sharing life through words
Hello.
We have created this journal in the hope you might share your fiction. The idea is to take time each day to write.
Feel free to offer anything, be it an on-going story, a short piece of fiction, a poem, a riddle, or whatever takes your fancy.
Some days we might offer prompt words, ideas or directions, which you can employ or ignore. This is simply to encourage more writing, more criticism, and more of a word-based community.
Anything you want to see posted should be sent to the email link posted on this page; this account will be checked for submissions twice a day and then posted as soon as possible.
In your email, please specifiy the following:
- whether you want your writing to be posted publicly or privately (note: if you choose to write privately, the group name and password will be emailed to you)
- if your writing is a stand alone piece or part of a bigger project, to be posted in segments
- whether you would like a link posted to your blog or website.
CAUTIONARY NOTE: Please treat others and their stories as you would like to be treated. Constructive and respectful criticism is appreciated, as are comments praising a person's writing.
We hope you feel like joining in. It really is as easy as:
(1) write your words
(2) email them via the email link on this page
(3) comment on posted stories
(4) repeat above.
Happy writing!
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Untitled Part VI (the conclusion), by Shennanigans
Part VI
The sound of the splash.
The sights.
The feelings.
He is flooded with everything. There are no longer details escaping him.
He wants to wake himself up, to stop himself from seeing the play of events.
His eyelids are so heavy. “It must be those da** drugs.” “I remember begging for them for the pain, and now I wish I had never asked.”
“Now! Wake up!,” he yells to himself. He recalls his father teaching him how to awaken himself from his nightmares as a child. With the drugs flowing through him, he finds that he does not have the strength, though he has the determination.
He continues his fight against the past as she stands beside him. Her hands on his body. She lightly holds a hand to his forehead, while her other hand has its fingers weaved through his.
She watches his fists clench, his body arching and writhing. She wants to stop what is happening, but she does not have that kind of power.
He knows she is there with him. He feels coolness where her hands touch him. He wishes she could touch him everywhere – to give his entire body the same wonderful sense of peace he feels on his forehead and in his hand.
He longs to be with her completely.
*****
He sees her there. In the water. He thinks of his mother. His sister. His wife. His daughter.
Moments before, he saw flashes of light, but they did not make sense to him. His instinct told him to run – to go, but his training told him to jump.
He suddenly feels how cold the water is – the pieces of ice floating by her body. “I have to get to her. I can overcome the cold. For her, I have to.”
He reaches her and with sickness in his gut and sadness in his heart, he knows he is not in time. He refuses to let her go. He will get her to the shore. He will not give her up to the river. He will give her family their time to say goodbye to her, her body, not just her memory. He has always hoped that when his time comes, his family and friends will have that same chance.
The thoughts of the women in his life come into his mind’s eye again. Their beauty surrounds him, their strength wraps around him, giving him the courage and strength to wrestle the current with her in his arms.
He pushes her body into the arms of the waiting medics.
He feels the cold overtake him. He lies down on the stretcher the medic has placed before him. The blankets feel so warm.
So many people shouting, staring down at him. All the flashing lights of the medical vehicles. His eyes are overwhelmed. He closes his eyes so that they may relax.
“Were they both hit? The medic is checking, but I am working to gather some facts from witnesses.”
“No, she was badly hit. It is questionable if she was alive or even conscious when she hit the water. One hit her in the chest; it went through and through,” the soldier responds to the witness' query.
“If he wasn’t hit, do you think he fell in from being starlted by the gunfire? Or do you think perhaps he jumped in? Do you know if he knew her?”
The questions flow from the soldier; a man with enough experience to know that his inquiries will have a thousand different answers from all the witnesses to this evening. It will take him awhile to sort through the different versions of what happened and in what order.
The real story is going to have to come from him, but not right now. He needs to warm up. His blood pressure needs to come down – the medic has indicated that it is high enough that he could stroke. No sense to the soldier in making it worse. The sense of failure in any rescue is one of the worst things a soldier can face – it can haunt a career and life, even dreams, until the soldier goes crazy or dies.
“Perhaps even beyond death?,” the soldier morbidly asks to no one in particular.
*****
He sees that night unfold and feels the queasiness in his gut and the sadness in his heart, just as he felt it then.
The pain from the cold, from the needles of the medics, from the jostling of the ambulance as it brought him to the infirmary station.
He realizes that the medics, the doctors in his thoughts, have continued to check on him through the past few days and nights, like clockwork. Each time, talking to him and telling him to breath slower.
Only now does he feel the rapidity of his heartbeat in his chest. The heat emanating from, his body – the result of the blood pressure that has remained high.
*****
Her strength is waining as she focuses on passing every ounce of strength to him. She has begun to pray again, only now she prays directly to him. For him.
*****
The medic comes to his bedside, the last visit of his three day shift.
Her love and warmth fill the room so completely that the medic will almost miss being here to check on him once an hour. The need for sleep prevails, and he knows he is running on the last bit of his energy, adrenaline, and caffeine.
As the medic works to take the last readings of the shift, there is something palpable happening to his body. His pulse declines quickly, but steadily, and his blood pressure drops just as oddly.
*****
He sees her, sitting there beside him. He can see the medic enter his room, and watches as he comes to stand where she sits at his bedside.
Confusion again confronts him.
*****
She knows he is now with her, aware. It is now her being sent to rescue him.
*****
As he squeezes her hand, she gently returns the gesture. Her prayers were not unanswered. He kept his faith, when all the things he has seen in his life could have destroyed it.
*****
They both watch the medic as he reaches for the cord. The cord that will call for all personnel.
They will try to save him. They will not succeed.
He will walk with his guardian angel, the girl he tried desperately to save, as she walked away from the river that night with hers.
His final thoughts, as they leave the room of his fellow soldiers working endlessly to save his life, are of the women he is leaving behind.
He hopes that there is someone that will help to rescue them from their grief as he wanted to rescue the girl from the river, and that he will be there to lead them when their time comes.
In the room, down the hallway from where they are walking, he hears them declare a time.
He wants to feel sorrow for his own death, for those he has left, but her prayers had more power than she believed – she absorbs his pain and grief, the one thing she could do to thank him.
The sound of the splash.
The sights.
The feelings.
He is flooded with everything. There are no longer details escaping him.
He wants to wake himself up, to stop himself from seeing the play of events.
His eyelids are so heavy. “It must be those da** drugs.” “I remember begging for them for the pain, and now I wish I had never asked.”
“Now! Wake up!,” he yells to himself. He recalls his father teaching him how to awaken himself from his nightmares as a child. With the drugs flowing through him, he finds that he does not have the strength, though he has the determination.
He continues his fight against the past as she stands beside him. Her hands on his body. She lightly holds a hand to his forehead, while her other hand has its fingers weaved through his.
She watches his fists clench, his body arching and writhing. She wants to stop what is happening, but she does not have that kind of power.
He knows she is there with him. He feels coolness where her hands touch him. He wishes she could touch him everywhere – to give his entire body the same wonderful sense of peace he feels on his forehead and in his hand.
He longs to be with her completely.
*****
He sees her there. In the water. He thinks of his mother. His sister. His wife. His daughter.
Moments before, he saw flashes of light, but they did not make sense to him. His instinct told him to run – to go, but his training told him to jump.
He suddenly feels how cold the water is – the pieces of ice floating by her body. “I have to get to her. I can overcome the cold. For her, I have to.”
He reaches her and with sickness in his gut and sadness in his heart, he knows he is not in time. He refuses to let her go. He will get her to the shore. He will not give her up to the river. He will give her family their time to say goodbye to her, her body, not just her memory. He has always hoped that when his time comes, his family and friends will have that same chance.
The thoughts of the women in his life come into his mind’s eye again. Their beauty surrounds him, their strength wraps around him, giving him the courage and strength to wrestle the current with her in his arms.
He pushes her body into the arms of the waiting medics.
He feels the cold overtake him. He lies down on the stretcher the medic has placed before him. The blankets feel so warm.
So many people shouting, staring down at him. All the flashing lights of the medical vehicles. His eyes are overwhelmed. He closes his eyes so that they may relax.
“Were they both hit? The medic is checking, but I am working to gather some facts from witnesses.”
“No, she was badly hit. It is questionable if she was alive or even conscious when she hit the water. One hit her in the chest; it went through and through,” the soldier responds to the witness' query.
“If he wasn’t hit, do you think he fell in from being starlted by the gunfire? Or do you think perhaps he jumped in? Do you know if he knew her?”
The questions flow from the soldier; a man with enough experience to know that his inquiries will have a thousand different answers from all the witnesses to this evening. It will take him awhile to sort through the different versions of what happened and in what order.
The real story is going to have to come from him, but not right now. He needs to warm up. His blood pressure needs to come down – the medic has indicated that it is high enough that he could stroke. No sense to the soldier in making it worse. The sense of failure in any rescue is one of the worst things a soldier can face – it can haunt a career and life, even dreams, until the soldier goes crazy or dies.
“Perhaps even beyond death?,” the soldier morbidly asks to no one in particular.
*****
He sees that night unfold and feels the queasiness in his gut and the sadness in his heart, just as he felt it then.
The pain from the cold, from the needles of the medics, from the jostling of the ambulance as it brought him to the infirmary station.
He realizes that the medics, the doctors in his thoughts, have continued to check on him through the past few days and nights, like clockwork. Each time, talking to him and telling him to breath slower.
Only now does he feel the rapidity of his heartbeat in his chest. The heat emanating from, his body – the result of the blood pressure that has remained high.
*****
Her strength is waining as she focuses on passing every ounce of strength to him. She has begun to pray again, only now she prays directly to him. For him.
*****
The medic comes to his bedside, the last visit of his three day shift.
Her love and warmth fill the room so completely that the medic will almost miss being here to check on him once an hour. The need for sleep prevails, and he knows he is running on the last bit of his energy, adrenaline, and caffeine.
As the medic works to take the last readings of the shift, there is something palpable happening to his body. His pulse declines quickly, but steadily, and his blood pressure drops just as oddly.
*****
He sees her, sitting there beside him. He can see the medic enter his room, and watches as he comes to stand where she sits at his bedside.
Confusion again confronts him.
*****
She knows he is now with her, aware. It is now her being sent to rescue him.
*****
As he squeezes her hand, she gently returns the gesture. Her prayers were not unanswered. He kept his faith, when all the things he has seen in his life could have destroyed it.
*****
They both watch the medic as he reaches for the cord. The cord that will call for all personnel.
They will try to save him. They will not succeed.
He will walk with his guardian angel, the girl he tried desperately to save, as she walked away from the river that night with hers.
His final thoughts, as they leave the room of his fellow soldiers working endlessly to save his life, are of the women he is leaving behind.
He hopes that there is someone that will help to rescue them from their grief as he wanted to rescue the girl from the river, and that he will be there to lead them when their time comes.
In the room, down the hallway from where they are walking, he hears them declare a time.
He wants to feel sorrow for his own death, for those he has left, but her prayers had more power than she believed – she absorbs his pain and grief, the one thing she could do to thank him.
Read/Post Comments (8)
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