Lately I have been spending some time over at this website, http://community.livejournal.com/merry_fates . It's a group of authors (one of them is Maggie Stiefvater, author if "Shiver"), and they have contests, write small blogs, and best of all contribute their short stories. I was never really a big fan of short stories. Why? Because I always want more, and I can't write them. Because my imagination cannot be tamed (unless I'm dreaming, but that's for another blog and another day), and my stories always grow and grow and grow until their bursting with 88,000 words. :sigh: It's actually exhausting just thinking about it. But, let's get back to the point.
After reading, and surprisingly liking, a few of these short stories, I decided to take a stab at my own. What did I have to lose? (besides my self confidence) At first, I couldn't think of a topic. Because, let's face it, when I want to write a story it's not because of something I thought of, it's because something dropped on my head. After some tortured minutes of staring at Baby Shut Up (also another blog for another day), I remembered that there was something I could write about. For the past few months I have been working on a project titled Remains, and there was a portion in my head that I knew would never make it into the manuscript, because it wouldn't fit and would make absolutely no sense (can you believe I edited myself? Perhaps the world is going to end). So, I decided upon making it my first short story ever (we're ignoring those short stories I authored before the age of fifteen which I found in a box while moving last weekend. Though, posting the workings of my seven year old mind might be hilarious one day).
So, without further ado, please enjoy. Oh, and don't laugh at me. Remember, this is my first try and I am absolutely NOT a master, nor will I ever become one.
"Skeletons In The Sand"
At first, all I saw were the fingers.
They were white. Not because they were bone, but because of the gloves that covered them. Ten fingers, interlacing and locked for eternity. Or at least until their bones turned to dust. Even then, the dust would mix with the ocean of sand surrounding it, resting in the arms of the wind forever.
Then, I saw the outline of the bodies. Their skeletons lay side by side, as if they had fallen asleep there. It was odd, seeing the dead so peaceful. I had heard about burials and coffins and tombs. But I had never seen them. No one was put to rest anymore. People were killed. They died. End of story.
There was something different about these two. It was to lie down and never get back up. To pass on while holding the hand of someone else. Impossible. Death couldn't be planned. It was sudden. It was violent. It was always unexpected, yet inexplicably assumed.
The traces of their lives had long been erased by the harsh environment. Their clothes, and skin, and belongings had all been taken. Stolen by time, the most greedy of all things.
Yet, something was still there. Their story had not ended. No. It was not over. Something remained. It was a feeling. To identify it was beyond what I was capable of. Because I had never felt it, only longed for it. A four letter word that had once gripped the world with its mystery and beauty. Most of us thought it was extinct. I had never questioned that theory.
I was so dreadfully alone and empty, that sometimes I felt as they looked. A vacant skeleton with no past and a future just as bleak. I was no one and I was going no where. My story would never be heard, because I had not a single soul to tell. I kept staring at the bones, for some reason they captivated me more than any others I had seen. And I had seen a lot in my life.
The gloves on their hands indicated fear, but these two had not been afraid. Only sad. What they had been was something else as well. There was another factor at work here, in this place. In the decades that had gone by since their deaths, something still lingered here. It was strong, yet comforting. Mutual, yet separate. Unconditional, yet restrained. It was everywhere. It held me to that spot as if I was trapped. I could feel it entering me, seeping into my soul. The empty places were no longer so empty.
I had heard many stories about the world-that-was since I was young. They told me of buildings that reached the sky, boxes of metal with wheels that flew over the ground, and of times when the sickly could take medicine to cure their diseases instead of making them into vicious creatures. I had a feeling that out of all the stories passed down, the one laying deathly still in front of me was different.
Because for some, the end of the world holds the beginning of their story.
A flitting from a few feet away made me jump. I walked to it and brushed the sand to the side, uncovering a small rectangular object. Picking it up, I realized what it was. Although it was weather worn and at least seventy years older than me, I could still see the letters, the pictures and blood. The feeling grew stronger, pulsating in my hands as I clutched the small book to my chest.
It was the most precious thing I had ever found. I would take it with me and never let it go. Somehow, I knew that inside of this thing -this journal- answers to a thousand questions would be revealed.
Because if I knew their story, then I might also know love.
I ran my hand along their fragile fingers. Then I spoke to them softly, trying my best to emulate the voice of a pregnant woman I had once heard as she caressed her swollen belly. "I don't know you yet. But I will soon. One day soon."
Then I had to leave, because I couldn't stay in one place too long. The ones who had made the world the way it was were still out there, still hunting. Their red eyes were always on my back. Regretfully, I lifted my feet and started towards the horizon.
Each step took me farther away from their skeletons, but closer to their story. Tonight, I would begin to read by the firelight. At the end, I would know them and they would be a part of me. Living, breathing, being. Whole once again.
I could fill in their remains, just as they had filled in mine.
..aha?
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