deepdarkwriting-blog

[deepdarkwriting-blog]

Grandmother

I still remember it as if it were fresh in my mind. It was a warm spring day, and I had just arrived home from school. At 16, I was more than capable of handling a few hours by myself. Unfortunately, that day I was not alone. As I enter through the front door I'm stunned to see my parents on the couch, as if waiting for me. I notice immediatley the signs my mother had been crying, and without closing the door I enter the room further. Before I could get a word out, my father begins to speak, softly with apprehension. "We have some bad news", he began biting the inside of his mouth to hold back tears, "your grandmother, shes had an accident..." Immediatley I break in, asking what happened, how, why. All they would tell me is that she was very ill, and that I wouldn't be seeing much of her anytime soon. I was speachless, I had no idea how to continue. I went back nd closed the door, brushing the snow off of my boots and headed upstairs. For a while, I just sat at the edge of my bed, wondering how it could've happened, and how we hadn't seen it sooner. Eventually, I just went to sleep, not het ready to face the reality that this situation imposed. After that, the days seemed to go on like normal. We didn't talk about it much, I or my brother would ask how she is now and then, over hear our parents talking about it with eachother or on the phone. And then, as suddenly as she was sick, it happened. One morning before school my father tells me its going to happen, that she only has a few days left. As it turns out, she never even made it through that day. I learned when I got home that day that she had passed in her sleep sometime during the day. In my 16 years on earth, I'd never seen my mother cry, until that day. While I can't say that I was ever truly close with her, can say that I did cry. I cried, knowing how much it hurt my mother to lose her mother not too long after we had found her biological father's family. The funneral was held on a saturday, and everyone went. So many family members I hadn't seen in months, dressed up, for the funneral of my grandmother it was almost enough to make me cry. We had arrived early, and mingled with family. For the first time, I hugged my grandfather. He didn't cry at first, though the pain in his eyes was clear. We all found a seat as the sermon began. I listened for a time, before being lost in the pain. As it came to a close, I finally saw it, a man I once thought almost unfeeling was crying like a child who had lost his mother. It was heartbreaking, and never will I be able to capture that moment in words. I never thought my grandfather could feel as much as he did today. Writing this, I realize now how much I regret what I've done. I visited less and less, and I never told them I loved them. I never got to say goodbye, and it hurts. I regret not asking my grandfather for more stories, the ones he told a million times when I was young, that never ceased to amaze me. Now I know, and the next time I see him, I'll be damned if I don't hear another story.

[deepdarkwriting-blog]

Helpless

He hides as the yelling gets louder. He clutches the bear to his chest, frightened again as his father screams at his mother. He wants the fighting to end, he can't stand it anymore. The sound of skin against skin radiates through the house as if it were an echo in a cave, and the house falls silent. A moment later the sobbing begins, the boys faced stained with tears as he hears his mother pleading. She begs him not to hit her, shes in great pain. The sound is heard again, louder this time. He flinches and hugs the bear tighter, almost as if he can feel the pain himself. His father starts yelling, his mother sobbing on the floor as he holds her by the arm. He orders her to stop the incessint crying, and kicks her when she doesn't. This only serves to infuriate him as she crys harder, the boys eyes shut tight as could be. The father storms out, slamming the thick wooden door behind him, leaving the mess of a woman lying in heap, a black eye and bruised legs. With the father gone, the boy climbs from behind the couch and fetches his mother an icepack. He holds it gently over her eye, placing the bear in her arms, and hugging her tightly.

[deepdarkwriting-blog]

Questions

We sat around the table, quiet and sullen. No one wanted to break the silence, for fear of breaking down. Most of us tried to stay strong, but a few, including myself were crying. We didn't understand, didn't want to believe. How could this have happened? How could we have let him do this? He was 17. His whole life ahead, and hes gone in an instant. I wipe away the tears in my eyes, and with an unsteady hand take a sip of water. My head is pounding, my heart aches, my breathing unsteady and laboured. Losing someone so close...the pain is unfathomable. I try to figure it out. Why? Did he not know we love him? Did he not understand what he meant to us? Was it me? Did I not do something? What did I do wrong? As the questions whirl around my head, I feel nauseous. I put my hands to the chair to steady myself. His father is here with us, explaining how it happened, when the funeral would be, and that it was nothing any of us could have done. I wasn't listening. I wanted to scream, I wanted to ask him so many many questions. I was angry. How could he have done this? How could he have just left us here with the guilt and the grief? Did he really think we didn't care? How far gone was he that he would let us suffer to escpae what he felt? Days passed, then weeks. His funeral came and went. I sat at the side, wanting to be alone, and cried. I hugged his parents, an embrace that for a few seconds, felt like an eternity. As time went on, things slowly became normal. We shared stories, we talked about him fondly, and always remembered him as he was, not as we found him. It still hurts to talk bout him sometimes, but its getting better. The pain doesn't go away, it just gets duller with time.

#writing #story #just started

[deepdarkwriting-blog]

The Accident

A blur of motion, a bright light. Heat, so much heat. People yelling a name. A mask put over me. Darkness. Gasping for air I bolt upright in bed. It's only 60 degrees, but I'm soaked in sweat. Running my hands through my hair to calm myself, I get up and make my way to the kitchen. I've been having the same nightmare almost every night since the accident. I had been working late, I never should have been on the road at the time. After finally leaving work, I went to pick up Jess. We were supposed to have a date night, it was the fifth anniversary of the start of our relationship and I thought I'd suprise her. It hurts to even think about. Another car, the driver way over the legal limit, wasn't paying attention and as we were in the middle of the intersection, he hit the passenger side full force. I was rushed to the hospital, where I spent 3 weeks in intensive care. I had 3rd degree burns across my arms and chest, and I had broken a few ribs. Jessica was pronounced dead on impact. Something about how she was hit...her airbag didn't deploy...I had never felt such a loss. Every breath I took after I found out was a new level of pain, phyisical and emotional. I barely ate, the nurse at times had to force me to finish my meals. I fell into a depression, one that I never thought I'd escape. Thinking of her, of how I never even got to say goodbye. It still hurts. When I had recovered enough, I took legal action against the manufacturer of the car. The problem with the airbag was deemed their fault, and I had won a sum of money I couldn't spend in a lifetime. It's been two years, I'm back on my feet and back at work. I still get pains when I breathe at times, but physically, I'm fine. Friends and family, they walk on eggshells around me, careful not to mention her, or ask any questions. I almost want to tell them to, so I can get it all off my chest. I haven't attempted to find someone new, and I don't see myself trying in the near future. I loved Jess, she was my world. Most days, it's all I can do to keep my mind off of all of it. I suppose I can say I like my job, but at this point I only do it to keep myself busy. I read from when I get home, until late into the night. Often, I forget to eat still. On the rare occasion I have a guest over, I take careful notice of how much I eat or drink, so as not to worry them. The last thing I need is to trouble others.

#writing #story #just started