Category Archives: Short Story

Short Story: The girl on Highway 287

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287There was a girl who flitted in the periphery of my vision last Friday, as I drove down Highway 287 though Childress. I saw her only for an instant, mere seconds in my lifetime, but the image burned itself in my memory. Odd that it should happen, but why?

Let me tell you what I saw. She was young, maybe in her early twenties, with fair skin and light brown hair. I saw her walking down the highway, busy looking at her phone as she did so. She appeared to be with child, and I couldn’t help wonder who she was.

Why was she walking down 287? Where was she going? Where was the baby’s daddy? Was he in the picture? I began to invent a back story for her, the pregnant woman on Highway 287:

She was walking to the store, having no other way to get there. The child’s father is not in the picture, he being too busy chasing skirts to take responsibility for the baby about to be born. Alone, and with no one to help her, she walked, needing to buy groceries with her meager wages.

I imagined her manager, a guy named Rudy, giving her flack for being pregnant. Her doctor hinted that she may need to be put on bed rest soon, and Ruby is resisting, hinting that her job would not be waiting for her should she return. He knows the mother-to-be has no way to fight him, and he’s the kind of jerk that enjoys ruining people’s lives.

She’s worried about her job, and in turn where she will live. Without a job, she could be thrown out, in the dead of winter, with a baby in her womb, or worse a newborn in her arms. Then she worries about how she will eat, and how she will provide for her unborn child.

But there’s a guy, a guy who likes her. He cares for her in spite of the fact that she carries another man’s child. He loves her for no other reason than because he does. He offers her a place to stay, with no expectations of payment, financial or otherwise, but she hesitates. “Why are you doing this?” She asks. “Don’t you know?” He answers.

“You’re the only one who stood up for me, back in 6th grade, when the bullies picked on me for being so small. You’re the only one who cared enough not to laugh at my tears. Instead you dried them with your sleeves and helped me up. You’re the only one who dared to be my friend. Let me be your friend now.”

So she accepts, until the baby’s daddy finds out. Jealous, he comes back into the picture to take her back, which she falls for. She moves in with him, forsaking the friendship for a man who dumped her so callously when she told him about the baby. In no time she finds out that he may be taking care of her, but he has others on the side to play with.

“Why can’t I find a good man?” She complains to the friend she forsook. “Why are all guys such jerks?”

“Because you don’t see me,” her friend says quietly. “I’m a good guy, or so I’m told, but no one sees me, no one wants me. I’m tired of being the good guy no one wants.”

“I’m sure you’ll find someone. Any girl would be lucky to have you.”

“What about you? Could you like a guy like me?”

“What?” She asks in astonishment. “You’re a great guy, but you’re too good for me. You deserve better.”

“And because I deserve better,” he says bitterly, “I never get anything. So be it. I’m done.”

“Wait, what do you mean you’re done?”

“I can’t keep holding on, hoping you, or anyone else will notice me. I’m done with women.”

“You can’t! You’ll find someone, I promise.”

“You promise?” He snorted. “When will this mysterious woman appear? I can’t wait forever. No, I’m done. And you? You complain you can’t find someone good, but when some one good want you, you reject him. Don’t complain about the men in your life because you decided you deserve them. It’s the road you chose.”

In the end, she’s left to raise a child on her own, after the baby’s daddy decides he doesn’t want to play the father, when no one else threatens to take his place. She’s left to subsist on welfare, living in a slum with no job and buying food on food stamps. 

She’s alone, trudging down the highway, until another loser picks her up, and she accepts because she has no other choice. 

I imagine this of her, the girl on Highway 287 after only catching a glimpse of her as I drove by. I felt sorry for her, and I don’t know why. She sounds like a bitch.

Short Stories

Next Story – The Cheater

Senator Oldman introduces legislation seeking to ban rope

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Today Senator Gus Oldman (D – Calif) has filed a bill to make possession of any length of rope longer than six inches, without a license, a Class A Felony. This comes on the heels of the April 22, 2038 mass hanging in San Francisco. Sen. Oldman was quoted as saying “This piece of legislation will ensure homicides by hanging will come to an end.”

Readers will remember that in 2021 Congress repealed the 2nd amendment making possessing of firearms illegal. Murders spiked inexplicably when many murderer disregarded the change in Federal law and the general population was unable to defend themselves.

By 2027 most guns had been confiscated and destroyed, criminals turned to knives and in 2028 knives were outlawed, leading to the pre-cut vegetable and meat industry. The Food Cutting Union has stated this was a boon to the industry. Food prices did spike uncontrollably, and have yet to stabilize.

In addition, all sharp and pointed implements have been outlawed. Amateur carpentry is still reeling as they are unable to practice their trade. Home Improvement centers have been shuttered as there is no point to them since people are now unable to possess most tools. Blunt instruments are currently being studied to see if it will be feasible to ban. On an unrelated tangent, unemployment rose to 34% after the latest rounds of bans.

This of course has led to the secession of the South, except for Florida, most of the mid-west and central time zone, except for Chicago, and West Virginia.

The U.S. is currently engaged in peace treaty talks with Canada. Our northern neighbors invaded after the U.S. outlawed matches as they posed a serious fire threat. President Walton, of the Federal Union of States has said that with the current state of affairs in the U.S., Haiti could invade and Washington would have no choice but to surrender because they have outlawed all weapons. North Korea has called the debacle the best thing to happen since The U.S. banned the Republican Party.

As always, we will keep you informed as to the next round of banned products.

FUS News Wire Copyright 2038.

Inquisitor

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I murdered a man. I knelt over him, my hands around his neck, and watched him struggle as my stranglehold slowly wrenched his miserable life out of his decrepit body. I watched his eyes as acceptance replaced horror from knowing that he was most likely going to die, and then a small glimmer of gratitude as he slipped away, escaping the never-ending nightmare that his life had become.

I looked into his eyes as they dimmed, and I felt his pulse fade and then nothing. He was gone. I killed a man with my bare hands, and never before had I ever felt as powerful, and as sick to my stomach. I leaned over and began to retch, but near starvation meant an empty belly. All I could do was dry heave, and the pain left me wishing I could die as well.

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve killed before. Tens, hundreds, perhaps more, unique precious souls, mothers and fathers, someone’s child, all dead by my hand, or rather that of an impersonal bullet. Sometimes it came from my hand, but most of the time I only gave the order, and then death followed. I became the reaper, and although I’ve made peace with it, it haunts my nights, inflicting terrible guilt on my psyche. I’m a murderer, by sworn duty as an officer in the army.

But he was different. He was personal. I didn’t kill him from several yards away, I felt his life leave him as I robbed him of breath and of blood to his brain. I don’t know where he came from, but he found us, and I couldn’t let him give us away. Our very mission depended on it. He had to be dealt with. I wanted to take him prisoner. He resisted, and the noise became a liability. Guns would have given the enemy our position. So I killed him myself.

I look to my men, sweat and blood covering my face. Exhausted, I give a couple of privates an order to dispose of him quickly and quietly. We have a mission. We need to take the small community, hopefully with minimal casualties. Unfortunately for him, he became the first. In the wrong place at the wrong time.

I stand up, wanting to move back, to hide until nightfall, and then everything goes dark….

****

I wake up, and I don’t know where I am. I should be in the jungles of Vietnam, but I’m not. It takes several minutes for my eyes to adjust to the glaring whiteness of the room I’m in. Curiously, all my aches are gone. I reach up, and I do not feel any cuts or wounds on my face. I’m completely healed. How long was I out? Where am I?

I ponder my predicament, hoping against hope that I wasn’t captured – but if I were wouldn’t I be in a cell? – when I hear the door open. A portly, avuncular gentleman walks in, wearing a white jacket. He sits down, and I gaze into his bespectacled eyes, and he looks at me, a look of weary concern mixed with cautious curiosity in his dark gaze. He produces a file and begins to review it quickly, before smiling at me. I think it’s meant to set me at ease, but instead it terrifies me, the inquisitor and I feel as though I’m about to be put on the rack.

He clears his throat, and in a voice, quiet, effeminate, but still authoritative, he begins his assault. “Who are you today?”

I open my mouth, but immediately shut it. It occurs to me that I do not know who the hell he is. He isn’t Japanese. That much is obvious. He appears to be American, his accent betrays his New England upbringing. I decide that my name wouldn’t give too much away. “My name is Major David K. Holland.”

I notice that he nods is head in ill-disguised excitement and begins to scribble furiously on his note pad. “Okay, Major Holland, what branch of the military are you with, and to what unit are you assigned?”

Again I shut my mouth as soon as I open it. I reach up to my neck, and I discover my dog-tags are gone. Did they take them? I’m on the verge of refusing when I feel compelled to open up, as if the shrink is familiar some how. I choose to trust him and respond, “Marines, first battalion.”

He jots a few more notes on his notepad before he looks up at me, sizing me up before leaning back and resuming his interview. “I’m curious, Major Holland, what year is it?”

“1957,” I answer, annoyed at the idiotic question he asked. “Where am I and who the hell are you?” I demand. “I’m not answering any more questions.”

“I’m Dr. Townsend, your psychologist. You are in Shady Acres Hospital, and right now you are my patient.”

“And if I refuse to go along with this?”

“We can do this any way you want, but it would be to our mutual benefit if you would be oblige to this treatment.”

“Treatment? What are you talking about? Did something happen?”

“In a manner of speaking,” the doctor answers me enigmatically. “Why don’t you tell me what you last remember.”

I hesitate, not wanting to break my cover, but in spite of myself, I begin to tell him what I remember, haltingly at first, but gradually it starts to come. He asks me to be as precise as I can, and I tell him everything. I tell him about the young Korean guy I killed, the smell of fear, sweat, and the stench as his bladder and bowels empty themselves.

I begin to cry hysterically, not wanting to continue, but he becomes relentless, sadistic in his role as inquisitor. His humorless eyes rarely look at me as he jots down what amounts to a confession. Suddenly, without warning he stands. “I think that’ll do for now. Why don’t you rest and we’ll continue this at a later time.”

“No!” I jump up, suddenly furious. It suddenly occurs to me that I may be a prisoner after all, and I may have committed a horrible betrayal, a treasonous act. “Let me out or so help me,” I puff up, ready to fight my way out or die trying.

“Tell me Major, what conflict are you fighting at the moment.” He stumps me. I don’t remember. Seeing that I’m flustered he doesn’t wait for an answer before asking me another stupid question. “Are women allowed on the battlefield?”

“Hell no!” I answer him indignant that he could ask such a ludicrous question. “Women have no place on the battlefield.”

“Then, if you are Major David K. Holland, how do you explain yourself?”

He looks down at my body, and confused I look down and see that I have breasts. Large breasts. How did I not see them? How did I get them? “What the fuck old man?” I scream in a panic. “What did you do to me?”

“I? Nothing. Sit and try to calm down. When you are ready I want you to take a moment and discover what you are, physically. I will be back later to explain, that is if you are calm. I will return.”

Dr. Townsend walks out, leaving me confused. Why do I have breasts? I walk into the small bathroom, and sure enough I see a young girl looking back at me. I must have had blonde hair at some point, but great chunks seem to have been pulled out. The rest of my hair seems to have been sheared off at some point.

I look at my body, and in addition to my breasts, I’m missing my penis. What the hell happened? What unholy experiment did those sons of bitches do to me? I’m staring into the mirror, staring into the face of a stranger when a nurse walks in, with a couple of orderlies and she hands me a couple of pills. “What’s this?” I ask.

“Only a couple of pills to relax you,” she replies.

I throw the pills across the room and try to make a break to the door before I’m subdued by the larger men. My female body is no match against them, but I struggle in vain, trying to elude my captors when I feel a prick on my ass, and a warm pain spreading. Seconds later, or maybe longer, I feel as though I’m floating away. It’s not unpleasant. If this is death, it’s not so bad after all….

****

I open my eyes, and I see a man looking down on me, a look of concern evident in every line on his face. “How are you?” He asks me curiously.

Suspicious, I blink my eyes, trying to get my eyes to adjust. “My name is Dame Margaret Horn. Where am I?”

The odd gentleman closes his eyes, frustration boiling over as he curses. “Goddammit, not again!”

“I do not know who you are, but I will not be insulted by your vulgarities. My word!”

“My apologies,” the man says, trying to compose himself once more. “My name is Dr. Townsend. Can you tell me a little about who you are today?”

Telling you about my first time

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all's well that inks well

all’s well that inks well (Photo credit: b1gw1ght)

Today starts the first week of my break between classes. I have three weeks to do nothing resembling anything academic. Just me and my computer, television, and maybe a few good books. As soon as my new book arrives, I’ll begin to read it for next month’s book review.

Of course I’m going crazy, obsessing over what my grades will ultimately be. So far it appears as though I’m going to pull straight A’s, but it’s not definitive. As soon as I know I’ll drive you crazy with my pathetic display of self-congratulatory behavior. I’m stretching as we speak to give myself a hearty and well-deserved pat on the back. I don’t want to pull anything as I contort myself awkwardly.

But while I wait, I did something last night that I’ve been toying with for a long time, but finally worked up the nerve to do; I submitted a short story for publication. To be honest, I think this rates higher on my “Hurray!” scale than my grades so. I finally did it!

Okay, I know this doesn’t seem like too big a deal. People submit short stories, essays, and novels everyday. What is a big deal, at least for me, is that I pushed myself out of my comfort zone. I sent my first submission. Now all I have to do is wait the appropriate amount of time to receive my first rejection.

Hey! Think positive! Yeah I can practically hear you screaming at your computer screens. I am thinking positive. I’m thinking I’m going to hear a response. Joking aside, although I really do hope they decide to publish it for me, I’m okay if they pass on my piece. I think I expanded my boundaries just by filling out the form and sending my story “Letting Go” to Agni Online. Everyone has to start somewhere and this is my start. And if they do reject it, I’ll send it to another site. Try, try again, as they say.

I’m also working on a short creative nonfiction essay that I plan to submit to Hippocampus Magazine. My essay chronicles my struggle with depression after the turmoil of my divorce up to leaving my job and spending a year unemployed. It’s set on my first day back to school, thirteen years after I dropped out. It’s nowhere near completed, and I’ll probably obsess for a few weeks before I submit it, but we’ll see where it takes me.

And finally, I still have to finish my rewrite of my novel. Once I’m done, I can evaluate where I am there. I’ll probably have to do another rewrite (and then another) before I’m satisfied letting this one out into the world. As you can tell, I plan to spend a good part of my time off writing. I let my classes get in the way of writing so I have a lot of time to make up. Then my last class will start next month and I may temporarily lose track of writing again, and that’s okay. By July I should be done and then I’ll be able to move forward in my life.

Hopefully I’ll also have a published story to go along with my sheepskin. I hope, I hope, I hope!

Short story – Harvest Moon

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Happy Friday! I’ve been lazy all week. I never got around to posting anything on Wednesday, and it feels as though I’m no doing anything today. Too bummed I suppose. So instead I decided to put up this short story I wrote. Enjoy and have a great weekend!

“You’re so going to get me in trouble,” Evie whispered, before leaning out and kissing the boy standing outside her bedroom window.

“Only if you don’t keep your voice down,” Bryce whispered in return. Evie grinned as she jumped out her window, falling into his arms. She gave Bryce a quick kiss before she took his hand and ran down the driveway, toward his car. She jumped in while Bryce walked around to the driver’s side.

“Hurry, before we’re caught! I’m supposed to be in bed.”

“Calm down,” he said. The boy slowly pulled out, trying not to make too much noise as he stepped on the accelerator. Once he put a few blocks between them and the house, he relaxed and revved up his engine. A relaxed smile replaced the anxious look on his face as he sighed in relief. He’d have to bring her back and help sneak her back in, but in the meantime they had hours to enjoy together.

Bryce followed the road until he hit Highway 11. He then headed out-of-town for a few miles before turning down a dusty county road. After about a quarter-mile, he pulled off into a copse of trees. He knew that they’d be fully hidden from view, miles from the nearest house. The night was dark as the stars were hidden behind a veil of clouds. Bryce turned off the lights to the car and shut off the engine. The only light to be seen came from the harvest moon that had found a break in the clouds.

“Finally,” Evie purred as she jumped onto Bryce, straddling him, kissing him, and slowly grinding against him. He took no time in trying to bring her closer, the sweet vanilla scent of her perfume making him temporarily dizzy. In the pale moon light, Evie seemed to glow, giving her an almost angelic quality.

She paused to catch her breath, then slowly began to undo her top. “I’m tired of waiting. Please, let’s do this tonight,” she pleaded.

Bryce grew silent and swallowed hard, his mouth becoming dry. He wanted her more than anything, but still it would be their first time, and he would have preferred a more appropriate setting. Unfortunately, Evie was not the kind of girl who suffered rejection very well, and he knew that if he didn’t do this soon, she’d dump him and find someone who would.

“I love you, Evie,” he said. “If you really want this, I’ll do it.”

“And I love you, too, baby,” she squealed, delighted by his response. “I only need you. I promise, I’m yours forever.” She said the last words as she crossed her heart. Bryce relaxed a bit, accepting her declaration of love. He only wanted her. Too bad he was only sixteen and she fifteen. They would have to wait to make it official and get married, but at least tonight they would consummate their love.

Being young and agile, they crawled over the seats to get to the back seat with ease. Evie impatiently pulled Bryce on top of her, but they had only gotten as far as kissing each other. For all their desire to finally make love, they did feel a certain amount of reluctance. They realized that it would be a big step in their journey towards adulthood.

It didn’t take long before their hormones and excitement overpowered their sense of fear and trepidation. Instinct took over as they found a rhythm. Bryce began to pull his shirt off when a loud thump brought them back to reality. “What’s that?” She whispered, fearing that her parents had found them, glad that they were still dressed.

“I don’t know,” Bryce replied, his voice a little shaky but trying to sound braver than he felt. “Let me check it out, but it’s probably nothing.” He bent down and gave her a kiss before he reached over the seat to open the driver’s side door. He stepped out of the car and walked towards the back. Evie waited, embracing herself out of fear. She then heard him ask, his voice drenched in fear, “Who – who are you? Wha – what do you want?”

She didn’t hear an answer. All she could hear was a struggle breaking out between her boyfriend and some unknown stranger. It didn’t go on for very long before she heard him cry out in pain.

“Bryce!” Evie shouted, shaking uncontrollably in the back seat, frozen in fear.

“GET OUT OF HERE!” Her boyfriend barked, the pain evident in the way he struggled to shout. “RUN!” He tried to defend himself against an unknown attacker as Evie got out of the car. She immediately saw the cold gleam of steel before it disappeared. The next thing she heard was Bryce’s muffled cry, then the sound of death rattling in his throat.

Panicking, she screamed. She turned to flee, but a hand grabbed her by the hair and pulled her back. She lost her balance, hitting her head on the rear bumper as she fell, ending up on her back, completely dazed. Evie struggled to keep her eyes open as she tried to focus on her attacker. Finally, through her tears, she managed to see who had attacked them, the old druggie that lived outside of town.

“Help! Someone, anybody, help!” She continued to scream hysterically, but the old man only smiled his toothless grin. He then brandished his knife and slashed her throat before stabbing her in the gut.

She cried out in pain, afraid that the end had come.

Moon

Moon (Photo credit: shahbasharat)

Evelyn’s eyes flew open in terror. She sprang out of bed and gasped for air, drenched in a cold sweat. Beside her, her husband slept unaware of the nightmare that tormented his wife.

“It was only a dream. It was only a dream,” she chanted over and over again, trying to dispel the vivid images. The flashes were more than mere memory. She didn’t just remember that night, she had been there again. Twenty years later and she found herself there, reliving the horror as she had every year since that fateful night.

After catching her breath, she rolled out of bed and glided silently out the room. She paused for a moment and took a look at her reflection in the hallway mirror. The same girl who had snuck out of her parent’s house so many years ago stared back at her. Evelyn placed her hand absentmindedly on her abdomen and found the puncture wound where the old pervert had stabbed her. In the mirror, she could see the fresh gash on her neck where the old pervert had slashed her viciously.

She looked away and turned to go out the front door, passing the room where her teenaged daughter slept. A trouble maker, as she had been before the attack. Her daughter was a spitting image of her once wayward mother. She turned her back on her daughter, glad that she wouldn’t have to deal with her at the moment.

In the next room, her son sleep peacefully. He resembled his father, in looks and in behavior. He had the same temperament, easy, laid-back, and respectful. He never gave anyone any trouble, but he had no discernible personality. Her son was a blank slate, empty and passionless. She sometimes forgot that she had a son. She felt nothing for him, like she felt nothing for his father.

Finally, Evelyn walked out into the dark night. A blanket of clouds hid the stars from view, but she didn’t need them. She never did. Evelyn could make the walk in her sleep. She walked down the driveway, towards Highway 11. As far as she lived from the highway, it took her no time at all to find her way. Once again, she had made her way back to the copse of trees where she had been attacked. This was where she had witnessed Bryce die.

She walked alone, and stopped inches from where they had parked the car. Then through the darkness she saw it. She turned and walked forward, still in her nightgown and barefoot, inching ever closer. The glow of an iridescent form, lying motionless on the ground, appeared as though it had been summoned. She walked slowly, almost reverently, towards what she knew to be the corpse of her young, would-be lover.

It began to stir. Then without warning he sat up, and his blazing eyes locked onto hers. His eyes were terrible to behold, but she could not look away. His burning eyes would not release her gaze. She remained under his spell, locked by the sadness and the angelic beauty that death had bestowed on him. Then the instant he blinked, the illusion was broken, and Bryce smiled. “I wondered if you’d come tonight.”

“Like I had a choice,” Evelyn replied in a reverent tone. “You summoned me from the beyond. I heard the call and here I am.”

“The beyond,” he spat bitterly, the angelic expession replaced with one of bitterness and contempt. “I’m nowhere. Neither here nor there. Neither alive nor dead. Not of this world nor the next. I’m cursed to stay here, your prisoner in death as I would have been in life.”

“Don’t say that, please,” Evie protested, her voice wavering, tired of the decades old argument. “You can go. You’re free, so why stay?”

“You promised you’d be mine forever,” he reminded his old girlfriend. “Now, I’m afraid, I’m yours. I’m bound to you until you leave this fragile life. My soul is bound to yours. My blood mingled with your blood the moment his knife entered your flesh. I saw it all. I waited for you to cross over to me, but you never came,” he finished sadly. “You never came.”

“You wanted me to die?” She asked as she had asked every year.

“No,” he shook his head innocently, “never, but I do want you with me. I need you with me to move on. That’s why I call you.”

“You know I can’t.”

“But you still showed up,” Bryce smiled triumphantly. “You can’t escape your destiny, although you seem determined to prolong it for some stupid reason. Why? What’s so important that you have to stay behind?”

“I’m married,” she said angrily, but not meeting his gaze. “And I have two beautiful children.”

“You hate your husband,” Bryce’s spirit answered sarcastically. “You only married him because he was the opposite of me. He’s boring, predictable, and safe; he’s everything that I never was. You hoped that you could exorcise me, but instead you’ve brought me in even closer. Your very being calls out to me, too. You keep me here, bound to you.”

“And my children?”

“You daughter causes you nothing but pain. She’s you, and you hate her for it. She reminds you of everything you gave up, everything you rejected trying to get rid of me. You’re jealous of her, and you hate yourself for it.”

“And my son?”

“He’s your husband,” he said coldly.

She turned away from him, not wanting him so see her pain. She wanted to run, but she knew she could never escape him. The truth of his words cut her, but the truth was inescapable. She hated her life. Had she married someone adventurous, perhaps she could have moved on. Maybe if she had found someone she could love, Bryce could cross over and finally be at peace. She felt trapped, trapped by destiny, by truth, and her life’s choices. No matter the truth, she had responsibilities that she could not abandon.

“We don’t have much time you know,” the pale young ghost stated. He turned to where he had been murdered twenty years before. She followed, and could see the faint outline of where his blood had spilled.

“Did it hurt?” Evie wondered out loud.

“It did at first,” the ghost of Bryce admitted, with a shrug, “but only for a little while. Then the pain faded away suddenly, and I felt a warm peace take its place. Then everything turned black before the dazzle of some unearthly sphere blinded me. I was banished almost immediately, and I floated away and found myself here, to wait for you to join me.”

“Why didn’t you keep going then?” She asked, this time directly at him.

“I didn’t want to leave you alone,” he replied, taken aback by the question. “Until the last ties that bind me to mortal life are severed, I’m trapped her. I thought it was obvious. I’m now forced to wait for you so we could cross over together. I’m still waiting for you, you know?”

“I know,” she sighed. “I wish I could help you move on, but it’s not my time.”

“Your time came then, too,” he responded matter-of-factly. “That’s why you show up every harvest moon. All you have to do is to let go.” He held his hand out, inviting her to him. She smiled and tried to hold his hand, but couldn’t. “As long as you remain tethered to life we cannot be together. Why you choose your tortured life, I’ll never know.”

“It’s not so easy,” she cried. “I can’t leave mom alone. I won’t put her through that kind of loss again. She almost lost me once, and now I’m all she has left.”

“And what of my parents!” Bryce exploded. “They lost a son, but I still had the good sense to leave. They got over it.”

“I know, but I’m here, and I won’t do it to her. Not yet. I’m not ready to go.”

“I’ll drop it, but it’s not easy being stranded here in between life and death. Is this limbo or is this purgatory?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered. She turned and saw where she had been attacked and winced. The wounds physically healed, but she still carried them inside, a permanent part of her psyche. “They finally executed your murder,” she said casually.

“So? He scoffed. “He can no longer touch me here.” He saw her face fall and closed his eyes, overcome with understanding. “Ah? He could still hurt you, couldn’t he?”

“I saw him put down,” she said barely above a whisper, but he heard it clearly. “He looked at me, leered at me, defiling me all over again. He didn’t want me to die, you know. He wanted to screw with me, and he did until the end. He took my gift to you, and he took you from me, and left me to live a tortured life. I’m glad he’s finally dead.”

Bryce said nothing. He sat down on a fallen tree and stared at the dark sky. “I’ve sat here for twenty years, waiting for you to give up. I hate coming in second to that sorry excuse of a husband.”

“Second? You are my first, my true one and only. I don’t love him, not like I love you, but I can’t just die. I’m alive, and I have to live. If you truly loved me, you would let me live.”

“Then live! Stop coming here, but you know you can’t. You’re life ended when mine did. Why can’t you just accept it and come with me.” He stood up and walked up to her. “Go back to your life then, if that’s what you honestly want. What’s a lifetime when compared to eternity. Live your life, but don’t waste it. Embrace your passion and stop living a life that isn’t yours to live. Maybe you got a temporary reprieve, but you’re living on borrowed time. Maybe you have the choice to go or stay at the moment, but soon you won’t get to decide.”

“I love you. I’m yours forever.”

“As long as you’re his, I can’t be yours,” he sighed, ” but I love you, too.” He looked towards the horizon. “The sun is about to rise. It’s time for you to go if that’s what you want. I guess I’ll sleep for another year and hope that you’ll be ready then.”

He walked away, not giving her a chance to say anything, and faded from view, his light extinguished for another year. All she could see now was the failing light of the harvest moon leading her to where Bryce’s light had faded, beckoning her home.

She turned instead towards her house and instantly found herself in her bedroom. She looked down at her husband and regretted ever going out with the bore. Beside him, she saw her thirty-five year old self sleeping fitfully. She could see the faint lines around her eyes and her mouth, and a few gray hairs above her ear. She could see the scar of where her throat had been slashed. More importantly, she could see the ghost of her fifteen year old self yearning to be set free.

She froze, for the first time unsure of what to do. As much as she gripped, she still loved her children. Could she actually abandon them? And her husband? He had done the best he could do. He gave her everything he she asked for, everything she needed. She wanted for nothing, except perhaps some excitement every now and then. For all her complaints, she loved him, too, in a way.

She stood there, unable to make up her mind. She knew she had to decide before the sun broke over the horizon. Already the night sky began to give way to the telling hues of dawn. She had mere moments to decide, knowing that if she stayed she would enlist for another year. If she left, it would be over, and she would finally be able to rest.

She looked at herself asleep in bed and then out the window. The night slowly receded. She closed her eyes, trying to make up her mind, willing herself to come to a decision. She didn’t know what to do until the final moment before dawn broke.

The rooster began to crow in the distance. Evie opened her eyes. She had made her decision.