She Awaits… A Short Story

The following story is one of many (40) short stories I have written in for ‘Joy;’ a short story book. All of these 40 stories are related in various ways, use the same characters and incorporate other characters throughout the main characters(Marillo’s) life. To be completely honest, these stories are mostly based on true events and may contain some graphic/triggering scenes for some.

‘Joy’ and it’s 40 short stories, happened somewhat by accident and coincidentally were the same story chattered into broken pieces. But now, a few years have gone by, I have opened the book again. Although it is painful to relive and write my past, almost to the ‘T.’ I’m comforted by fiction and creative writing because it helps me see my life from different perspectives, as well as others. As I dive deeper into developing this character, I notice how much these stories go together to resemble how I felt growing up. I realize how much more needs to go into them to really bring them to life for the reader. The thought has crossed my mind about turning all these short stories into one novel, where these stories can be read in chronological order as scenes. What would you find easier/more fun to read? If you do have the time to comment, I would appreciate any feedback or questions you may have about this story; I’m an unfinished, open book.

With all that said, here is a draft of She Awaits… currently sitting as story #14, but that may change as I continue to edit and revise my book.

As I made my way walking home from the park I often went to by Mama’s house, my arms kept shivering by my side. It was cold tonight. Feeling the warm cotton on my hands tucked in my sweater, I wanted more of its warmth. I reached in, elbow deep to the other side of the stomach pocket. Intertwining my hands in the cotton cave of my sweater, I could feel my hands warming up. I thought wearing two sweaters and thick track pants would be enough for the cold, guess not. Turning the last corner, heading down to Mama’s, I knew something bad was coming. She never wanted me to go out ever, and coming back late is never good. Mama hates my friends because she believes they all “change” me, in a “bad” way. In reality, my friends help me cope with the hell she puts me through. 

I neared closer to the house, my anxiety spiked and I my breathing became abnormal. I didn’t feel good about this. My hands continued shaking and I was trying to think of other options. I can’t back out now… she is waiting for me. My phone buzzed in my pants pocket. I pulled my phone out and it was her…

The message read: “WHERE THE HELL ARE R U?!” I didn’t bother to text back, so I shoved my phone back in my pocket. As I kept walking, now with Mama’s house in sight, my limbs faded into numbness. A common occurrence whenever I see Mama’s broken old shack, a place I once called home. As I reached the rusted front door, I heard the white dog barking in Mama’s house. The same white dog that always followed me around… at least in my head. I opened the door, quieting the dog. “Shhhh, relax.” I spoke to it and petted it’s ears. I took my shoes off and shut the door, locking it up. As I navigated my way through the dark kitchen, I saw the living room light on. She’s awake… 

“WHERE WERE YOU?!” She screamed at me. “Out.” I replied, and then ran to my room. I wasn’t about to engage with her. All she does is make me mad, at her and myself. Talking about how I’ve changed since I met Opal and Polaris. It’s stupid, she’s stupid. I heard Mama get up again, yelling things I couldn’t understand. My door burst open. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! TAKE A SHOWER! YOU DISGUST ME!” 

She spat at me with anger and stormed out of my room. I started packing my bag in a hurry, then stopped. I couldn’t keep doing this. I can’t leave, coming back to this every time. Stressed, I pulled out my pack, lighting up a smoke.

Exhaling, I heard Mama come back. “Cmon, shower and I’ll order a pizza.” She walked into my room again staring at me with her blue eyes, colder than ice. “What?” I sat there puffing my smoke. Why does she always do this? It’s abusive. She went on, “I’ll order a pizza, hop in the shower, get freshened up!” She urged on. “I already showered this morning, I’m good.” I replied, looking away from her. I couldn’t stand looking at her cold, lying eyes. It hurt too much. “BULLSHIT! The hell you did! Go sleep in the forest every night!” “Ok, no-” I got cut off. “YADA-YADA-YADA. You’re a liar, piss off. I don’t want you in my life anymore. Slob! Liar!” She screamed towards me and stormed back to the living room, furious.

I put my smoke out on the floor and finished packing my emergency bag. When I stood up and reached my door, Mama came around the corner blocking me. “So, you’re leaving to go party it up huh?!” Irritated, I replied, “What the FUCK! You told me to get out of your life and now you care?! Get the fuck out of my way!” I screamed as she shoved me back into my room. “Don’t touch me!” “I didn’t touch you” She screamed back while holding me in my room. I snapped. “MOVE BITCH!” Screaming, I rucked her 10 feet down the hall and through the bathroom door. The second she fell -and fell hard –  I ran past her. I could hear her cries. I started running faster, down the driveway, tears started rolling down my face. I could hear that white dog barking. Thunder clapped above and the skies started to cry with us. 

It was cold, cold rain. Luckily, I managed to pack a blanket in case this happened and I couldn’t crash at my friends. My phone rang. I didn’t answer and the call went to voicemail. My phone rang again. I pulled it out and noticed it was Polaris calling, not the cops or Mama. I answered, “Yea babe, what’s up?” “ARE YOU OKAY? MARILLO THEY KNOW. THEY’RE LOOKING FOR US NOW.” Shocked, I replied, “Woah, slow down. Take a breath. What do you mean they know?”  “We have to hide, or get as far away from your mother as possible…”

Polaris’ voice drifted off and the line went dead. As if the silence warned me itself to run. Looking around me, my skin began to crawl. Someone was watching me. I ducked into the thick, dense forest and started running in a long zig zag path. I wasn’t about to take a risk. Looking back, I saw a tall man move out of view behind a bush. I knew it. Now, running towards the secret spot, zig-zagging the back trails that are way harder to follow. 

My phone buzzed and I answered. Polaris stuttered, “F-Fuck. We’re surrounded.” “ You can’t leave now, wait for me to lead this guy away.” I hung up and looked behind me scanning the forest I knew so well. He was gone. I turned around, changing my track towards the secret spot. Reaching the gate, I swung it open. The entrance is filled with sticks, most likely P’s doing to cover her tracks. I looked around for Polaris. Checking the whole spot, every bush and every dug out. She was gone.

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Published by emriyus

I am human, just like you. I have been around for 20 years and although it may not be a lot of time to some, it feels like I've been alive forever. To cope with all the things my life has given me; good and bad, I've always been a writer. Maybe I didn't know or necessarily want to be a writer, but I was always on the creative side, not really understanding how different I was from others; I'm really not that different from you. To this day I'm still eager to learn more about myself, to improve and grow amorphously. I want to use this fuel of constant self-discovery as the direct source of 'energy' that can create whatever I want it to, making writing for me a healthier coping mechanism than most I've tried in my lifetime. That being said, I believe that starting my blog, The Existentialist, (all thanks to Wordpress and Bluehost teams) I finally have the opportunity and creative outlet to unleash my passion for art; writing. The beginning is never easy, and it won't get much easier I am aware. I can only believe in myself and keep my expectations to a minimum; I like to believe I hold no expectations, but they seem unavoidable. To whoever reads this, I'm not one to care about views or reads, I won't encourage/pressure you to read my work because for me, the thrill really comes from just making a finished piece of work I'm happy with, regardless if it is read by others or not; judgement from others is what I've feared all my life. I can only encourage you to have an open mind as a reader and believe in me as much as I believe in myself to accumulate the courage to start showing my creative writing(art) to the world. Everybody creates things in their lifetime, I am just another one of those beings; whether you like it or not, nouns (persons, places and 'things') exist to teach us something about ourselves. There is always more to learn...

3 thoughts on “She Awaits… A Short Story

  1. I love the way you build suspense in your writing. A novel or creative memoir of connected short stores would work because the reader (me) is so drawn into Marillo’s life. I like that you have presented Marillo as human – not perfect not a hero but- very authentic.

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