queenrikki (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
queenrikki) wrote2005-05-26 02:12 pm
queenrikki) wrote2005-05-26 02:12 pm
Entry tags:
Short Story- "Limbo
For the amusment of others, I present to you a short story I wrote that is a perfect example of why stressed out science fiction/fantasy writers should not be forced write mainstream fiction (*grr* writing classes. Oh and I really have been stressed, my mother has lung cancer, money's tight, I'm in my senior year of college). There will be melodrama. Lots of it.
You have been warned.
“And that’s all for today. I’ll have your test back to you next week. Goodnight.”
I’m out of my chair before the last words are out of Professor Gracie’s mouth. It wasn’t as if I’d been listening. I recorded the lecture so I’d listen to it later. Really I would. I usually spent the class doodling on the back of my hand. I take the stairs down to the first floor. This way is usually faster than the elevator. Most of the people are too lazy to walk down two flights of stairs. Bastards.
As I get to my car, I snatch the keys out of my purse and put them into my beloved Putt-Putt. A ten year-old Geo Metro, Putts been with me since I my sophomore year of high school. I pat the dashboard and give a little prayer as I stick the key in the ignition. Prayer is pretty much what’s holding this car together anyway. I need a new one but the chances of that happening are pretty slim at the moment. Besides, Momma gave him to me and I wasn’t quite ready to let him go. She’d disappeared a nearly three years ago and we haven’t heard even a whisper of her since.
I hit the freeway and head towards home. For the second time this week, I’m nearly plowed by an eighteen-wheeler. Close calls alway give me hives. I scratch my chest and will my heart to beat slower. I hate those fucking things. By the time I finally pull into my driveway, I’m back to normal.
I sniff the air as I opened the front door. Burnt grilled cheese. Yum. Delia must have made herself a snack earlier. Never should have taught her how to use the stove.
Despite the noxious smell, my stomach growls. I toss my book bag down behind the door and head to the kitchen. I pull a package of ground chuck and put it on the counter, then go about getting the rest of the fixings to make spaghetti. I hear footsteps from down the hall and my seven year old sister appears.
“ ‘lo, Portly,” she says around the gum in my mouth. I roll my eyes. “That was slightly cute when you were five. Now it’s just annoying.”
“I’m never annoying; that’s just your imagination, Portia. I’m sweetness and light and everyone loves me.” Even though my backs to her, I know she’s grinning. “Tra la la la la,” she sings and dances around the room like a jackass. I briefly wonder what my father would say if I knocked Delia out and put her in a box headed for Abu Dhabi. Scratch that. Knowing Daddy, he wouldn’t even notice the difference.
I put the water on for the spaghetti. I glare at the water, and try to use my amazing psychic powers to make it boil faster. Funny I’ve been doing that since I was six and it still hasn’t worked. Maybe next time.
“So, have you done your homework?” I ask, stirring the sauce.
“Nope.”
“Why not?” I ask in a strained voice. Delia had already gotten two F’s this semester. I wasn’t looking forward to seeing more.
“Because it’s stupid,” she says.
“That doesn’t matter. You have to do all of your homework or you’re going to fail.”
She scowls at me. “I don’t care,” she says and stomps off to her room. I sigh and turned the sauce down to simmer headed towards the back of the house to Delia’s room.
“Open up.”
“I don’t want to talk to you!” she yelled.
I knock on the door. “You’re not mad at me.”
“Yes I am.”
“No you’re not,” I reply patiently. The best way to get anything out of her was to let her give it up herself. “What’s really bothering you?”
There’s silence for a long time and then I hear the door unlock. My baby sister is still scowling but she’s now crying. I don’t know what’s wrong but I wrap my arms around her and tell her everything’s going to be all right.
She sniffles then leads me into her room. I try to wince as I look around the room. Clothing and books are strewn around the bed (unmade). The only things in the room that are anything approaching neat are the rows of long boxes around the edges of the room. My mom loved comic books and she passed that love on to my sister. They were the only things that she had from Mama and she kept those religiously neat.
I enter the room and take a seat in her Spider-Man chair while she sits down on the bed.
“So are you going to tell me what’s wrong now or am I going to have to beat it out of you?”
“Mary Faulkner told me that her mother said that Mamma ran of with some man. I told her that wasn’t true. Mama was abducted by aliens, that’s what you said remember?” I roll my eyes. How could she believe anything like that? But I don’t say anything and I let her ramble on. “Mary Faulkner said that I was stupid and that Mamma was a slut. So, I took my math book and hit her on the head.” Her voice petered of into a whisper but I saw the look of satisfaction on her face; she doesn’t feel the least bit sorry.
Good girl.
“This is all utterly fascinating and all, but what does this have to do with you doing your homework?”
Delia, eyes now dry, scrunched her nose and waved her hand. “Oh that. Mrs. Martine said that I had to write a letter apologizing to Mary Faulkner. But I think Mary Faulkner is a dickhead so I’m not going to.”
I look at her for a moment. I can’t help but think that Daddy should be the one doing this but I shrug.
“I’m going to tell you now that it would probably be better if you wrote the letter. But I’m not going to make you.
“Good,” Delia says then sniffs the air. “I think your spaghetti’s burning.
***
It wasn’t burned.
It was scorched. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. Anyway, it couldn’t have tasted that bad, Daddy got two huge platefuls after he came home from work. I ate at the table as always. Daddy ate his chair in front of the television. When Mamma was alive we used to eat at the table...and watched the TV from there.
Right now he’s watching the local news on his favorite station. I can tell without looking because the head anchor has a voice that cut through my nerves like glass. I wish he would turn down the sound
“Daddy,” I say to him. He doesn’t turn around. “DADDY!”
He snorts then turns his head around in his chair. “Wha jou want?” he mumbles to me. What do I want? Do I want to tell him to about Delia’s incident at school? Do I want to have a heartfelt chat (I hate those)? Do I want to ask him to turn down the damned television because it’s giving me a headache. He looks so tired. I just sigh. “Nothing dad. Go on watch your news.”
I head to my room with the sound of the local news. “Further news, the Jamesville Lake is being drained to make way...”
I shut the door.
I plop down onto my bed. I need something to take my mind off Daddy so I grab my book bag and pull out a notebook at random. It’s my Brit Lit folder. Good, I have a paper due Friday and I need to work on it. I kneel on the bed with pen and paper in hand. I stare at the sheet blankly for twenty minutes. Occasionally, I write down a sentence only to scratch it out. I push the book aside, figuring I can do it later. The best Friday papers are always written at eleven on Thursday night anyway.
I let myself slide to the floor. I winch and lift up to move the book that was pinching me in the ass. The room is quiet and I can still hear the news. I fling the book across the room it bounces off the door and falls to the floor.
Damn him!
I get up and begin to pace around the room. Why does everything have to be this way? Why can’t Daddy act the way he did when Mamma was alive? Why can’t he be a parent to Delia instead of making me do it? Not that I don’t love the kid, but I’m her sister not her mother. She has one parent still here who should hear about it. I guess if we knew what happened to Mamma that he could move on. Instead, she’s missing and he’s stuck in limbo. But--hell, I’ve had to deal with this same shit and you don’t see me sitting around, pretending that the world around me doesn’t exist. Sometimes I feel Delia and I would have been better off if Daddy had gone to wherever Mamma was. At least then we wouldn’t have to deal with this crap.
I close my eyes and lean my head against the bed. That wasn’t called for. Sometimes he just makes me angry. I get to my feet and head to Daddy’s room. He’s still up front watching TV; I can hear the sound of Jay Leno’s monologue. I open the door quietly and see that the room is a pigsty. It looks like no one has cleaned this room since Mamma disappeared. I tiptoe through the mess to a chest of drawers. I pull out the lowest drawer on the right side and pull out a bottle filled with an amber colored liquid. I take the bottle back into and lock the door again.
“WAKE UP! WAKE UP! WAKE UP!” The voice cut through my sleep along with the loud knock on my door. The rhythmic pounding of my head momentarily blends with the beating the door is taking. I grab a pillow and put it over my head in a feeble attempt to drown out my sister’s voice.
It fails.
Horribly.
Really, shooting little girls shouldn’t be considered a crime at all. We should think of it as a gift to mankind.
I stare at the ceiling for a moment before dragging my limp body out of bed. I stagger over to the door and I open it.
“What do you want?” I stare down at her.
Delia sniffs the air. “You smell like Daddy, Portly.” She is looking at me like she’s disappointed. I thought the only one in the family who could make me feel guilty with a glare was Granny Fitz and she’s been dead for five years. I was wrong again.
I rub my face then look at her again and glance at my wall clock. “Why are you still here? Shouldn’t you be at school now?” A wave a panic went through me. “It’s not Saturday is it.”
Delia shakes her head. “No stupid. When I got up, Daddy was already gone so I need a way to school. It’s already 8 o’clock. We need to leave now!” She reaches out and tugs me towards the door. I shrug her off. “Give me a minute to put some clothes on. You’re already late; ten minutes won’t make much difference.”
Fuck. God Dad, you’re more trouble than you’re worth you know that? I grab something clean out of the closet and I head to the bathroom. I turn on the coldwater first as I step into the shower. I shriek. Damn. I’m awake now. I add some hot water to the stream and while I’m standing there I wonder what could have happened to dad. It’s still an hour until he’s got to be at work. I turn off the water and I grab a towel.
Five minutes later, I was dressed and ready to go. As entered the front room I noticed that the television was still on.
“In the early morning hours, a gruesome discovery was made by the team working on the draining of Jamesville Lake. A car was discovered in the depths with its passenger still--”
I turn off the television and a head out the door. We get in the car and head towards Delia’s school. Almost immediately we were caught in traffic. I couldn’t see what was wrong but after about ten minutes and not having moved twenty-feet, I decided to take another route. I do a three point turn in some old lady’s yard (never would have thought she could have thrown that orange so hard) and drove down a back road that hardly anyone uses. We get to the school in seven minutes.
“Have a good day at school,” I say. She leans over holding her cheek out. I kiss it and I smooth back a flyaway hair. “Bye, Delia!” I call as she pulls on her little Spider-Man backpack. She turns around and waves at me and yells, “Bye, Portia!” back at me before running off towards a little girl I think was Mary Faulkner.
I smile slightly and pull away from the school. I wonder whether or not they’ve cleared up what was causing the hold up on the main road so I decide to go back that way.
Of course this was a mistake. The road heading back towards our house seemed to be clear, but there was hell of a lot of rubber-necking going on. As I approach the scene. I notice something parked in the middle of the road. I truck. A bright red Ford truck. Just like Daddy’s. Several police cars and an ambulance surround it. I look closer and see the dent that I put in it when I first got Putt. It was Daddy’s. I pulled over to the side of the road and got out. I start towards the truck. I don’t see anyone inside but that
“DADDY!” I yelled. Some of the other drivers were looking at me now. Half watched with interest the other half with caution. I don’t care. I wanted to know where my daddy was.
“Get back!” Someone yells. I glare at the idiot who is keeping me from finding my father.
“Fuck off.” I yell without looking back.
A hand wraps around my arm. “I’m sorry I can’t let you go in there.” I turn to look at this asshole and see that he’s a police officer. I stop and look at him. “I have to find my father.” I point to the Red Monster. “That’s my dad’s truck.” He looks at me for a moment and I can tell that there I something going through his mind.
“Okay come with--” he begins, but then he’s cut off by the sound of screeching tires. News vans from several local stations were pulling up. The cop curses and drags me towards the police cars.
When we get there he tells me to sit in one of the open cars, but I refuse.
“You’re David Fitz’s daughter?” he asks me. I nod.
“I’m sorry--” I don’t hear his words, but I know what he’s going to say. My Daddy’s dead. They found my mother: She’d been in the lake the entire time. I stare up at the sky. I’ve gotten my wish. I found out what happened to Mamma and Daddy--Daddy stopped living in limbo.
He killed himself.
You have been warned.
“And that’s all for today. I’ll have your test back to you next week. Goodnight.”
I’m out of my chair before the last words are out of Professor Gracie’s mouth. It wasn’t as if I’d been listening. I recorded the lecture so I’d listen to it later. Really I would. I usually spent the class doodling on the back of my hand. I take the stairs down to the first floor. This way is usually faster than the elevator. Most of the people are too lazy to walk down two flights of stairs. Bastards.
As I get to my car, I snatch the keys out of my purse and put them into my beloved Putt-Putt. A ten year-old Geo Metro, Putts been with me since I my sophomore year of high school. I pat the dashboard and give a little prayer as I stick the key in the ignition. Prayer is pretty much what’s holding this car together anyway. I need a new one but the chances of that happening are pretty slim at the moment. Besides, Momma gave him to me and I wasn’t quite ready to let him go. She’d disappeared a nearly three years ago and we haven’t heard even a whisper of her since.
I hit the freeway and head towards home. For the second time this week, I’m nearly plowed by an eighteen-wheeler. Close calls alway give me hives. I scratch my chest and will my heart to beat slower. I hate those fucking things. By the time I finally pull into my driveway, I’m back to normal.
I sniff the air as I opened the front door. Burnt grilled cheese. Yum. Delia must have made herself a snack earlier. Never should have taught her how to use the stove.
Despite the noxious smell, my stomach growls. I toss my book bag down behind the door and head to the kitchen. I pull a package of ground chuck and put it on the counter, then go about getting the rest of the fixings to make spaghetti. I hear footsteps from down the hall and my seven year old sister appears.
“ ‘lo, Portly,” she says around the gum in my mouth. I roll my eyes. “That was slightly cute when you were five. Now it’s just annoying.”
“I’m never annoying; that’s just your imagination, Portia. I’m sweetness and light and everyone loves me.” Even though my backs to her, I know she’s grinning. “Tra la la la la,” she sings and dances around the room like a jackass. I briefly wonder what my father would say if I knocked Delia out and put her in a box headed for Abu Dhabi. Scratch that. Knowing Daddy, he wouldn’t even notice the difference.
I put the water on for the spaghetti. I glare at the water, and try to use my amazing psychic powers to make it boil faster. Funny I’ve been doing that since I was six and it still hasn’t worked. Maybe next time.
“So, have you done your homework?” I ask, stirring the sauce.
“Nope.”
“Why not?” I ask in a strained voice. Delia had already gotten two F’s this semester. I wasn’t looking forward to seeing more.
“Because it’s stupid,” she says.
“That doesn’t matter. You have to do all of your homework or you’re going to fail.”
She scowls at me. “I don’t care,” she says and stomps off to her room. I sigh and turned the sauce down to simmer headed towards the back of the house to Delia’s room.
“Open up.”
“I don’t want to talk to you!” she yelled.
I knock on the door. “You’re not mad at me.”
“Yes I am.”
“No you’re not,” I reply patiently. The best way to get anything out of her was to let her give it up herself. “What’s really bothering you?”
There’s silence for a long time and then I hear the door unlock. My baby sister is still scowling but she’s now crying. I don’t know what’s wrong but I wrap my arms around her and tell her everything’s going to be all right.
She sniffles then leads me into her room. I try to wince as I look around the room. Clothing and books are strewn around the bed (unmade). The only things in the room that are anything approaching neat are the rows of long boxes around the edges of the room. My mom loved comic books and she passed that love on to my sister. They were the only things that she had from Mama and she kept those religiously neat.
I enter the room and take a seat in her Spider-Man chair while she sits down on the bed.
“So are you going to tell me what’s wrong now or am I going to have to beat it out of you?”
“Mary Faulkner told me that her mother said that Mamma ran of with some man. I told her that wasn’t true. Mama was abducted by aliens, that’s what you said remember?” I roll my eyes. How could she believe anything like that? But I don’t say anything and I let her ramble on. “Mary Faulkner said that I was stupid and that Mamma was a slut. So, I took my math book and hit her on the head.” Her voice petered of into a whisper but I saw the look of satisfaction on her face; she doesn’t feel the least bit sorry.
Good girl.
“This is all utterly fascinating and all, but what does this have to do with you doing your homework?”
Delia, eyes now dry, scrunched her nose and waved her hand. “Oh that. Mrs. Martine said that I had to write a letter apologizing to Mary Faulkner. But I think Mary Faulkner is a dickhead so I’m not going to.”
I look at her for a moment. I can’t help but think that Daddy should be the one doing this but I shrug.
“I’m going to tell you now that it would probably be better if you wrote the letter. But I’m not going to make you.
“Good,” Delia says then sniffs the air. “I think your spaghetti’s burning.
It wasn’t burned.
It was scorched. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it. Anyway, it couldn’t have tasted that bad, Daddy got two huge platefuls after he came home from work. I ate at the table as always. Daddy ate his chair in front of the television. When Mamma was alive we used to eat at the table...and watched the TV from there.
Right now he’s watching the local news on his favorite station. I can tell without looking because the head anchor has a voice that cut through my nerves like glass. I wish he would turn down the sound
“Daddy,” I say to him. He doesn’t turn around. “DADDY!”
He snorts then turns his head around in his chair. “Wha jou want?” he mumbles to me. What do I want? Do I want to tell him to about Delia’s incident at school? Do I want to have a heartfelt chat (I hate those)? Do I want to ask him to turn down the damned television because it’s giving me a headache. He looks so tired. I just sigh. “Nothing dad. Go on watch your news.”
I head to my room with the sound of the local news. “Further news, the Jamesville Lake is being drained to make way...”
I shut the door.
I plop down onto my bed. I need something to take my mind off Daddy so I grab my book bag and pull out a notebook at random. It’s my Brit Lit folder. Good, I have a paper due Friday and I need to work on it. I kneel on the bed with pen and paper in hand. I stare at the sheet blankly for twenty minutes. Occasionally, I write down a sentence only to scratch it out. I push the book aside, figuring I can do it later. The best Friday papers are always written at eleven on Thursday night anyway.
I let myself slide to the floor. I winch and lift up to move the book that was pinching me in the ass. The room is quiet and I can still hear the news. I fling the book across the room it bounces off the door and falls to the floor.
Damn him!
I get up and begin to pace around the room. Why does everything have to be this way? Why can’t Daddy act the way he did when Mamma was alive? Why can’t he be a parent to Delia instead of making me do it? Not that I don’t love the kid, but I’m her sister not her mother. She has one parent still here who should hear about it. I guess if we knew what happened to Mamma that he could move on. Instead, she’s missing and he’s stuck in limbo. But--hell, I’ve had to deal with this same shit and you don’t see me sitting around, pretending that the world around me doesn’t exist. Sometimes I feel Delia and I would have been better off if Daddy had gone to wherever Mamma was. At least then we wouldn’t have to deal with this crap.
I close my eyes and lean my head against the bed. That wasn’t called for. Sometimes he just makes me angry. I get to my feet and head to Daddy’s room. He’s still up front watching TV; I can hear the sound of Jay Leno’s monologue. I open the door quietly and see that the room is a pigsty. It looks like no one has cleaned this room since Mamma disappeared. I tiptoe through the mess to a chest of drawers. I pull out the lowest drawer on the right side and pull out a bottle filled with an amber colored liquid. I take the bottle back into and lock the door again.
“WAKE UP! WAKE UP! WAKE UP!” The voice cut through my sleep along with the loud knock on my door. The rhythmic pounding of my head momentarily blends with the beating the door is taking. I grab a pillow and put it over my head in a feeble attempt to drown out my sister’s voice.
It fails.
Horribly.
Really, shooting little girls shouldn’t be considered a crime at all. We should think of it as a gift to mankind.
I stare at the ceiling for a moment before dragging my limp body out of bed. I stagger over to the door and I open it.
“What do you want?” I stare down at her.
Delia sniffs the air. “You smell like Daddy, Portly.” She is looking at me like she’s disappointed. I thought the only one in the family who could make me feel guilty with a glare was Granny Fitz and she’s been dead for five years. I was wrong again.
I rub my face then look at her again and glance at my wall clock. “Why are you still here? Shouldn’t you be at school now?” A wave a panic went through me. “It’s not Saturday is it.”
Delia shakes her head. “No stupid. When I got up, Daddy was already gone so I need a way to school. It’s already 8 o’clock. We need to leave now!” She reaches out and tugs me towards the door. I shrug her off. “Give me a minute to put some clothes on. You’re already late; ten minutes won’t make much difference.”
Fuck. God Dad, you’re more trouble than you’re worth you know that? I grab something clean out of the closet and I head to the bathroom. I turn on the coldwater first as I step into the shower. I shriek. Damn. I’m awake now. I add some hot water to the stream and while I’m standing there I wonder what could have happened to dad. It’s still an hour until he’s got to be at work. I turn off the water and I grab a towel.
Five minutes later, I was dressed and ready to go. As entered the front room I noticed that the television was still on.
“In the early morning hours, a gruesome discovery was made by the team working on the draining of Jamesville Lake. A car was discovered in the depths with its passenger still--”
I turn off the television and a head out the door. We get in the car and head towards Delia’s school. Almost immediately we were caught in traffic. I couldn’t see what was wrong but after about ten minutes and not having moved twenty-feet, I decided to take another route. I do a three point turn in some old lady’s yard (never would have thought she could have thrown that orange so hard) and drove down a back road that hardly anyone uses. We get to the school in seven minutes.
“Have a good day at school,” I say. She leans over holding her cheek out. I kiss it and I smooth back a flyaway hair. “Bye, Delia!” I call as she pulls on her little Spider-Man backpack. She turns around and waves at me and yells, “Bye, Portia!” back at me before running off towards a little girl I think was Mary Faulkner.
I smile slightly and pull away from the school. I wonder whether or not they’ve cleared up what was causing the hold up on the main road so I decide to go back that way.
Of course this was a mistake. The road heading back towards our house seemed to be clear, but there was hell of a lot of rubber-necking going on. As I approach the scene. I notice something parked in the middle of the road. I truck. A bright red Ford truck. Just like Daddy’s. Several police cars and an ambulance surround it. I look closer and see the dent that I put in it when I first got Putt. It was Daddy’s. I pulled over to the side of the road and got out. I start towards the truck. I don’t see anyone inside but that
“DADDY!” I yelled. Some of the other drivers were looking at me now. Half watched with interest the other half with caution. I don’t care. I wanted to know where my daddy was.
“Get back!” Someone yells. I glare at the idiot who is keeping me from finding my father.
“Fuck off.” I yell without looking back.
A hand wraps around my arm. “I’m sorry I can’t let you go in there.” I turn to look at this asshole and see that he’s a police officer. I stop and look at him. “I have to find my father.” I point to the Red Monster. “That’s my dad’s truck.” He looks at me for a moment and I can tell that there I something going through his mind.
“Okay come with--” he begins, but then he’s cut off by the sound of screeching tires. News vans from several local stations were pulling up. The cop curses and drags me towards the police cars.
When we get there he tells me to sit in one of the open cars, but I refuse.
“You’re David Fitz’s daughter?” he asks me. I nod.
“I’m sorry--” I don’t hear his words, but I know what he’s going to say. My Daddy’s dead. They found my mother: She’d been in the lake the entire time. I stare up at the sky. I’ve gotten my wish. I found out what happened to Mamma and Daddy--Daddy stopped living in limbo.
He killed himself.