31/04/08 (Short Story 2)

I was waiting outside of her room in the ICU. Her door opened and a nurse stepping out, pushing a cart of medical tools. I could see the blood on her gloves and I knew they had been operating. I immediately stood up to the nurse, asking if I could see her yet. No, she said, it was still family only. I slumped back into my chair, my head still pounding.

“Let’s go to a party,” she had said to me.

“Okay,” I had said, but she knew there was no need to ask because I would go anywhere with her.

We went to the party, and it was a lot of fun. They were drinking, though, and I hate when they drink.

Minutes were passing and I could hear beeping and crying and all I could think about is if I could have done something. The nurse had said she was going to make it but I’m still worrying about what will happen when she wakes up.

At the party, my friends and I were the only ones who weren’t drinking. I know she was drinking but I didn’t want to tell her not to, because I didn’t want her upset with me. I watched her with her friends from the other side of the room, and I could tell she was far past tipsy.

Then she came up to me, and told me she wanted to go home. I offered to drive her, but she said no, she wanted to drive herself. I told her she couldn’t drive herself when she was under the influence, but she was already walking out of the room, her back to me.

Her parents were here now. They were sitting on the other side of the room, and I could see them watching me and whispering to each other. I wonder what they were thinking. The call must have woken them up. A nurse got up, and let them in to see her. I was jealous.

I chased after her, yelling that she couldn’t drive, but she got into her car, pulled out of the driveway, and swerved down the road. I got into my car, and drove after her. She was swerving dangerously, but luckily the roads were empty.

I followed her for a while, but I didn’t know what I could do. I watched her swerve into the rails and off the highway, smashing into a bridge. The car alarm wailed and I swerved off the road, slamming on the brakes.

I notice a man in all black come into the waiting room, looking rather uncomfortable, but I ignore him. I wonder who he has lost, but I know not to ask. Another family rushes in. There are kids, crying and holding on to their mother. I want to throw up.

I ran towards her car, tears welling up in my eyes, and I couldn’t bear to look. There was blood everywhere. Tears streamed down my face as I called 911.

Day 502 (Short Story 1)

It was Sunday morning, or so she thought, and the rain trickled through the leaves of the trees in the forest like drips from a faucet. In sudden, big drips they would slap on the hood of her raincoat with a plop and then silence until the next drop fell.

She walked through the woods, her rainboots squishing the soggy leaves, carrying the camera in her hands, careful to keep it dry.

She walked for at least an hour, until she came upon her prize, suddenly emerging out of the thick fog. There it stood, surrounded by dark green leaves, struggling under the weight of the rain, the house, at least fifty years old, moldy and brown with its years, rain plonking down on its rusting roof.

She stood, admiring its beauty. The broken glass from the window, sticking like knives into the ground. The metal door, hanging awry, awaiting the next visitor’s entrance. But most importantly, the rocking chair, waiting, tipping ever so slightly in the wind. She almost stopped, to take a picture, but then she remembered her father, waiting for her to return with the box. She took a picture anyway, because that’s what she always did.

She stepped inside, and pulled the hood off her head with her left hand, the camera still resting comfortably in her right. As the hood dripped quietly onto the floor, she breathed in the musty smells of the old home. The house was dark, but the attic was darker.

She remembered him waiting again. She knew he would be cold, wet, and furious when she returned if she didn’t hurry. She turned to the rotten stairs in the corner of the home. She began the treacherous climb, her fingers slipping on the moldy, decomposing railing.

When she reached the attic, she was breathing heavily and she could see her breath in front of her face, a perfect cloud that quickly disappeared. But then she stepped out of the light and she could see her breath no more, only a faint outline of what the room held. She knew what it held. She walked over to the wall, hearing the floor creak under her feet, and picked up the glass box on the floor, and turned around. There was a figure there, one that she didn’t recognize, a figure that had not been there before. She could see the shadow of his broad shoulders, a figure that she didn’t recognize.

He hadn’t been there before.

She felt panic rise in her, and tried to remain as still as possible, so that he wouldn’t be able to see her as easily. She could hear him breathing heavily and fumbling with something in his hand and then she saw him lift something up towards her face and just as she heard the click she saw a glint of light on it she knew it was a gun.

She could remember her father telling her to be careful, that there were bad people in the world who would be out to get them, and she remembered laughing him off and reassuring him that no one would find her.

She dropped the camera and fell backwards, hitting her head on the ground at the same time the box shattered into millions of pieces. That was the only sound that could be heard as the man quickly grabbed the camera, walked out of the house, into the rain, and started to run.

A principle to keep

It's hard to realize how many principles we keep. We don't attack others for no reason, we don't eat people, we don't steal, etc. However, in a dystopian, post-apocalyptic world such as the one in The Road, nearly all of these principles disappear instantly. Some of this is understandable, but there should definitely be a few unspoken rules that remain, at least for most people. For me, I think that the principle of integrity should still reign supreme. Though integrity is defined as "the quality of being honest and having strong moral principles; moral uprightness", that's not all it means to have integrity. In my opinion, your morals should remain consistent, like we see with the boy and his father and their refusal to submit to cannibalism. Basically, you shouldn't do anything you wouldn't do before this "event", but this has some exceptions. "Stealing" becomes okay because it doesn't belong to anyone anymore. However, murder is only excused when strictly for self-protection, which is how I felt when the father killed the man who attacked his son. I also think the idea of honesty is really important, and you can see it most clearly in The Road in the father's honesty towards his son, because he tries to explain everything he can. Now, obviously, it would be hard to keep this as a principle. It might even seem dumb, because it is essentially putting you behind others who do not hold the principle. But it is made up for by the fact that to you know you are a good person. If you remain one of the select few "good guys", you have my respect.