35: Thursday Doesn't Even Start

Story day! I wrote this way back when. It was either in high school or freshman year of college I think. I need to start dating things...

Memorabilia

            For five years she remembered his face, his voice, his smile, his laugh, his eyes, his everything. Five long years until one day she decided to forget.

            She woke up at eight in the morning and started the shower as she put her favorite jeans, red tank top and oversized black sweater on the bed. She stripped her plaid pajamas and stepped into the steaming stream. She let the water pour down through her thick hair, down her soft features, washing all her memories of him away. She stepped out of the shower and wrapped herself in a towel. Walking over to her bed she remembered the time he made breakfast for her. So courteous was he that he waited until she woke up to serve her, disregarding the fact that the eggs and French toast would be cold and the cereal soggy. It was too sweet to not love him for it. And love him she did. Forever. Even after he left.

            She put her jeans on. Then her shirt. She looked at the oversized black sweater, picked it up and held it close, inhaling every scent it carried. After putting it on, she put three logs in her fireplace. She knelt by the side of her bed and pulled a large box out from underneath. Inside were memorabilia from her relationship. Everything.

            She took out a box of matches and lit all nine that were inside. Tears formed in her eyes as she tossed the matches in the fireplace. Then the box they came in. She sifted through the large box telling herself not to look too closely at any one object. Then one by one, she tossed each item into the fire. Flames engulfed the memories as tears streamed down her face. She wanted to burn those the most – the tears that accompanied her through all her sadness and pain.

            After the things finished burning, she put the box in. She watched its sides turn black and burn away. When all of it was gone she put out the fire and went to have breakfast. Eyes dry, she sipped her coffee and ate her toast. Warm and cozy in her soft--She was still wearing his sweater. She took it off and looked at it. She couldn’t do it; she just couldn’t get rid of it. Just like she could never fully get him out of her heart. He will always be there. She realized that she could never escape the pain but she could live with it, grow with it. She held the sweater and smiled at the memories that she kept so close to her heart. Always. She put the sweater back on and took one last sip from her coffee.

28: Thursday, I Don't Care Bout You

i there. I have an idea - Thursday's are going to be story/poem days. "Story Thursday"? "Thursdays are for Stories"? "Thursday Tales"? "Tales on Thursdays"? Hmm...Let's go with Thursday Tales for now. Today, I'm going to share with you a short story/long poem that I wrote junior year of high school. Enjoy =)

The Light-Switch in the Attic

Once upon a hallow’s eve, a newlywed couple came to be. There was a house and an old light switch, but no ghosts or spirits or even a witch. This story is not of a normal fright, and it really takes place in more than a night. The passion and depth that this story holds is the secret to the scare that it unfolds. The strength of the love that the light switch does host, is what personally frightens me the most.

Upon that mystical hallow’s eve, was a sight so glorious for everyone to see. The newlywed couple walked into their home, with nothing but only themselves alone. The place was dark, but a cozy fire, so the couple for the night decided to retire.

Later that night was heard a bump that in the throat would cause a lump. That bump came from up up above, in the attic with all the horrible love. There sat that switch ready for light, but it had to wait until the time was just right. Ah, but hark, what sound was that, for surely it was not a cat. Not a sound but a movement, not a movement but a feel, a feeling in which gives the heart a good meal. And start with a spurt, then a gradual move, came the light switch, with time, and with much behoove. The light did flicker for it was not on since never and flicker it did for almost forever. Off and on, on and off, the switch did scoff. It could not make up its mind, even when given so much time. But soon, oh how soon, but 7 minutes later, it went on, oh that horrible light that filled the attic crater. Light flooded the attic and filled up the heart, one that was empty, lost and apart.

The light in the attic never extinguished, but its glow was never, not even, distinguished. The switch on the wall, in its horror did sit, and never let the attic rest just a bit. The light was on and never turned down, unable to let go of that horrible sound. That beautiful sound that haunted the heart, the one that set the others apart. Just two in the world would give but a shiver, and never would that feeling wither.

Downstairs slept quietly, still, the husband and wife with none but a chill. They were unaware of what went on above, and how much it came, all of that love. The terrible greatness of that little light, the great terribleness of that lonely night.

Once upon a hallow’s eve, a newlywed couple came to be. There was a house and an old light switch, but no ghosts or spirits or even a witch. This story is not of a normal fright, and it really takes place in more than a night. The passion and depth that this story holds is the secret to the scare that it unfolds. The strength of the love that the light switch does host, is what personally frightens me the most. To great despair did that light-switch turn on, for never to ever or ever be gone.