Well, I wanted the MC to be a disabled man who falls in love with a woman who doesn't really realize that he has these feelings for her. I want him to sound intelligent, since that is how he views himself, but please, I need help! This is a really experimental piece, so please, all comments are needed.
Happy Reading!
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The grass enveloped me like a long-lost friend, the dew-dipped strands darkening my clothing with wet kisses. My chest was constricted as if sandbags were being piled on top of me, bag by bag until it was getting difficult to breath. However, I knew this was all in my mind. No, I wasn’t crazy…maybe a little eccentric, but never crazy. My parents told me this was how I was supposed to feel. This was the right reaction to what I just experienced.
This was normal.
But really, what was normal anyway? Who in this huge, fascinating world was qualified to create this definition? I don’t know any doctor, physician, or scientist who is qualified because most of them aren’t normal. Who really is?
I most definitely am not. I, who still like to put chocolate milk in my cereal or who likes to watch cartoons at ten-o-clock in the morning with my footy-pajamas on. Who enjoys to draw pictures of trees and animals or who sings out random lyrics of my favorite songs just because I can.
Rolling onto my side, I viewed the wide span of grass from the horizontal preference. The hill rose before my eyes, blocking out the rust-colored sky, appearing like I had been swallowed into a world of ivy. Maybe I had. Maybe I had finally fallen over the deep end, just like the doctor said I would. He told me that my brain was gone, that I was stupid. That I would never get better. I wonder what he would say if he saw me now…
Feeling the warmth of the setting sun smother my skin as if a warm blanket was being wrapped around me, I imagined her face. Creamy skin, big lips, blue eyes. She had a crooked nose and a lopsided smile, but to me, she was the most beautiful person in the world.
She would have liked laying out here with me.
Yeah, she would have. But she couldn’t experience anything anymore, could she? She was gone, like when my rabbit fell asleep and didn’t wake up, or when a tree goes brown and doesn’t grow leaves when spring comes.
She was dead.
My parents said it was bad for me to use this word. They said it was too final for me, too soon. But it was the truth, wasn’t it? She was dead. She died. They said it was normal for me to be bitter, to be vengeful.
But I wasn’t those things. Didn’t they understand me at all? I wasn’t angry, or hurt. There was a sense of loss, yes. I assumed there always would be, explaining the increasing pressure upon my rib cage.
However, there was also a feeling of relieved pressure. No longer was there that cloud that hung over me, shadowing my every thought. Was she going to die today? Was she still alive? These thoughts enshrouded me like a heavy fog, forcing me into a person of panicked hysteria. I never knew when one day would be her last. Of course, I cherished every hour I had with her, but there was still that little twinge in the back of my mind, imagining her cold, picturing her eyes lifeless. I couldn’t help it. I had prepared myself for it, because I knew it was going to happen. I knew that someday, she would end up like my rabbit, or that tree in my backyard.
Eventually, she would be gone.
No longer able to withstand the icy dew, I stood and brushed off the back pockets of my jeans. Shoving my hands into my jacket sleeves, I returned to the paved path and continued on home. I wondered if the people whose yard I had used for my own personal sanctuary cared. If they had looked out their window and puzzled over the stranger lying in their yard, mumbling to himself.
I had long ago blocked out the strange looks I used to get, and still did. I wasn’t “normal” as someone of higher intellectual ability would say. I had a brain defect; I couldn’t think like other people. I was slow, mentally handicapped, disabled. Whatever you want to call it.
I just wasn’t like everyone else out there.
But that never mattered to her. She loved me for me. And that’s why it had hurt so bad when she feel ill.
It had been almost a year ago now. We had been spending time in the lounge of the center she helped out at. That was the place I had called home since my birth. My parents never had the time to take care of me, so the clinic was their last option. I never doubted their love for me. They came to visit all the time. But I would never call them parents. Parents care for their children, help them through their struggles. These were just people that kept me company when I was lonely and needed my teddy.
She was talking softly to me, in that voice that seemed to lull me into the calmest composure I ever could be. I was one of the better patients, more advanced than the others in the clinic. I could talk normally, could act normally. I just was slower on picking up on things.
I will never forget that first spasm of pain that had crossed her face. It was so sudden, so raw, that I nearly felt like it was happening to me. Like it was me being ripped apart like a frog getting caught in the blades of a lawn mower. I shouted for help, but everyone thought I was just having a tantrum. I screamed louder. That’s when the nurses came and found her on the ground.
The next day, I found out she had cancer.
From then on, I visited her at the hospital, like she had at the clinic. I remember the first time she had said she loved me. It had been on a quiet night, all her family long gone. She called me the most loving man she had ever met. She hoped that I would meet a wonderful woman someday, and that she would love me with all her heart like she did already. I told her she was the only woman for me, but she only laughed. I don’t think she understood that I was serious…
Reaching the clinic, I glanced up at the sky again. It was now splattered with diamond stars, the background transforming from a midnight blue to an inky black. I tried to think of her up there, her eyes taking the form of the stars. She told me that she would always be looking out for me, up there in the heavens. Smiling softly, I let her name fall from my lips like drops of dew that had stained my pants:
“Maria… ”
Then, the pressure from my rib cage lifting a bit, I entered the clinic, hoping that Maria will hopefully always know that I had been serious when I said she would be the only woman for me, like she would always remain in my heart like my pet rabbit still is.
