If you actually HAVE a disability, pick a different one. We want you to use your imagination.
I cannot justify if I do, or do not have said disability, but I’m sure every writer feels said way from time-to-time; I’ll let you use your imagination to guess what this may be about.
This short story is the first I’ve written in a while, but I’m definitely happy by the idea of it. I’ve been in a sombre mood every since watching The Lovely Bones last night – such a lovely read, and a lovely movie. So please do send your criticisms my way, I’d love to polish this off before I submit it. This is for Azila and Canislupis’s contest “None So Blind”. Enjoy ... I hope.
AWAY
She spoke before about wanting to escape such an ugly place; such an ugly fate. I didn’t know much about her, but I knew something about her made my eyes watch as she moved. Was it the spark in her eyes? – Or maybe it was the rose in her cheeks? Whatever it was, I watched her with intent as she moved from bookshelf to bookshelf, climbing up ladders and flipping through the pages of old books.
I hadn’t been much of a reader until I discovered her, the enigma. She was attendant to the desk at the library, always wearing the same crimson lipstick that made her pale skin seem white as snow. She had thick dark auburn hair that fell around her shoulders in soft, tousled waves. She was perfection in the finest form, a work of real art. She was a relic to this city – a city cloaked in cigarette smoke and the pollution of sound.
Before her, the library was a drab place with which the lonely old men and women would traverse, grabbing for the old westerns or classic romances. I tended to drift towards the action section, until I realized the copy of Othello she poured over for most of the day. I took a quick gander through the Classic Literature section, pulling out an old, hardcover copy of “Pride and Prejudice”. I flipped through the pages, breathing in the scent of mothballs. I let out a long sigh.
“I like the smell of old books, too.”
I whirled around. I wasn’t even aware of another presence. She’d swept up behind me, quiet as drifting snow through an open field. She wore a flowing white blouse with ruffles around her v-neck collar. It was held down by a thick brown belt, and completed by her navy floral skirt. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, holding Othello in her dainty hand.
I tried to remove the stupid expression from my face, attempting to flash her my most charming of smiles. “Charles Hansen,” I said, sticking out my hand.
“Hello mister,” she said, grasping my hand with her tiny fingers, “nice to meet you.”
What I didn’t notice that first time was the diamond ring that perched precariously on her left finger. It was a lovely little thing, surrounded by a silvery band. I did, however, notice her lovely, mint-green eyes, and the distant look in them. The way they seemed so far away, as though she could see through to another world; see through to the horizon.
“I once was haunted by a ghost named Mr. Hansen,” she said, whisper-quiet. “Franklin Charles Hansen.”
I blanched, alarmed by this comment. “Funny,” I said with a dry chuckle, “my middle name’s Franklin.”
She looked down at me, standing on her tip-toes as she attempted to slide Othello neatly back into its proper place in the shelf. “It must’ve been you, then.” She offered up a timid smile. The gentle nature of it made me smile as well. She was a beautiful creature.
It was after closing; long after the flickering lights were turned off that we two did stay. I learned that there was a whole different side to her – a whole different texture beneath her soft, silky surface. She had a scent about her, almost like the smell of the books: the scent of old wisdom, of the wisdom of a whole different place that was buried far away in my dreams. She seemed totally lost in her own world – A world I remember creating as a child.
She spoke calmly, reverently of the sea. She told me of her wishes, and her plans to escape the suffocating jail of the city, and go to a place so wide open that she could breathe. She liked the scent of ocean brine, and the sound of the way water churned against towering sea cliffs. I could feel it as we talked – feel the lap of the ocean water against my bare feet, and the spray of mist against my face. I was falling quickly, so quickly, and before I knew it, I was engulfed, floating beneath the surface of the ocean. Through shipwrecks we swam, her and I, until finally a shark came to chase us.
His wide jaws caught her tiny torso between the layers of tiny serrated blades. With a look of disappointed desperation, she allowed herself to be carried off into the dark – all without a struggle, without a cry. I watched her disappear into the dark, reaching out for her, but quickly drawing back.
I blinked, my dry eyes tearing up with the stimulation. I drew in a well-needed breath, and looked around me. The white room – that is what I called my apartment. It was a tiny, one-room place. I had an old mattress tucked up in the corner on a spindly white metal frame. It whined and shrieked when you sat and moved, but I almost didn’t mind. There was a chest of drawers shoved in the opposite corner, burly and out of place. The drawers never hung open though; no sleeves ever sticking out.
“Hello Meredith,” I said, noticing the teary, blue-eyed woman just coming in the door. Meredith was a nurse, but she insisted upon taking care of me. In her hands she carried a tray of TV dinner that still steamed. She handed it to me, my stomach growling greedily. I shovelled forkfuls into my mouth.
Before long, Meredith was gone, and I was left to have another lonely night, filled with my dreams. But my dreams would never be as magnificent as those that Lily told me about. I felt my eyelids grow heavy, felt the walls closing in on me, and soon I was pulled under the full lull of sleep.
I dreamt of strange shadows that crept across the walls, holding blades and books. Soon I sat back in the library, with Lily sitting at her usual post. I approached her with a spring in my step, carrying the copy of Othello beneath my arm. She looked up, scepticism in her eyes.
“You’re back?” I asked.
She surveyed me with a look of confusion. “I’ve not left.”
I gave her a grin. “I was wondering ...” my voice trailed off, noticing the gleam of her lovely diamond ring. She was engaged. I didn’t notice that yesterday. “Did you just get engaged?”
“Oh,” Lily said, gazing down at her ring with a smile. “A month ago.”
I nodded, and slid Othello onto the counter. “It was good,” I told her quietly, feeling a pang a jealousy overcome me. With a curt, half-hearted nod, she put down her book, and slid Othello back under the counter. I turned on my heel, and went back to the Classic Literature section, where I’d first met Lily.
She didn’t come that day. Instead, I stayed and struggled through the readings of Pride and Prejudice, feeling the boring eyes of a fanged old man in my back. When I turned, he was gone. In fact, everyone was gone. Lily approached me, wheeling a cart full of books in front of her.
“Are you enjoying that?” She gazed down at me beneath her long, dark lashes, her mint green eyes blazing mischievously. Lily leaned against the cart, her hair falling into her face. I quickly admired her beauty, but I didn’t keep my eyes on her too long. She seemed sceptical of me today ... Maybe it was because of her engagement.
“I’m trying,” I admitted in a dry tone, closing the book. She gave a wide grin.
Still leaning against the cart, she looked up at the ceiling, gazing all around the building. “I wish I could get out of this place. I hate it here.”
I nodded stiffly.
“I’d always wished I could live by the ocean. Andrew promises we can but ... I don’t think he likes that idea too much.” Catching wind of my bewildered expression, she explained, “Andrew’s my fiancé.”
She told me about Andrew with a swoony air. She seemed lost in her thoughts of him, but not with that same, distant look she’d had before.
“I like the ocean,” I chimed in, keeping my eyes on the space in front of me. They traced the grooves in the wood, the strange, twisting patterns that reminded me of curling fingers. She continued talking, but increasingly I found it hard to listen to her – until the door banged open, and in walked a man.
He had scruffy brown hair, and piercing gray eyes; I could tell as he approached. He walked with an air of importance, and carried a black leather briefcase at his side. I didn’t trust his eyes, though – not with those slits in them, and they way they darted back and forth distrustfully. The shadows crept up around him, bringing the walls in close, boxing me in.
Closer, closer they came. Lily’s voice broke the silence.
“The library is closed –!” She broke off abruptly, pushing away from the cart. She stopped before the man, tugging him in close for a hug. They met, breaking after a brief second.
In my ear, a voice whispered: “I hate her.” I looked up, finding the man’s eyes staring me down.
“I want to hurt her.”
Lily turned to me. “Andrew, this is Charles. He’s quite the avid reader.”
I peeled my eyes from the table long enough to catch the steely look in his eyes. I forced them back down, hearing the whispers in my ear still. “He’s going to kill her, Charles. Tonight.” I tried to force those words away, but I could feel the walls closing in, smaller, smaller, smaller, until it was just Lily and Andrew.
I saw Andrew grab her hand.
I saw Andrew grab her throat.
I saw Andrew stab her heart.
Abruptly I stood, knocking the chair from behind me. “Oh, Lily!” I cried, looking desperately at her. Both Andrew’s and Lily’s expressions registered confusion – even fear. Do I scare them? Do I scare you, Lily? I hurried from the library as quickly as my feet would carry me. He was going to kill her – he had killed her! She’d never be able to see the ocean, never be able to escape!
So many thought spinning through my head – it was hard to keep track of them. I heard voices, heard noises, heard clocks and chimes, music, rhymes – everything. Lines from Othello kept weaving their way through the flurry of my thoughts, fighting to be heard over the loud din in my head. I hurried back through the labyrinth of hallways to my room, my feet padding against the uneven tiles. I pressed my back against the door after I slammed it closed. Upon hearing the click, a voice interrupted my thoughts.
“Charles.”
I dragged my eyes up from the ground – from my dirty sock-covered feet – to the body that stood before me. She wore a flowing white blouse with ruffles around her v-cut collar. It was held down by a thick brown belt, and completed by her navy floral skirt. She had crimson lipstick on, making her skin white as pearls. Her auburn hair was tucked behind her ears, and cascaded over her shoulders in gentle waves.
“Lily!” I rushed forward, stopping in front of her, afraid to touch. She brought my hands in hers, and held me with her belittling gaze. I couldn’t peel my eyes off of them, but I felt insignificant beneath the otherworldly stare. “I-I thought Andrew killed you!”
She shook her head. “No, not yet – tonight, though! You must take me away from here!”
Away: It was the clearest thought in my head. “Yes, yes!” I nodded my head desperately. “To the sea, where you’ve always wanted to be.”
“Oh, please!” She said, grasping my hands harder in hers. I noticed that there was no longer a ring perched on her left finger. I smoothed my thumb over the spot, relieved to find it wasn’t just an illusion, a trick of my mind. She bit down on her lip, thinking quite hard. I squeezed her hands in mine, and she looked up. “I have to tell you something,” she said, breathlessly, leaning closer. “Please don’t hurt me.”
“I never would.”
She took in a deep breath, looking all around her. She seemed scared. “I’m schizophrenic!” She wailed, tears pouring over her eyelids. I wrapped my arm around her, pulling her into me.
“Does Andrew know this?”
Lily nodded weakly. “He just ... doesn’t understand sometimes,” she said, her voice gaining with her anger. “He tries to feed me these things – he says they’ll help. They don’t help though – sometimes they only make things worse!”
I touched her smooth cheek, where the warm tears had drawn a path. “Me too.”
“I-I see these ... things,” she hissed, sniffing, “These shadows. They all try to hurt me ... every single –!” She flinched nervously, her head darting up towards the ceiling. I saw it too. The ceiling was going to crush us. “See?” She cried. “See? He’s going to kill me! They’re trying to kill me!”
“Oh, calm down Mr. Hansen!” They were force fed to me. I swallowed them fitfully, and fell into a drowsy state. As my eyes fluttered closed, I could see Lily’s face floating beyond. I saw her blood-spattered state. I saw her lay down in the ground. The earth caved around her, crumbling in. She was trapped – gone. All the while, her voice still echoed to me, crying desperately. “You must take me away from here!” Over and over again, the words echoed, first in her sweet voice. But suddenly they became tainted, tainted by pain, suffering, and anger. Her eyes, once beautiful, became surrounded by a thick band of smoke-coloured rings, like that of a cigarette. Her teeth were rotting, her lips cracked. She no longer smiled like an angel, but that of the demons looming over my shoulder, breathing down my neck. Her green eyes held a look of anguish. I’d hurt her, hadn’t I?
She descended upon me, opening wide her jaw, revealing a set of nasty, serrated teeth – like the shark. She went to clamp them down around me. I came to with a start.
I woke in the white room. The walls were white-washed, with very little attempt at colour added to them. A nurse in white scrubs stood with her back to me, bustling about the room. She folded clothing and slung it over a chair that waited beside a desk, scraped up knick-knacks and crumbs, and swept the too-clean floor of any dirt. She must know I hate stepping onto grime in my bare feet, or tracking mud into my covers from my socks. But how does she know? I wondered.
“Where’s Lily?” I asked her, sitting up. My back felt stiff, my neck sore. I massaged it with the heel of my hand.
“Not here,” the nurse replied quietly, continuing about her duties.
“She’s all right then?” I grunted impatiently, my eager eyes widening in worry with each passing second.
“I’m not sure,” the nurse replied in her quiet tones, “I’ve never met this Lily.”
“B-but,” I stammered, looking around. My eyes caught sight of the familiar strands of deep, auburn hair and crimson lips. Her smiling green eyes caught my attention, and I felt little beneath their stare. “Andrew killed you.” My voice was a hoarse whisper, uttered from my cracked, dried lips. Lily pressed her lips together in a kind smile – one that still gave me goose bumps, and made me feel like nothing was wrong ... nothing at all.
“Pardon me?” The nurse whipped around, her blue eyes widened in slight terror.
“Li-Lillian,” I stammered out. I tried to clear the catch in my throat. I shifted my blankets off of me, standing beside the bed on shaky knees. She’s dead, I told myself, feeling beads of cold sweat on my back, Andrew killed her. “Andrew killed Lillian ... last night. Did you not know?”
The nurse shook her head slowly, a look of horrified confusion distorting her features. She opened her mouth to speak; All that came out was a hushed, “Tick, tock, tick tock.”
I looked away, my eyes taking in the sight of the room, the sight of the shadows descending upon the room, and how the pale walls slowly began to melt like wax. I could tell how trapped Lily felt as she took in the terrible sight. Her terrified eyes met mine, and I hurried towards the window where she stood. I heard Lily’s voice, as though I were swimming under water. “I’m scared, Charles,” her voice quivered. I pressed my hand to hers, felt her warm breath once again.
“Mr. Hansen, what are you doing?” The nurse stood beside me, Lily suddenly gone.
“She-She’s dead, Meredith,” I said, on the verge of tears. I sniffed. “Andrew killed Lillian ... last night. Did you not know?”
Meredith shook her head slowly, but her confusion was replaced by a look of ... pity? “Charles, I’m sorry, but there is no Lily.”
I blinked at her, not feeling any pang of hurt like I’d expected. I didn’t understand. I could see the halo of light surrounding Lily’s thick hair; could feel the weight of her green-eyed stare upon me.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I told Meredith, shaking my head. “Lily’s right there.”
* * * * *
So, I hope you kinda got an idea of what's going on here! Sorry for making this so long (well, it was only about 6 pages on Word) -- I don't expect a super-detailed review ... but if you want to rip it apart, that would be appreciated! Tell me if it's crap -- I haven't posted something in a while!
Really, I love this idea. From the start, we are rooting for your MC, and, like Zils said, we feel like we've been him. What's interesting to me is that a lot of what we feel for him comes from the person he invented—the way he makes he a schizophrenic too was really interesting. At first, I thought that HE wasn't real, and so the ending surprised me.