, rather, in a way that was an annoyance. She sat next to him, laughing whilst he sported a massive grin.

       “That’s Kurt,” Mrs. Monroe said, smiling. “Met him in 2007, he’s been my pride and joy ever since.”

       I didn’t respond. I simply stared at a loose thread dangling from sleeve of her jacket.

       Mrs. Monroe’s expression changed into something more stern. “I’m gonna ask you some questions,” she explained. “I need you to answer them honestly.”

       “Okay,” I said quietly.

“Promise you’ll tell the truth?” She leaned in closer.

       “Promise,” I replied, sighing.

“I want you to know that this is your choice. You can choose to continue and leave, or end it right here. I harbor no judgment either way; I’ve seen many women do both.”

       I just simply stared and nodded.

“Okay, first question,” Mrs. Monroe leaned back in her chair. “Is anyone forcing you to do this? Is this 100% your decision? No outside influences?”

       “No,” I replied truthfully. “My choice couldn’t be more independent.”

“Good,” Mrs. Monroe smiled and jotted down my answer in her notebook. “Does your family know?”

       “No,” I answered, before she finished.

She looked me in the eyes. “Why? Are they religious?”

       “Very,” I replied, gazing at the indigo-carpeted floor.

Mrs. Monroe nodded. “I understand. Countless other girls have told me the exact same thing; you’re not alone,” she continued to scribble in her notebook.

I gazed around the room. It was quiet except for the sound of the air conditioner and the ticking of the clock, inches away from the six. Mrs. Monroe had a cross hanging on the wall next to her master’s degree in psychology. How ironic to have a symbol of religion at such a place.

“What about the father?” Mrs. Monroe asked. “Does he know?”

I jolted upright. Derek. Derek James Trimwood. Nineteen-years-old, communications major, 3.9 GPA, super annoying voice, but a strong jawline that could seize someone’s heart in seconds. He drove a 1992 Ford Mustang. The interior smelled like sweat mixed with fast food. His father gave it to him. He would drive it around at midnight and catcall

a girl walking home from work.

Derek would take her home in his Mustang. He would laugh at her reaction to the scent. He would show her his cheap but super clean apartment. He’d tell her she’s beautiful, but she’d be more beautiful without her shirt on. She would take it off, he would take his off. He’d scoop her up and carry her to his room, where he’d give her the best satisfaction a man could give a woman. If she asked him to stop, he would instantly. He’d ask her if she was okay enough to continue. If she said no, he would give her a ride home. I don’t know what would happen if she said yes.

“No,” I answered. “He does not,”

Mrs. Monroe didn’t jot in her notebook. “He didn’t-“

       “No,” I answered. “When I asked him to stop he did and asked me if I was okay; I said no, so he apologized and took me home.”

       “Sounds like a nice man. We need more like him,” Mrs. Monroe smiled as she jotted down in her notebook. “Why didn’t you tell him though?”

       “I don’t know where he is,” I sighed.

“One-night stand?” She asked.

       “Pretty much. He had no condoms and I was off birth control. I shouldn’t have been surprised,” I answered.

       “Well, we all learn lessons in life,” Mrs. Monroe said, turning a page in her notebook.

The rest of the questions were medical jargon. She wanted to make sure my body could handle the procedure. It could, but I couldn’t; but I still knew I had to do this.

       “That’s all I need to know. So you’re doing this?” She smiled.

“Yes, for sure,” I answered, twiddling my thumbs.

       “Very well. I wish you the best. You may go,” she said as I got up from my chair.

“Thank you,” I walked towards the door.

       “Can you do me a favor? I need Marisol Ramirez in here next,” she beamed.

Marisol Ramirez was sobbing as she entered the room with the picture of Mrs. Monroe and her grinning husband.

       ---

I pulled the baby-blue curtain open. I was wearing a white hospital gown. My clothes were in a locker, the next time I’d wear them I’d only be one person.

       “Carrie Waddington?” A plump nurse called my name.

“That’s me,” I turned around.

       The nurse smiled. “I’m Emma. I’m taking you in for your ultrasound.”

“Ultrasound?” I asked, puzzled. “Why do I have to have an ultrasound?”

       Emma frowned. “Sorry, it’s the law,” she gestured for me to follow her into a room where she did the preparations.

I ignored the cold feeling on my belly as Emma slid the scanner through the goo. The “baby” was miniscule. It looked like a deformed rat.

       Emma removed the scanner, and the rat flashed off from the monitor. She asked me if I wanted pictures of the “baby” printed. I said no. She said that was fine.

       I was then led to a hospital bed and given an IV along with ten other girls. We remained quiet. This was no place for small talk; we all knew why we were here. The only sound I heard was the teenage girl next to me weeping.

       One-by-one, they pulled us in. Every five minutes they’d take in a new female. Some walked through the door with confidence, others stumbled through with sorrow.

       The teenage girl next to me had to have two nurses help her. She couldn’t walk. I don’t know if it was the IV drugs or if she was just terrified. Maybe she was having second thoughts? I doubt it. She didn’t protest as the two nurses dragged her through the door.

       I was next. We were next. The second those double doors opened my heart dropped. As I got up from the bed, I realized how numb my body was from the drug. I couldn’t fathom a single prick in my body. No wonder that girl collasped.

       They led me through the door. They showed me a table. I laid down on it. They checked me to make sure I was okay before commencing the procedure. I was. They did their work.

       There was pressure. It felt like someone was gently pushing against my waist, and then they stopped. I gazed at the ceiling the entire time. One of the tiles was cracked. They need to get that fixed.

       “Honey? Can you hear me?” An elderly woman with scrubs hovered over my eyes.

       “Y-Yes,” I stammered. I still felt numb.

Her eyes lit up. “The procedure was a success. You’re perfectly fine, but I need you to not look at the table on your right okay?”

       Too late, I’d already snapped my head in that direction. My vision was hazy, but I saw a blur of blood and remains of organs. I knew what it was, who it was.

       I looked back at the elderly woman expecting her to scold me, but her eyes were still bright. “You’ll be dizzy for the next few minutes,” she explained. “We’re going to get you in a wheelchair so the next patient can come in.”

       Few minutes my ass. It took about half-an-hour for the drugs to wear off. They had me in a wheelchair the entire time. The nurse kept asking me if I was okay enough to stand up until I said yes.

       She told me I was free to go. I’d always been free.

The girls in the waiting room blankly stared at me. I had only one feeling the entire time.

       Relief.

      

WORD COUNT: Exactly 1,500.