Young Writers Society

The world is ruled through fear. The fear of being in a plane crash, the fear of being left by someone you love, the fear of life itself. The idea that one day you could wake up and have life change or come to a halt completely is one of the scariest feats alive. 

Today was just a Monday. 

I woke up to the heart-tearing sound of my three year old brother, Seth, crying on the living room floor. He had ripped the fin off of his favorite toy – a plush green fish with shiny purple scales. My mother had gotten it as a gift at his baby shower a couple months before he was born from a relative that I had never heard of until stamping her name on the invitation. It wasn't anything special, but Seth had latched onto it from the moment he was old enough to sit up.

When I walked into the kitchen after calming his fit and wiping the snot from his nose, my mother was pouring coffee into a mug. She was dressed in her business clothes, and by the darkened crease in her forehead, I could tell that today was a closing day at her real estate office. I never understood why she got so nervous - it wasn't like she was some big-time agent in Orange County. We lived in Falls City, Nebraska: a small town on the south-east side of the state with little to nothing of interest for anyone younger than forty-five. The biggest attraction the thumb-tack was known for was its immensity of parks. Ask anybody who grew up here what the staple of their childhood was, and they would tell you going to the park nine times out of ten.

I pulled out the near-expired carton of orange juice from the fridge and choked down a half of glass. I almost tried to force the other half down just to finish off the remnants, but decided against it as my gag reflex would have started to kick in if I didn't give it a rest. My mother didn't object as I drained the rest down the sink and tossed the carton into the trash.

"You need to drop off Seth at Opal's house before you head into class today." She managed to say between thoughts. I was used to her scatterbrain-ness and decided not to object.

"What time will you be home tonight?" I questioned her, pausing briefly at the table to pluck a banana from their hanger.

"Ah – later. I'm not sure how late they'll keep me."

I didn't bother prying for more. Instead, I retreated back to the living room to pick up Seth. It surprised me that he was dressed and ready to go.

"Are you ready to go play with Jacob at Mrs. Opal's house?" I gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and held onto the back of his shirt when he tried to squirm away from me. He didn't like going to her house, but she lived down the street and was the only housewife that didn't mind an extra kid and charged reasonable. Seth was a quiet kid. He barely spoke, barely played with any of the kids in the neighborhood, and didn't like much interaction from anyone outside our mother and me.

"C'mon big boy," I murmured before lifting him up and taking him outside.

The air was crisp as I carried him down the street. He rested on my hip and sucked his thumb as I walked and spoke to him in quiet sentences. I didn't expect a reply, but having a one-sided conversation with him helped the utter loneliness that came with the empty suburb sidewalk. We passed the alternating brick and paneled houses, deemed by the neighborhood as the 'sister homes'. Their layout was basically the same, alternating in color and siding and a few landscaping details around the front. They were big hunks of drywall and insulation that destroyed the once vast evergreen and ash tree patch that grew there.

Growing up in such a minuscule town, everybody knew everybody. When I was little, my mother let me walk to the corner store by myself because of the plethora of people that would be keeping an eye on me along the way. Miss Dean, an elderly woman who lived with her son six houses down from mine, always tossed me a Popsicle in the hot summer heat or invited me inside for a hot chocolate during the winter months. There were countless others who had either died or moved away that always shouted a short greeting at me before continuing on with their day. So many people deserted the tiny suburb after the economy crashed a few years back. They left a ghost town in their tracks.

I ascended Mrs. Opal's driveway and rang the buzzer next to the door. It was quiet enough that I could hear the bell go off inside and the shuffle of her footsteps as she scurried to get it. I composed a smile onto my face before the door opened and a short, scrawny woman with a growing belly stood in the opening.

"Hello Seth, how are you doing today?" She gestured for me to step inside, and it was at this point that I usually declined, but the nippiness in the air pushed me into accepting her invitation. I set Seth down on the floor and closed the door behind me. He clung to my leg and kept his eyes steady with my shoe.

"He's already ate, so he should be good for a while." I stated, standing cross-armed and awkward in the front foyer.

"Oh, alright. I'm just feeding Jacob, but I'll see if Seth would like some too."

I didn't have the ambition to tell her that he wouldn't accept anything she put in front of him. Seth didn't like this place, nor any of the food that came along with it. I had to pry him from my leg to get him to follow her into the kitchen.

"How is school going for you, Aisly?" She questioned me while pouring a container of mushed peas into a bowl.

I shrugged my shoulders and fluffed the thin blonde hair on Seth's head. "It's going. Not much has happened yet."

"That's good to hear," She commented half-heartedly, tying to spoon a small amount of mush into her son's mouth.

After a couple more exchanges, I made a swift exit back out of the house and back onto the sidewalk. It was only a couple more minutes into town, and from there, a short jog to the local college. I was a sophomore studying human biology. There weren't many classes left for me to take – they weren't my caliber. I knew that I was going to have to transfer somewhere at the end of the year, but with my mother and Seth, I knew that there was a slim chance that I would.

It was a class on cellular construction that I was walking to. It was too early when I arrived – no teacher nor student in sight. I slipped to the floor with a long sigh and pulled out the pencil that I had stuck in my hair earlier that morning. It was covered in black and had zinging lightning bolts covering its surface. I traced the smooth silver bolts with the pad of my pinky finger, studying the tiny imperfections in the paint. It was in these imperfections that my mind found distraction from time, allowing its passing quicker than just staring at the electronic clock at the beginning of the hall.

A couple students entered the hall and broke me from my concentration with loud – compared the quiet hallway – conversation. I recognized them only by their faces, unable to draw up a name for either of the two. They barely paid any attention to me as they leaned against the wall a couple feet down the way, only pausing once to acknowledge my looming presence. I remained sitting on my small portion of the floor, making sure to keep my eyes away from that part of the room. The last thing I wanted was to be deemed a creeper by the entirety of the 101 Cellular Development group.

I was in luck. Minutes later when the professor came bustling down the corridor with a flock of students lingering in his wake. He was an eccentric man and fumbled with his keys as he tried to unlock the classroom door. There were sparring pieces of hairs left on his head, and those that remained were of the most translucent white. He generally wore a bandanna around his head, and we all knew that it was in effort to make him seem like a bad-ass, but it was more convincing of the exact opposite. There was an undoubtable agreeance among the inhabitants of the college that Professor Wendt was the wannabe hipster dad of the science department. His lack of headpiece was due all in part to the fact that yesterday was Tuesday, and The Big Bang Theory was on a twenty-four hour marathon, and he knowingly stayed up all night to watch it.

I rose to my feet as he freed the door and swung it back. The thud of the metal hitting the brick wall behind it screeched in the canals of my ear. I flinched slightly, but headed inside. The heat was working too well that day, an uncommon but welcome occurrence, and I immediately shrugged off my jacket and draped it over the back of my lab chair. Others followed suit, rolling up sleeves and peeling off layers. The seat next to me was empty for the first few minutes of class as Professor Wendt began scribbling his usual class outline. I pulled out the notebook I had hidden among the row of books by the lab table. It was torn along the edges of the front cover and a couple pages jutted out from the binding. There were solemn any pages left to write in, but I didn't mind. I rarely took many notes anyways.

He came in a little later than usual today. He was in his usual distressed denim jacket and dark denim jeans. There was a hesitation in his step today, hovering on the line of noticeable if you knew him well. Deep circles embedded themselves underneath his eyes, and his skin was slightly paler than most days. He kept his hands in his pockets and his eyes level with the desks as he walked down the aisle. When he approached our table, there was a momentary pause and a quick half-glance at me before he finally sat down.

"Don't you ever miss a day?" He remarked. A smartass comment from him was normal, and somedays it saved me from the longevity of class.

"I could ask the same thing about you, Charlie." He always rolled my eyes when I referred to him by name.

We sat in silence as class continued to drag on around us. Charlie's hand twitched, hitting the metal tip of his pencil against the desk. There was a slight rhythm to the series of knocks, and they picked up in the bouts where Wendt lulled into an intermission. Most of my attention was claimed to jotting down minimal words onto the lined piece of notebook paper in front of me, but there were moments that were stolen by him. My ears were the most distracted as they picked up on the heavy sighs of breaths and the sniffling of noses from further back in the class. There was really no hope of concentrating today, or attempting to at least. The distractions captivated my mind more than they should have.

There was a swiftness that brought the class to a close. Apparently, the subject of molecular cloning was one that did not bring much interest to the audience and imposed a feeling of indifference onto Professor Wendt. He closed with a few words on our upcoming chapter and then released us without much inquiry of homework. I stood up with an urgent sense of relief and shoved the notebook back into its designated place. I could feel Charlie watching me, and his small bout of laughter confirmed that. I turned to see his slim face lit up with emulating curiosity that burned wildly in the back of his eyes.

"Why is it that all you do is laugh at me?" I questioned without intention to quench his curiosity.

"I mean, it is better than the alternative. I could have an ever-smoldering scowl on my face."

"You really do though – every day you enter this class." I pointed out. "I don't understand why you keep coming if you hate it so much."

"You wouldn't get it." He shook his head, the coyness falling from his features ever so slightly.

"Every time I ask you something that's all you say. Why don't you tell me for once so that I can get it?"

He humored the thought for a half-second before denying it and pushing in his chair. "Someday."

I knew that it was rhetorical; there was no intention laced into his words, but the mere utterance of that word sparked in a place in the far back of my mind. It remained alive as I followed him out into the parking lot. We diverged our separate ways as we usually did at this point in the routine, and I walked back toward the suburban side of town as he headed into the rural. It was a quiet walk home, his words heavy in my thoughts. There was a cloud that followed them as they ran circles in my brain, erasing bits and pieces of concentration as they lingered. I found myself having to pull myself out of a daze more than once as I followed the sidewalk. I decided not to pick up Seth from the sitter's that afternoon - it gave me some time to myself. Though I loved my baby brother dearly, one could only take so much Looney Toons before going a bit looney themselves.

I unlocked the door and stepped inside the deserted house. It was quieter than I was used to, but it was a welcome occurrence. I shed my jacket at the door and followed the stairs up until they reached the second floor and the strip of carpet that laid there. My room was on the far left while Seth's and my mother's remained on the right.

It had a minimalistic design. I liked to think that it remained that way because while my mother's mind was in a constant web of clutter, mine was not. White walls and white furniture were the preference while black shelves and an array of storage containers littered the remaining areas. There were no photos or posters present on the walls – there was no home for them there. They remained in a small bin under my bed that hadn't seen light in years. I wasn't even sure why I kept them, but there they remained in the most untouched area of the house.

I wasn't sure what to do in all of the silent bliss that I was welcomed with. There were so many things that I thought about doing when this opportunity came, but none of these ideas seemed worthy of doing. Instead, I laid in the middle of the floor and stared at the ceiling. I couldn't keep my mind from wondering back to Charlie, as it did most of the time that I was alone. It shouldn't have bothered me that his words were so opaque, but it did tremendously. He wasn't the type of person that exposed themselves graciously, but through a great deal of poking and prodding and piecing the bits together that he did reveal. But it seemed as though no matter how many pieces he gave you, the story was never complete.

I held up my arm and glanced at the watch that rested over my wrist. Only a short amount of time had passed, and there were countless minutes and hours to go. It was almost noon, and the frost on the lawn was surely fading away. I stood up and glanced out the window to check, and it was indeed. Grabbing a sweater from my closet, I shrugged it on and trudged downstairs. I wasn't a fan of the cold, but it was sunny out, so I figured it would cancel out some of the Autumn air.

There was a small bench on the deck. It was a bench that I had grew up sitting on. The paint was chipping off the wood and was beginning to decay on the surface of the arm rests. I sat down in the middle of it and ran my fingers over the stripped paint. There was a sense of nostalgia that came with sitting here. My father had said that memories embedded themselves into the things around us, and that was the case with this hunk of wood. There was nothing more that I wanted to do than walk into the kitchen and see him standing there in his stunted-green uniform and shiny boots. I'd run up to him in surprise hysteria and let him pick me up and spin me around. Then I'd cry and he'd laugh and wipe the tears from my cheeks and then proceed to tease me about my sensitivity.

Those were the good years.

Our house sat in the corner of the subdivision, near the back of the lot with a small patch of trees that separated us from a run down gas station. If I listened hard, I could hear the faint hum of engines echoing off the trunks as they pulled in and out of the station. I spent a lot of time hiding in the dense foliage in my younger years, and it was in those times that I felt the most safe. There was nothing that could harm me in the forest except the bugs. Often times, I opted to spend evenings deep in the tree line as opposed to those spent with my mother and father solely for the reason that I could see the stars better. Neither liked the idea of stars holding pieces of ourselves. They believed in the standard textbook 'God created us' line that was handed to them at every meal they were ever served. I held captive the prospective of everything being a result of our own destiny. I believed in the power of choice, rather than our fates being controlled for us.

I wasn't sure what I believed in now except for the simple fact that everyone had the power to make their own choices. I didn't know what came after that, but I knew for a fact that everyone had a hand in controlling their own destiny.

It was a long time that I remained on the bench, staring aimlessly among the crippled leaves beginning to swarm the ground. There was a chilling breeze that picked up as the afternoon grew older and the sun departed. I was left staring at the sherbet sky, inhaling the vibrant lines of pink and orange.

I knew it was approaching the time that I had to pick up Seth, but there was no motivation in my bones to do so. It had long been past the point of being tiring taking care of him, and was now approaching dread. I loved Seth dearly, and there was nothing that I wouldn't have done for him, but picking up the pieces from my mother's broken promises and responsibilities was nonetheless wearing a hole in my life.

Reluctantly, I started the brisk walk to Mrs. Opal's house in the impending darkness. There was a bite in the air that had grown between the daylight hours, and I quickened my steps along the sidewalk path. It didn't take me long to reach the house and knock on the door. Mrs. Opal's husband answered, a scruffy but handsome man that looked a few years too old. He insinuated my purpose and called for Seth, throwing me a half-smile as we waited for him to come. After a few long seconds he did, giving a short wave to the husband and taking his place at my side. I bid him farewell and took Seth's hand.

It had become dark by the time we made it home. I put a pot on the stove filled with water to make Seth his Mac and Cheese. He usually requested the dish when our mother was gone and unable to make him dinner. It was the only meal that I could cook that was just like hers to him, regardless of the countless amount of times that I tried to convince him otherwise.

He sat patiently at the table, eyeing me with inquisitive glances, waiting for my arrival with his plate. I finished adding in the cheese packet and stirred, then ladled a couple spoonfuls into a plastic Power Rangers bowl. I gave it to him along with a fork and immediately he plunged a scoop into his mouth. I shook my head an laughed a little bit while serving myself a small plate. It was almost like the old times: happy, uncaring. It was only the two of us, though, and that made all the difference. There was something about missing parts of your family that destroyed any hope of it ever being like it was before.

Eight o'clock rolled around and there was still no sign of our mother. Her car was vacant from its spot in the driveway, and no headlights were visible coming down the street. Seth was dressed in his pajamas, waiting patiently by the bay window for a bedtime story that wouldn't be coming that night. After waiting for her for a half-hour, I scooped him up and carried him to his room. He fought my arms as I set him down on his bed, trying to run past me into my room. I knew his routine well, and unplugged the night light. He was already under the covers in my bed when I walked in. There was a wall socket to the left of the nightstand, so I plugged in the light and took a seat on the edge of the mattress. I knew what book his was going to go for - it was always the one with the beat-up cover. It had been our father's - one of his favorites. He had always liked the classics, especially the ones that involved war and conflict and blood. It was atypical for a soldier to like that, especially after experiencing it first hand, but he was no typical father either. A Tale of Two Cities wasn't the most popular bedtime story, but it certainly was a story.

Seth was asleep before the opening chapter was finished. Quietly, I set the book down on the nightstand and got up to turn off the light. There was a slight upset in his sleep, breaking his breathing pattern with a large sigh, but he silently rolled over and began snoring. I couldn't help but smile as I pulled the door shut and walked downstairs. It was too quiet sitting on the sofa alone. It was hardly dark inside, but the shut curtains made the house seem claustrophobic. I grabbed the remote from the counter and switched on the TV. There were reality shows and kids movies on, but nothing that drew much substance other than white noise.

It was a short time after ten when there was a brisk plink on the window. At first, I thought nothing of it, but it was far from nothing. Quite a bit hesitant, I flung back the curtains to reveal the pleasant, but alarming face of Charlie Broncs.

"What are you --" I glanced over my shoulder to the stairs, hoping that my outburst hadn't woken Seth up. Seeing and hearing no trace of movement, I turned back to the window and continued in a whisper, "What are you doing at my house? "

He didn't seem to understand, pointing over to the front door with his finger.

He wants me to let him in - unbelievable. I shook my head and walked over to the front door. I looked over my shoulder to see that he had deserted the glass, and I knew that he would be waiting for me when I opened the door. So, I did.

"What are you doing at my house? It's like, what --" I took a look at my watch. "ten-thirty at night. It isn't even the weekend for Christ's sake."

His lips turned to form a smirk as he let out a chuckle. "You really don't get out much, do you?"

"That's besides the point," I huffed. "What compelled you to come to my house and disrupt my evening?"

"As opposed to just coming to your house? Wouldn't that seem a little too creepy?"

I rolled my eyes and checked my watch again. He must have gotten the hint and hurried to say what he had come for.

"I wanted to see if you would take a walk with me." His tone quivered slightly at the end, and his hand combed through his hair with unease.

"A walk?" I questioned with a slight tone of disbelief. "Just a regular old walk?"

"Well, I was hoping to give you some of those answers that you've been going on about getting." He cracked a half-smile.

I was almost taken aback at his words, but the surprise and eagerness to see what he was leading to was extinguished by the thought of the human being sleeping in my bed. "I can't," I answered with a frown. "I have a brother that I have to watch."

"Oh," His voice fell. "another time then."

He turned on his heel and began descending the driveway. There was a bubble that was forming in the pit of my stomach that I knew was up to no good. It grew and grew until there was a physical vibration that was pulsating through my fingertips. And as almost if he could feel the desire radiating through my body, he glanced back with the same smirk he appeared at my door with.

"What are you waiting for?" He challenged.

What was I waiting for? Fear, and fear itself had a hold on me. 

I glanced back to the stairs and then to him, debating the dangers of the situation in my head. There really was no contest, and I knew that no matter what could have been the consequences, I needed the answers that he would readily supply that night. It was a strange feeling walking out of the house and down the drive to meet him. He was a sense of freedom that had yet to course my veins in the past nineteen years of my life.

He took the lead as we walked along the front of the house. It was beyond dark outside, but the streetlights posed artificial light onto the lawn. We held our path steady until reaching the small patch of trees. It was then that Charlie took off into the woods. He moved in no apparent direction, though his steps were deliberate and confident. His movements were graceful and rugged in step, gliding over the ground with only as much as a twig snapping. I clomped on behind him, struggling to keep pace with him. There was no allotted amount of time that passed before we stopped briefly by a circle of trees somewhere in the middle of the woods. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and refused to look at me for a long moment, keeping his back to me. I hesitated to take a step closer, fearful that it would set him off.

"Are you just going to stand there?" He joked, passing off his words with a hint of serious undertone. Charlie pivoted on his heel to face me, same coy smile playing on his lips as earlier only this time more terse.

"No," I shook my head, swallowing back a stutter. I had to admit, it was quite intimidating standing alone with him. His solidarity wasn't as charming as it had come off as in class, but instead lurking with a sense of secrecy and darkness.

"Well, what are you waiting for then?" The playfulness had drained from his voice, and he now locked his eyes on my face.

"What don't I get?" I asked, referring to his go-to statement for questions. "Let's start with that."

He smirked. "Cut and dry, that doesn't surprise me."

I shrugged.

"You don't get it because you don't know me. You don't know who I am, and you don't know what I've been through." He began, lifting up his hand so that it leveled with his waist. He waited a moment before drawing it in the air and pointing at the sky. "You may not believe in god, but there has to be something more out there, right?"

"Yeah, I suppose." I frowned. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"I'm just trying to make the point that there is more out there than we know of right here and now."

"Fair enough," I conjectured without giving it much thought.

"What do you believe in?" He questioned once again.

"What do you mean?" My eyebrows sewed themselves together and I took a deliberate step toward him.

"What do you believe in? Like we're you raised Catholic or Buddhist or what?"

I ran a hand through my hair and let it fall to my side. "What does that matter?"

"Just answer the damn question!" He urged, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

I took a subtle step backwards while trying to subdue my discomfort. His eyes were wild, catching slivers of moonlight in the darkness of the woods. He matched my eye line, refusing to let me look away from him. "I was raised to believe in what the rest of the world does: heaven and hell."

"But you don't necessarily believe all that, do you?"

"What does that even matter?" I questioned once again, grasping to connect the pieces of our conversation together. "You came to my house and dragged me into the woods just to ask about my religious preferences?"

"You seemed quite willing, if I recall correctly." Charlie murmured under his breath, forcing back a slight quivering in his lip. "But no, my intentions were not that."

He paused.

I studied him silently. There was an unsteadiness in his demeanor that was hard to ignore. Standing still, his skin practically vibrated with nervousness or excitement - I couldn't identify which. A brief rumbling echoed through the trees, snapping his attention for a minuscule moment. His back tensed and curled in the seconds that passed in uncanny silence. Charlie moved to open his mouth again, but was obstructed by the screech of shattering glass and echo of firing.

"What in the --"

I didn't ever get to finish that statement. What came next could only be described as a sledgehammer taking a shot at my rib cage. My body flopped to the ground in an aura of sizzling flames. My torso felt as if it was being seared over an open fire, splitting and disintegrating with each breath I took. It was hard to even catch a breath, feeling as though the air had suddenly became a poison to my being. The heat had risen rapidly inside of me, growing from a small section on my side to the entirety of my chest. There was already a verity to what I was going to find when I lifted my head and faced the reality of the situation before me. There wasn't much to guess of the puddle that was gathering in the seams of my clothing and in the weeds underneath me.

It was supposed to be just a Monday.  

Charlie was hovering over me when I finally opened my eyes. There was a blot of recognition in the far depths of his expression that I knew marked my fate. He was panicked, and understandably so. His hands ached to do something, help in some kind of way. Both he and I knew that there was no helping though. The moment the metal pierced my skin, my future was decided.

Moments passed, seemingly too slow. There were plenty of stories that depicted this exact scene, but none that could possibly constitute the severity of hopelessness and acceptance that was driving my conscience. I was slipping in and out of awareness. It would have been frightening if I was able to sense that I was. It all felt like a calming blanket of sleep had been draped over my body. Pain became numbness. Heat became chills. The once thriving and vibrant body that I encompassed was now crippling and decaying right before my eyes.

There was no fear. None at all. 

All too suddenly, his demeanor shifted. There was a resurgence of urgency that flooded his features. His eyes, brilliant. Skin, flushed in the twilight.

"You're going to come back," He murmured, collapsing his head into his hands. "You're going to come back."

My lids closed and chest lifted fleetingly.

"You can't go. You have to listen," Charlie's voice turned icy as he slowly began to shake me. "It's called the loop. You're going to come back, Aisly. It's called the loop."

It's called the loop.