Wonder: A flash ficton story

This is my favorite flash fiction I've ever written. I hope you enjoy it half as much as I did!

It had been one of those days where I wonder why I bothered to get out of bed. Scratch that, it had been one of those months. 

I looked up as there was an extra loud thump directly over my head. The yelling continued, and I tried to tune it out and focus on my homework. Freshman year of college was hard enough already, and now I could barely study. I looked at the paper my professor had returned to me with a D written in red ink across the top. I was failing.

I swallowed back the tears that threatened to overwhelm me and pushed my long hair out of my face. It was probably time I admitted that I didn't have time to deal with my hair and just chop it off. But some things I choose to push through for my sanity's sake. I pulled it back with one hand and slipped the hair tie off of my wrist and around my hair. There was a yell upstairs and stomping so loud I could feel it in the wall. 

I felt like screaming myself. 

Jumping up off the bed, I grabbed my earbuds and jammed them into my iPod. I hit play, not caring what song was playing. It would do. 

The first notes were perky, and I almost cringed at how 1990’s they sounded. It was a song I had listened to almost constantly as a kid. 

I wanted to be annoyed at how perky was it was, but somehow the happy, nonsensical lyrics were contagious. A smile grew on my lips as I turned up the volume, drowning the sound around me. 

Taking a deep breath, I leaned against my wall, closed my eyes, and tried to remember how I had felt the first time I heard that song. It must have been when I was about eleven, mom had put this song on for me to listen to while I was coloring. I had liked the light airy tone and had listened to it for hours on repeat that day.

It was something happy in the middle of everything that was around me. 

My eyes flew open as a sense of urgency came over me to just do something happy. I scrambled to my desk, grabbing the first pen I found, and jerked open the drawers looking for a sketch pad, or at least a blank notebook. There were a few boxes of protein bars, some crumpled-up paper, and a thing of lip balm that I didn’t even remember getting.

I growled in frustration as I pushed the drawer back in. An unexpected tear slipped down my cheek. I needed that notebook. I needed to do something, anything to relieve the feeling that I was going to burst. 

I took a step away from the drawer and bumped into my bed. I just sank to the floor, using the bed to support my back. 

The music swelled, bringing my favorite line about wishing the world would just turn slower. I had loved that, now I wished the world would turn a little faster and get this day over with. I took in a deep breath, trying to calm all the emotions building inside me. No paper suddenly felt like the greatest travesty that had ever occurred to me. 

I blinked tears back, trying to focus instead on the blank wall in front of me. My mom had painted it a pale yellow. Teal had always been my favorite color, and the yellow had grated on my nerves since the day I had gotten the room.

My gaze dropped to the pen I still gripped, and an idea sparked inside me. I couldn’t help but feel it was wrong, but I pushed it back and went to the wall. 

Uncapping the pen, I made a single line on the wall and blinked at it. I probably shouldn’t. It felt like I was being a toddler all over again. Setting my teeth, I closed my eyes, letting the happy music just wash over my mind. It was happy. I needed happy. 

Opening my eyes, I didn’t hesitate again. I started drawing on that wall. It started with a girl standing in a field, surrounded by fireflies, the trees dark and forbidding overhead. A big moon was added, imperfectly lopsided, and a little kitten was added at the girl's feet.  

A boy sitting in a library was next, with his back propped against a bookshelf, and a little girl peeking around the corner at him. Escape. Happiness. It was all so easy to draw. 

My arm ached, but I couldn’t stop, I kept drawing, working my way all over the wall with little sketches. The song looped over and over, I don’t know how many times. The pen ran out of ink and I had to grab another. I had to stand on my desk chair to reach further up on the wall. So many pent-up ideas flowed out onto the wall, and nothing else in the world seemed to matter. 

My music stopped suddenly. I jerked, pulling my iPod out of my pocket. It flashed the low battery sign and died. I blinked. There was no noise. The house was perfectly quiet. I pulled the headphones off, letting them hang from my hand for a minute. The gentle swish of the AC going was the only sound in the house. 

I took the headphones over to my bed, meaning to just set them down, but I sat down, suddenly feeling completely drained. I stared at the wall, now covered in drawings from floor to ceiling. Every last emotion in me was on that wall. It looked better on that wall than I had ever thought it could. 

My eyes closed involuntarily as I leaned against the pillow, the words from the song repeating in my head. If only the world would turn a little slower. I needed more time to fill the other walls with drawings. 

Drop a comment below if you want to know what song she's listening to!

Love Defined (Part 2)

This is the second part of Love Defined. It includes three letters instead of just one, so I've labeled them to make it easier! 

From him to her:

They always told me I was an idiot. I believe them now. Two years haven’t softened the blow of how true those words are. 

They said I shouldn’t respond, but I couldn’t leave your letter alone. 

Just like I couldn’t tell you the day I had to leave. And I couldn’t tell you the reason why. Just like I couldn’t bear to tell you I was at your graduation. Or that I haven’t been in Australia for the last year and a half. I’ve been two states away. 

I couldn’t bear to tell you. Even now the words are sticking in my chest. Because I still love you. And I know what love is. 

Love is you not minding when I had other friends. 

Love was you always texting me good morning. 

Love was you making me smile when no one else ever could. 

Love was you staying up until midnight to talk when you really needed to sleep. 

Love was you getting out of bed every morning when you didn’t feel like it just to spend time with me. 

Love was you helping me with homework. 

Love was you never getting upset when I had to leave to spend time with my siblings. 

Love was you caring for me for two years when I never even contacted you. 

And I’d like to say it was love that kept me from writing you back. But I can’t. It was fear. 

That last time we were together you said there was no fear in love. But there is. 

There was fear as I drove away for the last time, and a car crashed into me. 

There was fear as I woke up in the hospital room, completely disorientated.

There was fear as I realized I couldn’t see anymore. Or when they told me I might not ever be able to see again. 

There was fear as I got on a plane with my sister, bound for a hospital in Australia. 

There was fear for six months as they tried to restore my sight. 

But the most fear I’ve ever felt is when they told me they couldn’t help anymore. That I was blind for good. 

And I’ve spent almost two years trying to come to grips with it. But there’s so much I can’t do. 

I can’t drive or paint anymore. I can’t watch the stars or write you letters. I can’t take care of anyone. Which means I can’t take care of you. 

When I came to the hospital, I wanted to call you. I wanted to tell you what happened. 

They told me I would be stupid to drag you back into the relationship with someone who couldn’t see. They told me I should just leave you out of it. 

And I believed them. After those first few weeks, I couldn’t imagine bringing you into my mess. I couldn’t walk without banging into things. I couldn’t feed myself without making a mess. I couldn’t do anything I should be able to do. 

I was so afraid, I didn’t know what to do. I felt like I had been crushed. I had so many plans for our future. 

I had planned for us to be married, now that we’re both eighteen. I planned for us to have a small house with a pool for you to enjoy. I had planned on us going to church at the little chapel on second street, which had the best pastor and people who cared. I planned on getting you away from your parents and starting a life of our own. 

Now I can’t take care of you, and you deserve so much more than I can give. 

I always meant to come back. But how can I? They told me I would hold you down. That I would make it worse. And I believed them. 

I’m sorry I did.

I’m sorry for walking out on you when you needed me. I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you. I’m sorry I left you alone with your parents. I’m sorry I never had the courage to tell you what happened. I’m sorry I wasn’t honest with you. I’m sorry you had to be alone. I’m sorry we both had to be alone. 

I’ve been an idiot, and I know what that means. 

I walked out on the one person who cared most for me. I stayed away from the one person who understood what I was going through. I denied you the ability to help me. I denied myself comfort. Being an idiot is not talking to someone for two years because it feels easier than confessing. 

I’m a coward and I know it. 

I’m not even brave enough to come tell you in person. I’m not brave enough to let you see me, and not be able to see you back. I’m a coward. I won’t even ask my sister to drive me the six hours to your house. 

I know I’m a coward, and an idiot, and a lot of other things. 

But I’m also in love with you. Two years haven’t changed that. 

If you get a call at three AM, you’ll know who it’s from. 

 

From her to him:

They told me you’d never write back. I guess they were wrong. They said you’d probably just wanted to dump me. I’m glad to know they were wrong about that. 

I want to be mad at you. I really do. 

The anger is welling inside of me. You had no right to close me out. 

Love sticks with someone even with it’s tough. Love doesn’t just leave. Love does the hard thing. 

And I hoped you knew I was willing to do what you did for me all those years. You stuck with me, even when life wasn’t easy. You held me when I needed it. 

I wish you had realized that I wanted to be there for you. 

But as much as I want to be mad at you, I can’t. 

I know right where you’re coming from. 

And I know how much bravery it took to tell me after two years. 

So thank you. 

Thank you for telling me. 

I’ve been sitting at the computer, trying to figure out how to tell you that I think we can still be together. 

I think you can still care for me, and I’ll care for you. 

I think we can make up for the two years apart. 

I think we can manage. 

So please come to me. Or let me come to you. We’d made a perfect team, you and I. Just like we used to.  

Don’t just shove me away because you're scared. 

Don’t just leave me here all alone. 

Don’t let your pride get in the way of our love. 

Don’t let yourself believe you are any less for this. 

I don’t love you any less for this. 

Please don’t leave me here without you any longer. 

So call me. Find me. We’ll work this out. 

I love you. 

From him to her:

They told me you’d never come. I guess they were wrong. Because even though I couldn’t see you, I never felt so aware of your presence. A part of me seemed crushed by the weight of that love. 

That love that drove six hours just to see me. 

That love that ran to meet me, even when I couldn’t see where you were. 

That love that forgave me, and held me. 

That love that stayed up until midnight talking with me. 

That love that cried with me over the lost years. 

That love that said we could try again. 

I don’t know how you could love me like that. But I love you for it. 

 

Love Defined (Part One)

This is a short story I wrote a while back. It is kind of a poetical style of letters that I haven't tried before. It will have one more part posted next week. 

They told me sixteen was too young to fall in love. They told me that it wouldn’t last. That I would forget about you soon enough.

They told me that I didn’t know what love really meant. 

But I knew. 

Love was the time I was mad and locked myself in my room, but you sat silently outside my door and waited until I was ready to come out and talk. 

Love was you doing the dishes for me one night just because. 

Love was cutting a date short because you knew I had homework to do.

Love was you picking me up at the door of my work when it was pouring rain. 

Love was you laying in a field with me, watching the stars. 

Love was sitting next to me in church because I couldn’t stand for the songs.

Love was you prodding me to get out of my comfort zone and try new things. 

Love was being willing to get up a five AM to drive to a doctor’s appointment with me. 

Love was standing up for me in front of my dad. 

Don’t try to skew my perception of love. I know what it is. I know my parents were trying to show love to me when they told me I would forget soon enough. That obviously you weren’t good enough for me if you would leave like that. 

And I know what stupid is. Just in case you were wondering. 

Stupid is taking a plane to Australia without telling anyone. It’s running away without telling anyone why. Stupid is never writing or calling, or texting to say why in the world you left. 

They told me it was because you didn’t care, but I couldn’t believe that. 

I know what caring is. 

Caring is showing up on my birthday and finding me not feeling well, so canceling all your well-laid-out plans and just watching cartoons with me instead. Caring is telling me about your plans for college, when all we really wanted to talk about was plans for our future. 

They told me sixteen was too young to plan my future. That there was a whole world of options out there and I shouldn’t just take the first thing that looked good. 

But you told me we would prove them wrong. It’s been two years, and we haven’t proven them wrong. 

They were right. There are other good things out there. Like graduation ceremony’s, and ice cream on a hot day. There’s watching my friends start life’s, and jobs at boutiques. 

But those things all ring hollow without you. 

Love is being there for the ones you care about. It’s about not making them stand up to get a diploma alone when their parents are both working and can’t come. It’s about being there to share small moments. It’s about celebrating others' success together. It’s about communication. 

They told me if you cared you would write to me. 

They were wrong. 

Because I know you care about me. I know you still love me, you just don’t want to admit it. 

Love is saying all the things you know need to be said. Love is writing when it’s hard. 

I know, because I didn’t want to write to you. 

I know what hard is. Hard is starting the first day of a job without anyone to celebrate with me. It’s having to drive yourself to the doctors when you’re in so much pain you’re not sure you should be driving. Hard is coming home every day to an empty house, and an empty mailbox. It’s not attending college because you can’t drag yourself out of bed that many times a week. Hard is having to explain what your best friend isn’t here when you don’t even know the answer. 

Hard is something I’ve come to know far better than I ever thought I would. 

They told me I didn’t have any hope of recovery. I wanted to prove them wrong. 

But recovery is such a broad term. Recovered is being able to drive myself everywhere. Being able to get up four days out of seven so I can work. Recovered is being able to make my own meals, and not be crippled with pain every time I get up. 

But recovered is not being able to live normally. It’s not being able to go to college. It’s not being able to chase after the one person I ever truly loved. 

Recovery is something I’m always working on. Some days I do better than others. 

But two years have taught me a lot about how to overcome. But I’ve never gotten used to doing it without you. It’s not like it used to be.

Remember how you used to help me up the stairs when I was tired? You used to always bring me home early because you didn’t want to wear me out. You used to say it was okay to not be like everyone else, that you liked me just the way I was. 

But was it my problems that drove you away? If so I wouldn’t blame you. Even I feel repelled some days by my own health. 

I haven’t really forgiven you for running, but I would understand if it was just my health. 

They said you were too blithe to be saddled with a depression like me. They said I would slow you down. They were right, but you never seemed to care.

From the first day I met you, I’ve slowed you down. That first day I came in, wobbling on my crutches after surgery and you helped me. Every day after that you helped me to class. I slowed you down at your games because you would always help me to a seat before you went to gear up. I slowed you down at friendships because people never really liked how much we stuck together. 

Was I slowing you down too much? 

They said our love would never last. That teens had no idea how to build a lasting relationship together. 

They were wrong. Because long after you left, I’ve still loved you. 

And I love you even now, with every fiber of my being. I miss the way you said goodnight, pressing a kiss to my knuckles like we were a regency couple. I miss the way you opened doors for me. I miss the way you always fell asleep against me during movies. I miss the way you always complimented how I looked, even when I looked terrible. I miss having a reason to get up every day. 

But I wanted to let you know that even if you called at three AM I would answer and want to talk. 

Even if you couldn’t talk about us, I would listen. Even if you just needed someone to say hello to, I’m here for you. 

Because I don’t know what dragged you away. I don’t know if it was me, or someone else, or even you. 

But I do know that I love you. 

They said my love would fade over time, but they were wrong. 

Love waits, checking every day for news for you. It holds fast to friends, even when they let go. Love dares to hope that you still love back. It waits patiently for you to be ready. Love picks up the phone every time it rings, hoping it will be you. Even at three in the morning. 

Love was waiting for you. Please come back.

 

Tears (A short story)

I am so excited to finally be sharing some of my flash fiction! This is one I wrote during NaNoWriMo last year.

The tears wouldn’t come. I had tried pressing my eyes closed, willing myself to let the pain seep out, but I couldn’t. It was the last straw. The last bit of my sanity fading. One by one all my avenues of escape had been cut off. All the ways to let the pain release had been ripped away from me. I wasn’t allowed to speak. I wasn’t allowed to read. I couldn’t go outside. 

And now my tears had abandoned me too. 

Years of shouting had taught me to stop crying when commanded. They never told me I wouldn’t be able to start again. 

I blinked up at the bottom of my bed. My one place I felt safe. No one had ever found me here. I was alone. 

It wasn’t the escape I so desperately wanted, but it was something. Some shred of sanity I could hold onto. 

Footsteps came from nearby and I dug my fingers into the flattened carpet beneath me. I blinked up at the wooden slats. Time had taught me not to cry out. Not to breathe too hard. If it was one of the Prats, they would leave soon enough when they didn’t see me. 

But the footsteps stopped just in front of my bed. I swallowed. I had made sure the sheet was hanging over the edges of the bed, but what if they found me anyway?  

There was a thud, but I didn’t jump. I couldn’t. I was too scared. Too afraid that I was about to get chewed out for being under here. 

The blanket moved on the other side of the bed and I inwardly braced myself.  

“Cali?” 

I let out a shaky breath as Jake appeared. I opened my mouth to say something, but no sound came out. 

He didn’t say anything either, just scooted further under the bed, the quilt dropping down behind him. 

I swallowed, forcing the lump in my throat down. I needed to speak. But he didn’t force me. Jake just laid there, putting his hand on top of mine. 

I stared at his hand, trying to figure out what to say. Or if I even could say anything. 

Jake squeezed my hand. He was here. Not leaving. The message was clear. 

And as I looked up at met his brown-eyed gaze, I knew he meant it. He cared. 

In all this time he had never left, and he had never told me what to do. He had supported me and given me a way to get out if I needed it. He had found a family willing to help me. Which was more than anyone had given me. 

For five years the only thing he had ever asked of me is that he be allowed to be my friend. To text when I needed to talk. To sit with me at lunch. To give me a hand to hold. He had given up friends to be with me. He had always been here. 

He scooted closer, wrapping his arms around me. 

At that moment I knew I needed to leave this place.

And that’s when tears began coursing down my cheeks. 

It's Okay to Stop

It’s okay to stop 

You don’t have to run now 

Take a moment and breathe

In and out 

Let this weight fall off your shoulders

You don’t have to keep the world spinning

You can take a rest 

So step back 

Let it go 

Get off social media 

Let your room be messy 

Don’t worry about what needs to be done  

Sit down on the floor 

Look up at the sky 

Feel sunshine on your skin 

Breathe in God’s rest 

And breathe out peace 

Take a moment 

It’s okay to stop

I promise 

Never Have I Ever Tag (Writers Edition)

I saw this tag on Jenna Terese's blog and it looked like so much fun I decided to do it! So here are some things that I have, and have not done as a writer!
Also, I finally updated my profile pictures and the ones in the "about me" page! The photos in this post are ones I had left over. =)

Never have I ever…

…started a novel that I didn’t finish…

Yes, but only once, and that's because it was a co-write that the other author did not want to finish. The only other novel that I have started and not completed is simply waiting for a few months until I get time to finish it. 

…written a story completely by hand…

No. Halfway through writing my very first story by hand I couldn't stand it and I switched to the computer. 

…changed tenses midway through a story…

I don't think so. But that's because I rarely ever use anything other than first-person past tense.  

…not researched anything before starting a story…

All. The. Time. I hate research. Most of the time I write contemporary stories that require little to no research. 

…changed my protagonist’s names halfway through the draft…

I feel like this is something I would do, but I never remember actually doing it. ;)

…written a story in a month or less…

Several times. Most of my stories are novellas, so writing them in a month is pretty easy. 

…fallen asleep while writing…

More times then I care to count. In a family of eight late at night is the quietest time, and one of my favorite times to write, but I don't normally stay up late so I fall asleep easily.

…corrected someone’s grammar IRL/online…

Only with my family, and most of the time just for fun because we never mind. I try to never do it online, or in person. Mostly because I believe it's really rude, but also I do not have fantastic grammar myself.

…yelled in all caps at myself in the middle of a novel…

Yes. Mostly on bad nights in the middle of NaNo. 

…used “I’m writing” as an excuse…

Yes. Sometimes during NaNo, or when I have a deadline I've set for myself, I will put other things off for my writing. 

…killed a character that was based off someone I know in real life…

No. I rarely ever kill characters, but when I do it's rarely the ones based off real people. 

…used pop culture references in a story…

Yes! But not often. Actually, it's been a long time since I've done that. 

…written between the hours of 1 a.m. and 6 a.m…

No. I do not like staying up past midnight and I am not really awake until seven at the earliest, and I don't really write before nine. 

…drank an entire pot of coffee while writing…

No. I hate coffee. I do not drink it at all. 

…written down dreams to use in potential novels…

I have actually written a story based off of a dream. But I do write down notable ones. 

…published an unedited story on the internet/blog/Wattpad…

Yes. I published a short story on my blog that was only edited by me. 

…procrastinated homework because I wanted to write…

Honestly, it's been a while since I've been in school, so I don't know. I don't think so, though. I always liked getting school done before writing. 

…typed so long that my wrists hurt…

All the time. My wrists are not super strong. ;D

…spilled a drink on my laptop while writing…

Once, a very long time ago I spilled a drink on my mom's laptop and ruined it. Now I never keep drinks near my computer. 

…forgotten to save my work/draft…

My word document automatically saves, so I never really forget. But I have had it incorrectly save before. 

…finished a novel…

I have finished two full-length (50K) novels and over thirty stories everywhere from 5k-40k. 

…laughed like an evil villain while writing a scene…

Absolutely. 

…cried while writing a scene…

Twice. But both of them were not actually that emotional, but I cry at weird times.

…created maps of my fictional worlds…

Once, I think. I keep a pretty good map in my head and it does not transfer to paper well. 

…researched something shady for a novel…

Of course! It also helps that my brother is a nurse, so all my stabbing/shooting/general medical questions can be directed to him.  

So, when do you normally write? Ever yell at yourself in all caps?