Please Just Stay

  "My love." I say, gripping May's hand in my own. Her heart monitor speeds up a little, her gaunt face turns to me, and she smiles weakly.
  "Hi, Lover." She says, voice raspy and tired. I fight back tears, instead smiling back to her. I bring her pale hand to my mouth, doing my best to ignore how thin her arm has become. Kissing her wrist deeply, I bring my other hand away from my back, revealing a small, plush penguin. She giggles a bit, the sound warming my heart, yet stinging my ears, as I realize how sick she's become. Swallowing a sob, I keep my smile firm, for her sake.
  "I saw this at the store today, and... Well, you know how I am with impulsive purchases." I gently set the penguin on her chest, watching it heave with each breath.
  "You always spoil me." She teases, squeezing my hand pathetically.
"Hey, you deserve it." I say back. Her face suddenly turns solemn, and she withdraws her hand.
  "What's wrong, Hon?" I ask worriedly.
  "I..." She begins. "The doctors said... Things aren't looking good..." She seems to trail off, her eyes watering, beginning to cry.
  "No, no. Things are going to be okay. You're the strongest girl I know, May. You'll pull through." I sob, tears streaming down my face, as I reach for her hand again. She pulls it away.
  "I just think... It would be better if you left..."
  "What... What are you telling me, Hon?" I sputter, tears falling harder from both of us.
  "I'm saying..." She gasps, chest heaving more. "I don't want to see you. Go. Leave. And never come back." She turns her head away, giving me no chance to say anything back, no goodbye, no reason... Nothing.

  After a whole night of thinking, crying, and wondering, I stand now, with the rise of dawn, staring down at the streets far below.
  Perhaps we can be together... In the afterlife.

Another Chance

  When I finally admitted my feelings for her, I had justifiably expected rejection. It was like an insect trying to win the heard of a Goddess. I was shocked when she told me she felt the same.
  Impossible, I thought. I knew she must be lying to me. But, I entertained the thought, and asked her out for a cup of coffee.
  My heart nearly stopped as I heard her musical voice form the one word that rang as an angel's bell in my ear: Yes.
  That Friday, I drove my way to our nearest cafe, and waited. And waited.
  And waited.
  After an hour, I sat at a booth and sipped on a cup of coffee, which I had meant to share. As the night went on, my wallet grew lighter and lighter, while my hands shook more and more, both from caffeine, and stress.
  The waitress there looked worried as she continued serving me cup after cup of the sweet brown liquid. I would've thought her shift would end, but she stayed until dawn, the same time I left.
  I called the woman who had stood me up, asking her why she hadn't come. Apologizing to me, she explained that she had forgotten the exact date, and thought it would be the next Friday. Her voice sounded different than usual, and I somehow knew she was lying. Despite this, I gave her the benefit of the doubt, I told myself there was a good reason, and full of feable hope, I asked if we could try the date again, the same night.
  She said yes, that she would definitely be there. I put the phone down, and despite the ache in my chest, I made myself look decent, and drove to the same cafe as the night before.
  The night wore on as once again I binged myself on coffee, served by the same waitress as the night before. She seemed just as worried as she had the previous night, though it was hard to tell behind the wall of tears in my eyes. I didn't want to be there, I just wanted to go home. Still, I repeated my actions from the night before, and drank until the sun once more rose above the horizon.
  As I went out the glass doors, I saw the waitress turn and walk towards me from the employee entrance, and I waited to hear what she was going to say.
  "Hey, sorry. I just... Well, I don't know who it is you're beating yourself up over, but she doesn't deserve a guy like you. Here." She jammed her hand toward me, a piece of paper clenched between her fingers. A phone number.
  I hesitated, my palm half-open. I didn't want to be impolite, but I also didn't want to go on a date with someone I had just met. Before I could decide what to do, however, she put it in my hand, and ran off.
  Upon getting back home, I threw myself on the bed. Though my energy was all but depleted, I couldn't bring myself to sleep. I laid there, and watched the daylight grow brighter through the window as the day went on.
  It was midday by the time I woke from a slumber I hadn't remember falling into. For a few minutes longer, I continued to lie there, until I could bring it on myself to call the girl who had stood me up. I had to get a reason, some kind of explanation, anything for my fragile heart to cling to. I dialed the number I knew only too-well, and waited. No response. I tried again, listening to the ringing from the other end...
  No response.
  I knew from experience that she would still be home around this time. I dropped the phone, and turned away. I could've handled it if she had just said no. Or, hell, even just stood me up... But to not even give me an answer... Why this?
  I knew I wasn't enough for her. I knew it.
  That day, I didn't leave my room. I laid in bed, alternating my behavior between crying my eyes out, and getting back two nights of lost sleep. I didn't want to do anything anymore. There wasn't a reason to care.
  I didn't get up until 8pm the next night, and as I rose, I heard something soft crinkle under me. I got up and inspected the bed, to find a small scrap of paper; the waitress's phone number.
  I called her, desperate to have anyone make me feel better. When she picked up, she sounded excited, and I smiled involuntarily. We scheduled a date for the next Friday, and she admitted to taking over her coworkers' shifts just to see me. We agreed to skip a cafe and head to the park for a walk.
  We had a wonderful day that bled into a night on the town. We couldn't seem to stop seeing each other. Months went by, and we talked about our future together, having kids, and...
  Today, I'm getting married.

First Love

  "I love you."
  Sarah turns to me, her face reddened by a deep blush. This is the first time I've said it, my arm around her, interrupting the romance movie we had been watching for some time. A cheesy show about a couple, separated by their families.
  "M-M-Matthew..." She looks away, hiding her gorgeous face from me. A small silence comes between us, before I hear her mutter something back.
  "What did you say?" I ask, leaning closer.
  "I... I love you, too." She whispers.
  We spend the night in silence. She leans her head on me, and as the movie credits start to roll in, I realize she's fallen asleep. Without disturbing her, I reach for the remote, turn off the T.V., and slowly lean down, until we're laying together, her on top of me, her head resting on my chest.
  I feel my eyelids droop slowly, further and further down, until they shut completely. My arms wrap around Sarah tightly. I suddenly feel her hands cling to me.
  "I love you." She says.
  "I love you, too." I answer, smiling as she shifts a little.
  We fall asleep.

Inside the Box

  I sit at the same office desk that I have had for the last 10 longest years of my life. I type on the same keyboard, which is missing the paint from the letters A, E, and T, after being used for so long. The same computer shows me the same documents, the same tap-tap-tap of the keys...
  I can't take this anymore.
  The same coworkers tell me the same stories, as I eat the same lunch that I have every day at the same hour. Our office workers give the same speech as they always do, about how hard they work, and about how much fun they have at home...
  No. I think to myself, breath quickening, heart beginning to race. I... Can't... Take... This... Any... More...
  I tear away, breaking for the stairs, leaping over desks and chairs.
  "What the hell?!" Someone shouts as I bound down the steps, floor after floor, until I'm finally outside, breathing in the fresh air. Loosening my tie, I get into my car, feeling alive for the first time in so many years.
  And I drive.
  I drive away... From everything...

Razor

  All I did was love, give, and hope and pray. But when I finally got up the courage to ask her out...
  She completely crushed me.
  I could've accepted rejection. I could've accepted some level of harshness, even if we had been great friends. But this... Was a complete case of overkill, a blatant disregard for my emotions. It was like she had become someone else entirely, someone who wanted only for the destruction of my soul.
  For a while, I thought she had succeeded. Somewhere deep down, I still do. Yet, there's a new part of me, a part which still holds on to a thin strand of hope. A part that says I'll be alright.
  I sit now, alone in my room, hoping and praying for something, anything to help me.
  I see my shaving razor, lying on my desk. The blade itself has somehow been pulled out. Curious. I stand to put it away, but as I touch it, darker thoughts begin to fill my mind...
  I carry the razor into the bathroom. My parents are out tonight, and will be until tomorrow afternoon. That strand of hope inside tells me not to, it says it's not worth it. I don't have to do this.
  Filling the bathtub with hot water, I lay inside, razor in one hand. A tear rolls down my face as I dig and tear, blood spraying for an instant. I cry out in pain, clutching my bleeding wrist. I breathe heavily, grit my teeth, and hold the razor in my other, shaking hand. I have to push through. With great effort, I push the blade against my other wrist, and dig through. Sobbing, I drop the razor, doing my best to relax my body, wrists burning.

  I watch the child bleed out, my plans now set in motion. I stare silently, observing with slight curiosity.

  Oh, God, why did I reject him the way I did?! I know he... He killed himself because of me. Oh, it's all my fault! I should have said yes. He was cute, funny, always kind to me, and in return... I killed him!
  In between my sobs and wails, I look up, and notice something out of place; the razor I use to shave is lying on my bed. Stranger still, the blade has been pulled out...

  Was I not a good mother? Why did my son do this to himself? My ONLY son, now... Dead.
  Here I lay, crying into my pillow. My husband is drinking his sorrows away at a bar, and I have no one here to help me cope. Hearing a small thud, I raise my reddened face, curious.
  The noise came from the bathroom, I suddenly realize. Entering, I notice my razor on the floor. It had to have fallen. Getting closer, I see the blade on its own, seemingly calling to me...

  My wife and son. Dead. No hope.
  I lay in my bathtub, soaking in my daily bath. A clatter echoes nearby. Opening my tear-drenched eyes, I see my razor, the blade knocked close to me...

  "Four deaths, not bad." I say to myself, standing over the father's body. I commemorate myself on a new record, and for keeping a family together. Slowly, my boney hand graces across the grown man's face, and my blank eyes stare deeply into his cold, lifeless ones.

Missing Window

  Crash!
  I wake with a start, as I hear glass break. Still groggy from sleep, I force myself to some level of consciousness. I roll out of bed, and in the dark, fumble through my nightstand drawer. Finding my revolver, I tip toe to my door, slowly open it, and peer out. The window at the end of the hall is sealed, and thankfully, solid. Moving in a crouched position, I dash down the hall, to the next bedroom. I suck in a quick breath when my foot presses down on a loose floorboard, releasing a loud squeak in consequence. The sound reverberates throughout the entire house.
  After waiting through a full minute of silence, I relax. Slightly. Then, with a gun in one hand, I push the door open. Peeking in, I look at the window, just above the bed. Unsurprisingly, it too is untouched. With a quiet sigh of relief, I pull my head from the room, and continue to the living room.
  I stop short, leaning back on the wall corner. My head turns around the corner, gun following below, but I don't see so much as a shadow. All three windows are fine.
  My last option; the kitchen.
  I steel myself for what's coming. With caution, I raise myself back to a standing position, and slowly, step by step, walk to the doorway.
  One deep breath, before I lunge in, flicking the lights on and waving the gun wildly around the room.
  There's no one inside, and the window is...
  Solid.
  "You forgot your own room." I hear from behind, before a whack resounds, and a sharp pain runs through my head. The room spins, and everything quickly turns to black...

Impaled

  I can't believe I'm still dying.
  There's a wooden pole in the ground, and I'm stuck halfway through it. For the last hour, I've watched my own blood trickle down, slowly draining me.
  I screamed for the first moments, my cries echoing across the vast, empty field. But my voice has grown hoarse, and my head feels too light.
  I've cried for most of the last hour. It was only recently that I ran out of tears. But inside, my weeping still continues.
  The pain I feel is agony itself, manifested. It's everything I've feared of death. Every breath is a whimpering plea, every slight movement brings about a new flood of torture. Every moment of life is another moment that I pray for the sweet release of death.
  For a few short, unlasting minutes, when it first dawned on me that I was impaled on this wooden pole, I had the fool's hope of rescue. When I felt that my guts were spewed a bit, just above me, when I noticed the pole below turn red with my blood, all my hope dripped down with it. When I came to the full realization of just how prolonged this would be, all I wished for was death.
  I was once thankful for pain. I've always seen it as a warning against danger, a necessary evil for survival. Now though, I would give anything just to stop feeling. Oh, it hurts. This whole time, I've been slowly, slowly inching my way down this splintered wood, feeling my cold, coagulated blood force its way back into my body. How long? How much longer can I possibly live like this? Please, just end this. Just let me die already.
  I'm getting close now, I hope. I'm so dizzy, so tired. My adrenaline is wearing down, I can't last much longer. Thank God. My blood has formed a puddle below me. I'm only half a foot away from the ground.
  Perhaps, if I close my eyes long enough, the pain will go away.

Updating

  I apologize for the great lag in my posts, the last story being nearly 3 months ago. Life and stress have taken a huge toll on both myself and my available time, and as a result, I've had to postpone writing my stories here in favor of more financially feasible choices. I've decided to come back to this blog, and make attempts at reviving the site and posting stories more often.
  My writing style, I feel, has advanced a bit, and the fact that more people read now more than ever inspires me to continue my dream of becoming an author. I'm currently working on several novels at once, my mind being the type to wander over and over again, but in between working on those, I'd like to continue providing free stories to the public using this blog. Thank you to anyone who is a regular visitor of this site, and I hope that I can give everyone hundreds of stories to read and share with each other.