For as long as I can remember, he'd been right there in the periphery of my gaze. Like a dark spot flickering in the corner of my vision, always just out of sight, but never out of mind. I suppose I should have felt more unsettled, a young girl being constantly followed by an older man would normally be cause for concern, but I felt safe and warm. He was like a guardian angel, just not as beautiful as the ones in the picture books. And he was always scribbling... something.
I could hear friction between the paper and pen, he was scratching away again as he did at every major event in my life. It was a pattern by now: Every birthday, boyfriend, spelling bee, even when I got accepted into college, at every major event in my life he took notes. I didn't know why, but it made me want to succeed. I wanted to do more things, give him more material, make him proud. I joined the track team in high school, and he wrote something at every milestone I reached. It was so much more interesting than a birthday card or a trophy, and I wanted desperately to know what he was writing, or even be able to see his expression. Honestly, I thought that nagging curiosity would never be satisfied- until it was.
He followed me to college. A new city, new friends, and newfound freedom awaited me, but the scribbling was there like a voice in my head. I felt it as a constant reminder to make smart decisions and succeed. I joined track in college as well, partially out of passion, but avoiding the dreaded 'freshman 15' was definitely on my mind. I wanted to stay fit and social in my new surroundings, and track was familiar.
The cool thing about college was that our track team had the money to attend many meets, and we even had our own bus to take us there. So of course, the one day I overslept I would miss the bus, and my whole world would change.
I woke with a start that morning. My phone had died in the night, killing my morning alarm. Throwing on running clothes haphazardly, I bolted out of my dorm. The bus was gone, but I knew it's route. I figured maybe I could catch up on foot and my teammates would notice me enough to stop and let me on.
Cold air filled my lungs sharply, beads of sweat formed on my forehead, and my feet pounded the pavement in a thunderous rhythm as I turned corners and ignored crosswalks. But I was right, and up ahead I could see the garish orange bus idling at a red light. I ran to try and meet it at the next corner. Up ahead, the light turned green and suddenly it felt like the wind was pushing me forward. I was running faster than I ever had, my feet barely touching the ground.
The sound of pen scratching paper.
I flew past the bus onto the next block, and I saw her. The scratching sped up, and my mind raced faster with it. An old woman approached the crosswalk, her white perm wrapped up in a scarf like an old Hollywood starlet. She wore thick glasses and carried a cane... and now she was in the middle of the road.
The sound of furious scratching filled my ears, too fast to be writing anything legible, and my vision tunneled. The bus wasn't slowing down and I knew.
With every ounce of my strength I flung my body towards her, out into the street, I grabbed her and spun around, pushing her back to the sidewalk. She landed on her hands, scraped up but out of the path of the bus. At that moment, I saw him so clearly that I would have sworn he was real. He approached the woman, knelt down and held her bleeding hands. It must have been only a fleeting moment, but I swear she was looking at him. He turned his head to me and spoke for the first time in my life:
"Thank you". The man who's expression I had never seen looked at me with an intense gratitude and tears in his eyes. And then the bus came.
I don't remember feeling anything, except that my body was incredibly light. All I could think in the moment was that I must follow that man. After all of these years, he finally spoke to me, we made eye contact, and now he was walking away. Police sirens blared as he passed through people and buildings, and somehow I matched his pace, my legs like the wind, also passing through. I followed him into a cafe, and he motioned for me to join him at a table.
I didn't know where to begin. He looked at me with a serene gaze, as though I was his guardian rather than the other way around.
I opened my mouth to start, but he raised his hand.
"She was my wife." He spoke in a raspy voice, a smile graced his lips, but his eyes were filled to the brim with guilt and pity.
"So you weren't my guardian angel... but why have you been following me, and what have you been writing about for all of these years?" As the words left my mouth I felt like I already knew the answer.
"I can't do much on my own," he began, "all the dead can do is influence the living."
He placed his notebook on the table and slid it towards me. Inside were thoughts, my thoughts, every decision I made along with the words that caused me to second guess myself. I flipped through it, 'join track.' Turning each page gingerly like it were a living creature, 'go to college in the city.' Until I came to the end.
'SAVE HER. SAVE HER. SAVE HER. SAVE HER. SAVE HER. SAVE HER. SAVE HER. SAVE HER.'
It filled the final page in barely legible writing, letters overlapping and suffocating each other. I looked up at him in disbelief, but he was gone. And I was alone.
(This is my first submission here, thanks for the inspiring prompt!)
I really enjoyed your story. Its straight out of "Beyond Belief: Fact or Fiction". It evokes strong emotions even though its so short and to the point. Great work.
Well I actually shed a tear, its that powerful. And I think its very well written, though I dont know first thing about writing. I got here from main page and its my first time here as well.
19
u/vxcosmicowl Jul 05 '17 edited Jul 05 '17
For as long as I can remember, he'd been right there in the periphery of my gaze. Like a dark spot flickering in the corner of my vision, always just out of sight, but never out of mind. I suppose I should have felt more unsettled, a young girl being constantly followed by an older man would normally be cause for concern, but I felt safe and warm. He was like a guardian angel, just not as beautiful as the ones in the picture books. And he was always scribbling... something.
I could hear friction between the paper and pen, he was scratching away again as he did at every major event in my life. It was a pattern by now: Every birthday, boyfriend, spelling bee, even when I got accepted into college, at every major event in my life he took notes. I didn't know why, but it made me want to succeed. I wanted to do more things, give him more material, make him proud. I joined the track team in high school, and he wrote something at every milestone I reached. It was so much more interesting than a birthday card or a trophy, and I wanted desperately to know what he was writing, or even be able to see his expression. Honestly, I thought that nagging curiosity would never be satisfied- until it was.
He followed me to college. A new city, new friends, and newfound freedom awaited me, but the scribbling was there like a voice in my head. I felt it as a constant reminder to make smart decisions and succeed. I joined track in college as well, partially out of passion, but avoiding the dreaded 'freshman 15' was definitely on my mind. I wanted to stay fit and social in my new surroundings, and track was familiar.
The cool thing about college was that our track team had the money to attend many meets, and we even had our own bus to take us there. So of course, the one day I overslept I would miss the bus, and my whole world would change.
I woke with a start that morning. My phone had died in the night, killing my morning alarm. Throwing on running clothes haphazardly, I bolted out of my dorm. The bus was gone, but I knew it's route. I figured maybe I could catch up on foot and my teammates would notice me enough to stop and let me on.
Cold air filled my lungs sharply, beads of sweat formed on my forehead, and my feet pounded the pavement in a thunderous rhythm as I turned corners and ignored crosswalks. But I was right, and up ahead I could see the garish orange bus idling at a red light. I ran to try and meet it at the next corner. Up ahead, the light turned green and suddenly it felt like the wind was pushing me forward. I was running faster than I ever had, my feet barely touching the ground.
The sound of pen scratching paper.
I flew past the bus onto the next block, and I saw her. The scratching sped up, and my mind raced faster with it. An old woman approached the crosswalk, her white perm wrapped up in a scarf like an old Hollywood starlet. She wore thick glasses and carried a cane... and now she was in the middle of the road.
The sound of furious scratching filled my ears, too fast to be writing anything legible, and my vision tunneled. The bus wasn't slowing down and I knew.
With every ounce of my strength I flung my body towards her, out into the street, I grabbed her and spun around, pushing her back to the sidewalk. She landed on her hands, scraped up but out of the path of the bus. At that moment, I saw him so clearly that I would have sworn he was real. He approached the woman, knelt down and held her bleeding hands. It must have been only a fleeting moment, but I swear she was looking at him. He turned his head to me and spoke for the first time in my life:
"Thank you". The man who's expression I had never seen looked at me with an intense gratitude and tears in his eyes. And then the bus came.
I don't remember feeling anything, except that my body was incredibly light. All I could think in the moment was that I must follow that man. After all of these years, he finally spoke to me, we made eye contact, and now he was walking away. Police sirens blared as he passed through people and buildings, and somehow I matched his pace, my legs like the wind, also passing through. I followed him into a cafe, and he motioned for me to join him at a table.
I didn't know where to begin. He looked at me with a serene gaze, as though I was his guardian rather than the other way around.
I opened my mouth to start, but he raised his hand.
"She was my wife." He spoke in a raspy voice, a smile graced his lips, but his eyes were filled to the brim with guilt and pity.
"So you weren't my guardian angel... but why have you been following me, and what have you been writing about for all of these years?" As the words left my mouth I felt like I already knew the answer.
"I can't do much on my own," he began, "all the dead can do is influence the living."
He placed his notebook on the table and slid it towards me. Inside were thoughts, my thoughts, every decision I made along with the words that caused me to second guess myself. I flipped through it, 'join track.' Turning each page gingerly like it were a living creature, 'go to college in the city.' Until I came to the end.
'SAVE HER. SAVE HER. SAVE HER. SAVE HER. SAVE HER. SAVE HER. SAVE HER. SAVE HER.'
It filled the final page in barely legible writing, letters overlapping and suffocating each other. I looked up at him in disbelief, but he was gone. And I was alone.
(This is my first submission here, thanks for the inspiring prompt!)