aLittleTooIronic
The rumble from inside the mountain was enough to make the fighting stop. Warriors from both sides turned, shocked, to see the mountain shake above them.
"Well sh&%."
Allison noticed that Caleb nodded and smiled and gave a couple of responses that night, but no doubt his mind was elsewhere. H he was too distracted to pay enough attention to know much more than the topic of conversation. As for the food itself, he ate none of it, instead shuffling the food around his plate.
What Allison didn't know, is that Caleb just really had to use the restroom, and felt it was impolite to leave the dining table.
Closing the door of her apartment behind her, she drops her bag onto the counter and slides off her shoes. Home.
It had been a long day today, longer than usual. It was already 1 a.m. in the morning. Her shift, which was supposed to end at 9, went late when she covered for a friend.
"Casey owes me big time," Max grumbled, talking to herself.
Walking down the hallway barefoot, a loud crash coming from the sitting room caused Max to stop.
Reaching for the closest blunt object near her, a chunk of rose quartz. Max crept forwards to peer around the corner, to see a hulking figure in front of her.
Raising the chunk of rock, she ran forward prepared to bring down the weapon.
"Ah!" The figure shouted, holding both arms in front of his now familiar face.
"Casey? Ugh, you idiot," Max said shaking her head.
She hated any type of firearm. I knew that, it was glaringly obvious. She couldn't look at any gun without flinching, she couldn't touch a gun to save her life. It was secretly one of the reasons I had come to love her so much. She truly was amazing. I had proposed not two months ago.
"Why should anyone use violence to fix a problem? Why use a gun when you can simply talk? " She'd argue with anyone who'd ask about her aversion to guns.
Heck, she didn't even cuss; she was the reason I didn't anymore.
But there she was, gripping the handle of a gun up to face me. The barrel of the gun straight in between my two eyes.
The last thing I registered just before I watched her pull that trigger, was the resolve in her caramel colored eyes.
You train your whole life. You are 26. You've never had a drink of anything but water. You've never had anything with any sugar. You have only ever known a life of work and sweat. You only know what it is to push.
You travel half way across the world, you are signed up for a race that really can't last more than eleven seconds.
Your trainer gives you the same pep talk, your mom says she's proud, your friend says you will win no matter what: "It's inevitable."
You are ready.
You breathe in.
You breathe out.
The shot rings out-
And you've lost.
You've just lost the Olympics:
by .02 seconds.
I pride myself in the fact that I have rarely ever taken any selfies.
I've never liked them, mostly because I didn't particularly like any pictures which included my face.
But now he is gone, off in some strange land with a strange culture, and I was left with nothing, not a single picture to remember his face.
Not a single picture to help my fragile recollection of his jaw structure, or eye color.
And I can't help but think, if I had been a selfie person, I'd have at least one picture to remember him.
He was man of balance. He had centered his word completely on the immaterial. And then he lost people. A lot of people.
The man he became after that was someone he could never recognize. If people dies so often anyways, why did it matter if he took over why they passed away?
They snuck out late into the night and took what they could carry. They never took anything valuable enough to be missed. Small portions of food, jugs of water. Clothes or blankets from garages. They never took anything of tangible value. But for the families that did recognize the absence of food or material, the thieves stole the most valuable thing- a sense of safety.
It was the constant blaming he'd receive from the other siblings that drove him kind of crazy, not one of those incidents had been his fault.
We were walled in, not in the way you'd think. It wasn't a tangible wall, but anyone could see it. But no one ever commented on it. The fact was, we were terrified. Traumatized to go near the outskirts of the city. And all of it was over a lie.
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writing since 2015 · 36 entries · 35 days shown up
each square is a day—lit means Meg showed up.
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schoolheadnowfaceeverydaystepboytalkrunningwalkinggunwordsballetsmiledwalkfault