Posts Tagged ‘302prose’

Until We’re Together Again

Monday, February 25th, 2013

As I entered the cool hospital room I noticed it smells sanitized and impersonal. Not at all like what my friend smells like. Alex my best friend lay in the bed and looked so helpless. Tubes were projected out of his bodies everywhere you could think of and more. His face was obscured by an oxygen mask and was littered with tiny cuts from when the glass shattered. He seemed so calm in his sleep.

            The doctors had contacted his family but they lived five hours away and would not make it in time. The car accident had nearly killed him but the life support he was on would only keep him alive for two hours maximum because his internal injuries were so severe. I of course was also on his emergency contact list so I was able to make it to see him and be with him. The doctors told me that there was nothing more they could do and it was time to say goodbye. I gazed down at his body I realized I would do anything to save him. The time had come to say the hardest thing you can to someone you love.

            “Hey Alex, I’m really sorry your Mom and brothers couldn’t come so I guess you’re stuck with just me,” I chuckled out bitterly.

            “You are my best friend and I promise I’ll find the asshole who wrecked your car, ‘The Tardis’ and I’ll sick Dr. Who on them,” I laughed again. Dr. Who was his favorite show but I didn’t really understand it.

            “I remember when we first met in chorus in 6th grade and we thought we were so cool for making All County. I remember how much we would laugh at Family Guy and all those dumb movies we would watch in your basement. We were such freaks in middle school. I still don’t really understand how people put up with us, probably because we are so fun. Hey, I hope you meet God and I’ll be all like ‘I told you so’,” I said and am no longer to hold back and begin weeping.

            “I’m sorry I can’t be stronger to do this, you were always the tough one. You’re leaving though, I don’t understand why I can’t be there with you. This isn’t fair you can’t go,” I said as I angrily sat down trying to control myself.

            You don’t want to say goodbye like this, I thought. I take a deep breath and stand back up and walk closer to his bed.

            “Alex I love you. Not in a boyfriend/girlfriend way. I love you as someone I can’t be without. Alex, you understand me more than anyone I know. I’ll just say something completely not related to anything we were talking about but you get my train of thought. You have the most beautiful soul I think I’ll ever know. I remember when me and Leo broke up and you did the one thing no one else could, you made me laugh. I just was so sad and I never felt like I’d smile again but you made it happen. Remember that one night when I was home alone and I heard a noise in the house and I was so scared I locked myself in my room and called you and you came over to help me investigate. That was so nice of you to drive over and really spoke to our level of friendship. You made me laugh, you made me cry but most importantly you were my friend and I’m really going to miss you. Wait for me wherever it is you are and we will see each other again, OK I promise,” I said still crying and I gently gave him a hug without disturbing the lines and machines attached to him.

            I called his mom and held the phone to Alex’s ear to say she loves him and she’ll be there soon. Alex passed on quietly without waking an hour later. I stayed at his side until his mother came and I left her to grieve. I gave his hand a quick squeeze and said quietly, “Until we’re together again.”

The Quest

Monday, February 18th, 2013

3B.Your Uncle Charlie died.  His lawyer would like for you to be in his Chicago office Wednesday at ten a.m., for the reading of the will.

            As I finished listening to the message and jotting down the address of the will reading I began to think about my Uncle Charlie. He was my mom’s way older brother who I only met maybe three times in my life, and two of those times when I was an infant. He wasn’t very old so I was surprised to hear he was dead. He was very secretive and my mom never really talked about him.

            I have one distinct memory though when I was little. We were visiting his mansion in California. I was five so of course I wandered off to explore. I had gotten lost in his vast home and found myself in a room in the east wing. The room was incredibly white and plain except for a painting. My mom told me to never touch things like that but I was curious. The painting was a replica of The Last Supper. I always thought it was strange how there was one detached hand holding a knife in the painting. My mom hand pointed it out to me once when we looked at the painting in a book. I wanted to try to trace the disembodied hand to the original owner so I touched it and the painting made a click noise and flung open to a room beyond. I didn’t get in to the room very far because my Uncle scooped me up and flung the door shut. He sat me down in the adjacent room and made me swear I would never tell what I saw. Out of fear he would tell my mom I had touched something of his I promised. What I did see though was something like out of a book. There were there were all of these maps and ancient artifacts. There was one large table in the middle that had a big map on it too, and what looked like a weird medieval box that had pieces missing like a puzzle. I asked what was in there.

            “It is something revolutionary; when you are older I will let you know. Maybe you can even help,” he replied.

            These thoughts all flooded my memory on my drive to the lawyers office. I was dressed formally in a black dress, cardigan, boots, and tight. I was expecting at least a couple other friend and family members to be there but it was just me.  I stepped into the warm office and a very shrewd looking bald man sat behind a large mahogany desk. He wore glasses and an ill fitted suit. He stood up and pulled out a box and a large legal document.

            “The contents of this case will be bestowed upon Lilly Danton, in the event of the death of  Charlie Borrough,” the lawyer declared. He then passed the box to me. I opened the box and pulled out the very same medieval puzzle I saw in his hidden room all of those years ago. A hand written note was enclosed.

            Dear Lilly, I am gone now but the quest will live on. I most likely have perished attempting to acomplish the quest. Here is another step in the journey. I bestow on you this puzzle and the rest of the journey to find the holy grail.


            Charlie Borrough

            Brother of the Quest.

Tales of a First Grade Classroom

Saturday, February 9th, 2013

Prompt 4, beginning with “Listen!”


Tales of a First Grade Classroom 

“Listen,” I repeat pointedly to my extremely hyper and distracted pupils.

“I don’t wanna learn this.”

“Can we go outside?”

“Sharon’s feet are smelly!”

“I am an astronaut!”

I shake my head sadly trying to remember the last time we were able to get through a lesson without Justin interrupting saying he was an astronaut. Everyone think I hate my job, but I don’t. I really do love teaching and molding the minds of pupils. What I do hate though is the crying, screaming, name calling, back talking, and overall behavior of children in general. Why do they have to be such monsters? When I was a child I was completely well behaved. Granted I also went to a pristine private school but that is not the point. Aside from Justin’s constant ravings of being an astronaut, we have Sharon who’s feet do actually smell because she tends to take her shoes off in class frequently.

“Christine that was not very nice of you to say, but Sharon can you please put your shoes back on? It is a school rule,” I instruct her.

“My mom says that rules are supposed to just keep us down. She told me I could be a free thinker and I could do whatever I wanted because ‘the man’ can’t keep our spirits down, or something like that,” Sharon replies.

            I had always suspected her parents to be hippies. That’s the other thing the parents are completely unbearable. I had a parent teacher conference with one student who has strong behavioral problems and the parents blamed me. They blamed ME! I have done everything to make Zach behave. I have taken away recess, assigned extra homework, sent countless letters to his parents and they will not do anything. I informed them that behavioral problems tend to stem at home and I asked how they disciplined him at home. They told me they rarely did and it was the schools responsibility to straighten him out. We are not a military school! I am just trying to run my class.

            Then you have the parents that care too much and call me sometimes during the day to get hour by hour updates on their child’s progress. I even had one mother call my cell phone at 10 o’clock in the evening to discuss Jason’s reading level. I am not entirely sure how she acquired my personnel cell phone number, but her husband works for the CIA and I have a strong suspicion he was able to obtain it.

            Finally it is the end of the day. I will have to stay for another hour or two to grade some things and set up the lesson plan but then I will be able to go home. Natalie is the last one in the classroom.

“I made this for you. It’s a paper weight, I thought you would like it,” Natalie says handing me a rock covered in glitter, paint, and a couple feathers.

“Oh Natalie this is beautiful, thank you so much, I will keep it right here on my desk so I can use it all the time,” I reply.

            She smiles and skips out of the classroom. I love my job.


The Red Hawk

Saturday, February 2nd, 2013


The door opens to reveal the pinnacle of my nightmares. My heart sunk as I saw my frazzled neighbor enter the elevator. It wasn’t the neighbor though that annoyed me; it was her out of control eight year old son.

“Hello,” I say politely.

“Hi, oh shoot come on honey I forgot my keys in the car,” says the mother to her son, Matthew.

“No! I must stay on the elevator to protect it from intruders,” said Matthew,

“All right, just go straight up to our apartment door and don’t move ok,” his mother instructed.

“Roger that commander,” he replied enthusiastically back.

She walks away not even registering what he said. The doors close and I can tell this will be the longest ride of my life.

“Are you an alien,” Matthew inquires.

“Nope, why would you think that,” I ask.

“People can get taken over by aliens. I saw it in a video game once that I wasn’t allowed to play but then I snuck it home from my friend’s house and played it,” he explains.

“Well I can promise you I am not,” I reassure him.

“You have to prove it, give me your bag if you’re an alien you will have your own breathing bag full of special air from your planet!”

“Hey! Get off of my purse! Let go!”

“No I must know,” he cries out.

“Here look there’s nothing in here see,” I say.

“What’s this? Is it some sort of weapon,” Matthew says.

“A tampon, give that back,” I say.

“What does it do,” he asks.

“Um, it is a sophisticated liquid entrapment device,” I say quickly.

“Wow! Sounds cool and expensive you can have it back. What do you do,” he asks.

“I am a lawyer, it’s my job to put the bad guys away” I reply.

“And it is my job to capture them,” he declares.

The elevator jolts.

“OH NO! WE ARE UNDER SIEGE,” Matthew yells.

“No, it’s ok, I think the elevator is stuck,” I say.

“Wait are we gonna be stuck here forever,” he asks.

“It’ll be ok I will press the call button and someone will let us out,” I assure him.

“Like a super hero will come to save us,” he asks scared.

“Sure, which superhero is your favorite?”

“My favorite is a superhero I made up.” 

“Really? What’s his name,” I ask.

“His name is ‘The Red Hawk,’ and he can grow wings at the sign of trouble and can run super-fast, and read minds” he tells me.

“Wow, he sounds really cool,” I reply.

“The best thing about him is he has a son and even though he has wings he doesn’t fly away from his family, he is always home in time every day to play with his son but the son keeps it a secret that his dad is a super hero, and they fly around the city and it’s so much fun,” he says and starts to trail off and just looks at the floor.

“He sounds really cool, I wish he was real.”

“Yeah me too,” he says.

“You know who sounds super cool in the story,” I ask.


“The son, because any other kid would tell the secret and brag about it, but the kid sounds really awesome to me,” I say.

“Thank you Ms. Jones,” he says shyly. 

“Well it looks like they let us off of the elevator now, how about I walk you to your apartment, you’ll need extra back up against the intruders in the stairwell,” I say.

“Ok, CHARGE THE STAIRS,” he cries.




Tuesday, January 29th, 2013

Prompt 2. This is the angry letter I have always dreamed of sending. 

Dear you and your doubt,

I regretfully write to you in the regard that I hate you and your doubts. You and your doubts put me down. Your doubt makes my hands shake whenever I attempt something risky. Your doubts fill my speech when I aspire to say something bold. Your doubts infiltrate my mind when I aspire to be something more. Your doubts are like a constant whisper in my ear. Your doubts are like the hand of a disciplinary mother scolding me. They attempt to limit me and my goals. To curve my dreams to something more “appropriate for someone like me.” They try to seize my attention by romanticizing easier dreams. They try to come off as helpful. They try to come off just as “tough love.” They are just “telling it like it is.” They are only saying these things because they “love you.

But you are wrong. Did you know that doubt is based on uncertainty? Doubt is not based on compassion or love. Doubt cannot think it just dictates. You know what else is the basis of uncertainty? Fear. Fear is the emotion one feels when they are not completely sure what is going on but feel it may pose a risk to them. So is doubt just not the gateway to fear? Do you fear that I may aspire these things? Do you fear that I may become more than I am right now? Or do you actually fear I may be better than you? Stronger? Braver? Kinder? 

You and your doubts, and that is all you are. Your silent judging looks and then not so silent comments are just that. The worst thing is that these are all under the false pretenses of love or caring. You are a fool then for thinking that. I regret to inform you that your doubt makes you weak. Your doubts show through that armor of yours. Your doubts are a strong indicator that I can achieve what is bigger than me. Your doubts tell me that I can change and affect you. Your doubts tell me you fear how I can change.

Well now your doubts are on my side. I call your bluff. Your doubts reveal your chink in the armor and no longer conceal it. You are nothing without your doubts. You have let your doubts control you, but they no longer control me. I listen to my own voice. Not the phantom voice that floats into my head from you. I listen to my own ambitions and dreams, and not merely the ones that are expected of me by you. I listen to my own doubts. I doubt you will ever be bigger than your doubts. I doubt you will feel nothing but rage and jealousy when I prove your doubts wrong. I also doubt your doubts will ever be listened to by me again. I doubt you will ever change and I also doubt that I will care. 


Doubtfully yours, 


journal one

Wednesday, January 23rd, 2013