stories and slow dancing in a burning room

For some people its music or running or that few moments just before you fall asleep. It can be found in children, in the arms of a soul mate, in the stars, in the rain and in the shower. Some people use adrenalin, others use much heavier substances.

Its that place in your mind that no one touches, where your thoughts go when you don’t keep track of them. Where dreams meet reality, where reality doesn’t have to be real.

For some people it’s a relief, a break from life…to escape from it all.

For me, its stories, in whatever medium. Its more then just going to a far off land or being whatever you want to be. It’s about abandoning yourself. Leaving behind all that is you, your dreams, your problems, your routine, your life. It’s embracing something else completely. Another place, another time, another person. To be for that moment, free. To let the story take you, guide you, show you what it’s supposed to, and just let it grow around you. To let it do what it needs to do and to let it leave its mark on you.

 

Because every story affects you….changes you…some in ways not as obvious as others, but they’re there nonetheless.

         

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Someone asked me what fiction was to me…

 

Fiction is the past, present and future. The world as it could be or a view of a parallel universe. Its the experience you always wanted or didn't want or have never thought of having. Its the places that exist and the places that exist only in dreams. 

Its an escape into someone else's story, into another world, another mindset, another truth. 

 

Its a movie, made from your imagination, screened on the back of your eyes for an audience of one.

 

 

Short Story

We had to write a 1000 word short story for my Intro to Creative writing class. I know the title is cheesy, but i suck at coming up with titles.

oh, and I really have been watching alot of crime shows...

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               A Love That Last Forever by Melissa Heng

 

I can’t breathe. The cold had seeped into my body, creeping up through my clothes. I gasped for breath, lifting my head out of the water. George, where is he?  I can’t move, I pull at the ropes that bind me to the chair and cringe as pain shoots through my shoulders. I can’t feel my hands. I see George now, slumped over in the driver’s seat next to me. His nose is almost in the water.

‘George! George, wake up, please wake up!’ I cry.

            I strain against the ropes, trying to free myself; I have to wake him up. The roar of the river is overwhelming as it pushes itself through the broken rear window. The water level in the car is rising fast: he will drown if I don’t wake him.

            ‘George!’ I scream.

            He jerks awake, coughing and sputtering as he breathes water up his nose. He flinches as he shakes the water from his face, the deep cut on his brow has stopped bleeding; but it hasn’t stopped hurting.

            ‘Wh… where are we now?’ he asks, still disorientated and trying to keep his fear from showing.

            ‘I think we’re in the river. He’s pushed us into the river! I don’t want to die George!’ I can’t keep the panic out of my voice, the water is up to my chin now.

            George struggles against his own ropes, I know it’s no use, his eyes dart all around, desperately looking for a way out, an escape. He sees something that makes his face blanche even whiter.

‘Oh my god, the sicko's still watching us!’

I turn to see what he is looking at, dreading it with every heartbeat. A small mini camera is attached to the rear view mirror, it’s cold, red light blinking at us, recording everything. I start to shiver as water trickles down my face. I don’t even know if it is from the river or if they’re my tears. How did we get here?

 

                                                      #

 

            I open my eyes, confused by what I see around me. The rag in my mouth tastes awful and I can feel the rope cutting into my wrists. The room is bare and dusty, sheets of plastic hang on the walls and the only light is from a small dirty window. I hear a grunt behind me and I try to turn my head around to see if it’s George. I hear the jingle of keys, my eyes dart toward the door as it clicks and creaks open. A man walks in; he’s dressed all in black, he has a mask over his face and I can’t even see his eyes.

            ‘You’re finally awake.’ He says. His voice is smooth and deep and friendly. It scares the shit out of me. He reads from a file.

            ‘George and Ruby Cole. Ages 34 and 33 respectively. George is an accountant and Ruby is a librarian. You met when you were in college, dated for a while and now you’ve been married for 7 years. No kids… I guess that saves you from a custody battle in the divorce.’

            He says this all in a calm, monotonous voice, except when he says ‘divorce’, he spits it out like a dirty word. I try to ask him what he wants, but the gag around my mouth muffles my questions and all that comes forth is a babble of muted sounds. I don’t understand who he is, how he can know so much about us, about the divorce. We haven’t even signed the papers yet.

            ‘I know you still love each other.’ He says bending low towards me. ‘I’ve seen the photos, the videos. A love like that doesn’t just disappear… hmm…I think you just haven’t been putting in enough effort. A marriage takes work you know.’

            He has started circling us, I try to keep my eyes on him, try to plead with him to let us go, I can feel a thick warm liquid dripping down my hands.

            ‘You are both going to die today. It might be best to use your last few hours wisely.’ He says.

            He grabs the back of my chair, its legs scream against the ground, protesting as he turns me around. He walks over to George and turns his chair so that we’re looking at each other. The screeching sends trembles up my spine.

            ‘I think I’ll leave you two alone now,’ he says.

He pulls down both our gags. I look at George; he is still in his working clothes. I remember seeing him, passed out on the floor of our living room. I remember dropping the groceries and then feeling a sharp pain in the back of my head.

            ‘What do you want with us?’ George asks. ‘We… we can pay you. We have savings…just let us go. I’ll give you anything you want.’

            The man says nothing, but for some reason I feel that he is smiling. He turns and starts to walk out of the room.           

            ‘Wait! Hey…what do you want from us? Let us go!! WHAT DO YOU WANT?!’ George screams furiously as the door slams shut and clicks. We’re locked in.

            We sit there for what seems like hours. We try everything; we shout for help, plead with our captor to let us go, we struggle to free ourselves, but it only makes the ropes cut deeper. I’ve run out of tears and my throat is dry, I look at George the same time he looks up at me. The divorce was a mutual agreement, we had been growing apart for years and we’d lost the ability to communicate with each other. I just didn’t think he loved me anymore. But I didn’t care about that now, all I wanted was for him to hold me.

            ‘I love you Rubes. I always will.’ He whispers, as though reading my mind

            ‘I love you back’ I say, barely able to keep my voice from shaking.

A loud hissing sound pierces the silence, a thick white gas starts to pump into the room from all directions. My eyes start to water, I try to call out to George but my mouth won’t work, all I see is darkness.

 

                                                                #

 

            He stands on the edge of the pier, breathing deeply from the effort of pushing the car. He smiles as he watches the couple on the small screen of his hand held camera. They’re saying how much they love each other, how much their love means to them. They’re trying so hard to get their hands free just so they can touch one last time. He’s made them realize what love is, he’s given them back their marriage and now, he’s making it last forever. 

                                                               END

And to think i used to write 300 word compositions in secondary school.