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Entry for the contest

Started by xXAliveXx
(2014-05-22 12:51:45)

xXAliveXx (2014-05-22 12:51:45)

Jamie was in the Principals office when the world went to Hell. Someone had called him out of class because he had a phone call waiting for him, and he excitedly put his things away in a rush to get out of class.

As he trudged through the gray walls of Birchfield elementary, he got a sudden urge to turn around and go back to class, to sit down and read again, to listen and pay attention; anything that would keep him away from that phone call. But the feeling passed, and so Jamie continued walking.

He passed by some windows taller than him that showed the playground. It was severly overcast, and the wind blew the swings into motion, making it seem more like a horror movie scene rather than a kid's playplace.

If he was lucky, it wouldn't rain until after recess, so he wouldn't have to spend it inside.

As he reached the office, time seemed to slow down. His eyes focused on the door, and his feet seemed to echo down the darkened corridor until each step sounded like ten.

Suddenly, Jamie was afraid. He stopped outside the door and stared and the chipped, painted letters written in all capitols; OFFICE.

With a shaking hand, he opened the door.

What if It was something he was in trouble for? What if they only said it was a phone call so the other kids wouldn't tease him? Yes, this must be why the reason Jamie had the jitters. He was in trouble.

He stepped over the threshold into the room, and coldness washed over him.

Turns out there really was a phone call, but Jamie was right about one thing. He was in trouble, but not for anything he'd done. His mother was dying.

He sat in the office, some of the secretaries talking to him and patting his shoulders while others ignored him other than occasional sympathetic glances. Jamie didn't care. He felt numb.

He heard the first raindrop as it splashed on the window, then felt rather than saw the sky unleash it's burden. His dad came to get him, and Jamie was scooped into his arms.

Then Jamie cried, his sobs wracking his tiny frame as violently as the thunder shook the sky. Jamie's father was crying too, but mostly on the inside.

Jamie's father didn't take them home, but rather straight to the hospital. Jamie's little sister, Maria, who was only three, shared the backseat with him.

"Why is Mommy broken?" she asked, innocent and obliviously blind to what had happened. Jamie listened as his father recited an almost identical response to the voice he heard on the phone.

"Mommy was driving home after work, and someone came up behind her going to fast. They didn't stop, and they nudged your mother off the road."

The car was in silence for a minute, the windshield wipers beating furiously to keep the glass free of rain. Then they arrived at the hospital.

White was everywhere; on the walls, on the sheets, even the nurses outfits. This was nothing like his doctor's check-up room, where colorful walls and toys were most prevalent. But this is a grown-up place, Jamie thought, standing a little taller, so I'll be grown-up. For Mommy.

A maze of twisting hallways nearly identical to one another led to Jamie's mother's room. When they reached it, they entered as one, Maria in their fathers arms so she wouldn't be tempted to touch the delicate machines.

Jamie walked up to the bed, but stopped before he reached it.

This wasn't his mother. His mother was kind, caring, and sympathetic. Her eyes always sparkled with compassion and live, and she was always there for him. She was always smiling, even when work stressed her out and dinner went wrong and she spent hours helping him with homework, all in one night.

This woman looked dead, her eyes dull and gray, the beeping monitor beside her made her heartbeat sound mechanical and fake. It was metal and wires, not flesh and blood.

But nonetheless, those lifeless eyes looked up and caught Jamie's startling green ones. He saw a spark of recognition in them, and the beeping grew more frequent. She was happy he was here.

He tried to swallow, but his mouth was dry, and he wished his father would nudge him, but he knew he wouldn't. This was something he had to do on his own.

So he stepped up to the bed, and his mother reached her hand up to him.

Was he sure this was his mother? So frail and pale and dead looking? Would he ever know for sure?

He grabbed the woman's outstretched hand, and she pulled him toward her, her grip weak. He laid his head on her chest, and he heard it...a faint heartbeat through the clothing. It was the same one he heard when he was sad and he was pulled close in a hug, the same that comforted him as he mourned over his goldfish, and the same rhythmical pattern that helped him sleep when nightmares kept him awake.

This was his mother! He wanted to cry with relief, but he knew he had to be strong...for her. because she stayed strong for him time and time again. That gave him courage.

Jamie looked at his mothers face, and the large scrape on her forehead, and her dull, tired eyes, and he kissed her on the cheek. The machine was breathing for her, but Jamie swore he heard her say I love you... as tears welled in her eyes.

Jamie hugged her again, relishing the heartbeat, and Marie cried out,

"Mommy! Mommy, you are broken!"

Jamie just smiled and hugged his mother closer. Maria was right, Mommy was broken.

But her heart was still beating.

This post has been edited one or more times, the last time was:
2014-05-28 06:23:53

"I love your eyes...but only with ketchup."

phoenixwrite (2014-05-22 23:10:48)

;_; so sad. Great job. Just amazing

This post has been edited one or more times, the last time was:
2014-05-23 06:11:12

just a chill dude that love to talk. sup?

DrakeJericho (2014-05-23 00:16:16)

It was supposed to be about A broken tool that still has its uses.

This post has been edited one or more times, the last time was:
2014-05-23 07:16:57

AntiChrist (2014-05-23 00:56:01)

Dang... This is the competition I'm up against. Great story!

xXAliveXx (2014-05-23 01:23:05)

@DrakeJericho
Fluxercry said it could be vague, and his is; his mother is the "tool" and she is "broken", but her heartbeat still keeps him calm, therefore, "still has it's uses"

"I love your eyes...but only with ketchup."