So, this is something I wrote really quickly this morning cause I needed to hand in some creative writing tomorrow for school. So I apologize if it completely sucks. Which it does. I also wanted to try writing something I wouldn't normally write, so it's different than what I'm usually comfortable with in several ways. Anyway, I'd appreciate constructive criticism so I can hopefully improve on areas I'm not so good at. I could use a lot of help :P Thanks for at least considering reading it. Now, I'll stop blabbing.
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My world is empty. I’m consumed by this dark void. I might say it’s black, but I wouldn’t really know. I’ve never seen the color. I live caged, trapped in a dark pit with no light at the top. I hear the sounds from the outside, but it’s at a distance, in a different world than me. It’s all so far away. All that surrounds me is the darkness. I can’t escape.
Somewhere beside me a voice speaks, but it’s so distant. Detached.
“Emma, I’m here.” Mom. My brain recognizes the voice, but no image is connected to the title. I feel so far away.
I shift my head in her direction so she can tell I heard her, but remain silent. There’s nothing for me to say.
“How are you feeling, baby?” This time I shift away, to the other side of the room. They say the view is great, but I don’t know why they bother to tell me.
She lays a hand tenderly on my arm and I pull away, out of her reach. She wouldn’t even understand.
“Emma...” I hear the hurt in her voice, and I realize I shouldn’t blame her.
“It was on my IV.” I say, still facing away.
“Do you want me to take you out today?” I hear her move anxiously beside me. “The doctor said it would be okay.”
I nod just barely, but evidently she catches the movement, because she releases her breath and I can almost feel her apprehension ease.
“Where to?”
I already know where I want to go. There’s only one last place left where I can find peace in the darkness.
“The birds.”
** *
I jolt slightly as the wheelchair rolls over a bump.
“Sorry, honey.” Mom smooths my hair from the back and I hear her suck in a breath. She’s not used to how thin my hair has gotten.
I don’t notice.
The doctors say I’m sick. They can’t explain it, though. They say there’s nothing wrong with me physically, but my health is declining. They can’t explain it. But I can.
How can they expect me to survive when I live in this never ending darkness? I’m not whole. Something like that is bound to fall apart eventually. They should’ve known that.
“Just the two of you?” A man’s voice.
“Yep...” Mom answers. “Just us.”
Of course it’s just us. Dad never comes anymore. Mom says it’s because it’s too hard for him, but I know why. He can’t stand to see me like this. He’s ashamed. So he pretends I never existed in the first place.
That’s fine with me. He might not be there for me, but I know he’ll support Mom. He’ll help her through.
“We’re here, honey.” Her voice is soft as she wheels me forward and I can tell when the door is opened, because then I hear them. They’re singing.
Some might call it discordant or a cacophony, but it surrounds me, and I hear each voice, each song, individually. And then together, they make a symphony.
This is the last place where I don’t feel so detached from the world. I can almost be a part of it, but there’s still a wall. I can’t find the door to escape this room. But that’s the thing, I don’t really think there is one.
I bask in the beauty of their song, but I know this can’t last. This isn’t living. Something will have to change. And, really, there’s only one thing that can.
Mom chooses not to see it. She’s wants to believe that it’s something they can fix. But I know it’s not. Only I can.
The sound of the birds begins to slowly fade and I feel myself slipping. Mom’s worried voice calls out somewhere in the empty space, but I don’t make out what she’s saying. It’s all just like a dream I never woke up from. How can I wake up?
***
The expanse of empty space engulfs me. I hear them talking, but I feel like I’ve fallen from the sky and now they just hover above me, disembodied voices floating somewhere that I can’t reach.
Am I awake? Or am I still sleeping?
The beep of machines mingles with the many quiet murmurs of the doctor’s concerns as they rush past me. Someone beside me is sniffling. Mom.
“Emma... I don’t understand it, Emma.” Her voice is shaking. She sounds so small. “Why won’t you fight?”
She wants me to fight. She doesn’t understand. I want peace. Fighting won’t bring me peace, it will only destroy it. There can be no peace with fighting. I have to give up one or the other. And I’ve made my choice. Why can’t she accept that?
I slip farther into this sleep. It seems the only way out of this darkness is to become a part of it. I can feel it. The door to escape this prison is so close. Almost within my grasp. I’m almost free. But something brings me back. It’s Mom’s voice again. It’s not as present this time, I’m not really there. I can still hear the fear, though.
“Please, Emma, don’t give up. Stay here. Stay for me.” She’s close to sobbing now. It’s too late for me to turn back now, but for the first time, I really am sorry. Sorry I couldn’t find another way.
But there is no fighting or giving up. She doesn’t understand. I’m doing this for me. Maybe I’m being selfish, but I’ve simply made a choice. That’s all there is.
My head still rests on a pillow, and the blankets still lay limply over me, but I don’t feel them anymore. The beep of the machine has slowed, and it’s the only sound that I hear anymore. The urgent crowd of voices has washed over me and away, and I’m left alone in the darkness, the silence only broken by one beep... Then another... slowing down, becoming my last hold in the emptiness. I’ll have to let go to find the light.
The beeps begin to come painfully slow, more hesitant every time. The silence more prolonged. It beeps... and again... The silence stretches for an eternity. At last, the final drop crashes down. And this time, the silence is the end.
***
Somewhere far away in a hospital room, the scream of a machine echoes through the deafening silence. And at last, a young falcon opens its bright, new eyes, and is engulfed in light.
Interesting story, but I feel as though it could've been developed a bit more. I understand you did it in a rush. I also question your decision to have this in the first person -it's naturally one of the more difficult voices to write in. It doesn't seem to fit this piece, to be honest.
I get it. Being blind sucks, but Emma’s mom is trying here and I feel no sympathy for our blind protagonist. Sheesh, it isn’t as though she once had sight and then lost it.
You believe you meant to type: Mom smoothes my hair from the back. I hear her suck in her breath. I deleted the “and” since it was superfluous. You’ll come to learn that I’m a minimalist. I like to slaughter word counts until it’s bare minimum –especially with short stories. This is only a preference you don’t have to take what I say to heart.
I get that I’m suppose to feel pity for the protagonist, but it’s not happening. We started on the wrong foot the moment she started passive aggressively lashing out towards her mother and then the doctors (in her monologue).
I know this ought to sound sweet in the sense that she’s thinking about her mother, but it’s been tainted. I hear resentment and this thinly disguised rage –the very least that man can do is support Mother. It may be all in my mind.
I would’ve preferred: Mom’s voice calls out –worried. Somewhere in the empty space, I hear her. I can’t make out what she’s saying though.
Nice ending though, I like how she becomes the birds she’s listened to. They emulate freedom. Keep it up, mate!