This is for a contest: http://www.polyvore.com/were_all_mad_here/contest.show?id=352829
I was so excited when I read about this, I've been meaning to get back into writing, and I absolutely love Of Monsters and Men. This story took me way longer than it should have to write. Hope you like it!
~~~
My pace is steady but my eyes are squeezed shut. Vision is optional here; I know this path like the back of my hand.
I am enveloped by the scents and sounds of nature. The deep, earthy smell of the pine tree. A squirrel scuttling around in a vain attempt to find food. But I am numb to it all.
The dirt path beneath my feet turns to sidewalk, then from sidewalk to pavement. Only then do I open my eyes. My gaze travels up the cracked façade of my apartment building, each of its windows hung with mismatched draperies. A window on the 5th floor is shattered, its curtains torn away.
I step into the cool lobby, but my head feels as if it is on fire. The elevator takes me up, up, the third floor, the fourth. My heart pounds in my ears.
Ding.
I turn to my left and walk blindly down the hall. My breathing is ragged now. I stop in front of Room 221, gazing at my distorted reflection in the brass numbers. A quick turn of the handle and I am inside, my last bit of clinging hope vanishing as I take in my surroundings. It hadn’t been a dream.
The foyer is the only area that is not in complete ruin. My shoes remain in a perfect line along the wall, undisturbed by the complete bedlam. I am vaguely reminded of the eye of a storm; the eerie calm before everything comes crashing down.
Almost every surface shimmers with broken glass. One of the tea tables is overturned, its twin strewn across the room where it had a painful encounter with the wall. The window is smashed and the upholstery of the couch is torn open. But my eyes are drawn to a tattered Polaroid photo fluttering on the windowsill, threatening to be carried away with the breeze at any moment. I lean out the window and grab it just as it is picked up by the wind, scraping my arm on a shard of loose glass in the process. The photograph was taken two years ago on the Fourth of July, just before we had started dating. The two of us are seated side-by-side on the dock, waving, not holding hands, just enjoying each other’s company. Things were easier then.
I am hit with the sudden stench of alcohol, jerking me from the lapping waves of the lake to the painful memory of the previous evening. The details are still all too clear:
The door slams, followed by shuffling footsteps.
“Jake? Is that you?” I call from the bedroom. I am propped up in bed, watching television. I can’t sleep until I know he is home safe, not out doing something stupid. When there is no reply, I kick off the covers and make my way to the living room.
“Jake...?” The living room is dark, but I can hear him breathing heavily. He stumbles out of the foyer, the moon lighting up half of his face. His eyes are wild, his breath rank with the stench of alcohol.
“Oh, darling,” I reach out to cradle his stubbled face, but he grabs both of my arms with surprising strength. I let out a shaky breath. “Come on, let’s just go to bed. Everything will be fine in the morning.” I try to lead him towards our bedroom, but he tightens his grip on my wrists.
“Jake, stop, you aren’t yourself-” but my pleas are cut short by a deafening strike to my face.
“Shut up!” he yells, striking me again. “SHUT UP!” I am slammed against the wall. Dozens of stars explode inside my head and I slide down the wall, seeking the comfort of the ground. But he yanks me up again, shoving me against the wall once more and presses himself upon me.
“Please, this isn’t you,” I whimper. He stops suddenly and shoves his face next to mine.
“Isn’t it? How many times do you reckon this happens a week?” his breath is hot in my ear. I remain silent, for fear that saying anything will set him off again. “Exactly. And you just keep coming back, don’t you?” his voice is patronizing now. I feel myself boiling with rage but still I bite my tongue. “Well not anymore. Because I’m done with you.” He slams me against the wall once more and backs away from me, still looking into my eyes. I stare back, watching as the boy I fell in love with disappears before my eyes, leaving nothing more than a ghost.
I back away quickly and lock myself in our bedroom, the tears already beginning to fall. He was right, this did happen frequently, but never as bad as tonight. I drag myself to the bathroom, where I evaluate my injuries. Besides a bruise on my cheekbone and a cut above my left eye, I am relatively intact. I can hear crashes coming from the other side of the thin walls, where Jake is inevitably wrecking my apartment. I clean up the cut on my forehead then curl up in bed, trying to ignore the sound of my world being turned upside down. Eventually I hear the door slam and I know he is gone for good.
I look back down at the Polaroid in my hand, wondering when things went so terribly wrong. I brush the glass shards off of the couch and sink down, resting my head on one of the torn cushions.
“I’ll see you when I fall asleep.”
I was so excited when I read about this, I've been meaning to get back into writing, and I absolutely love Of Monsters and Men. This story took me way longer than it should have to write. Hope you like it!
~~~
My pace is steady but my eyes are squeezed shut. Vision is optional here; I know this path like the back of my hand.
I am enveloped by the scents and sounds of nature. The deep, earthy smell of the pine tree. A squirrel scuttling around in a vain attempt to find food. But I am numb to it all.
The dirt path beneath my feet turns to sidewalk, then from sidewalk to pavement. Only then do I open my eyes. My gaze travels up the cracked façade of my apartment building, each of its windows hung with mismatched draperies. A window on the 5th floor is shattered, its curtains torn away.
I step into the cool lobby, but my head feels as if it is on fire. The elevator takes me up, up, the third floor, the fourth. My heart pounds in my ears.
Ding.
I turn to my left and walk blindly down the hall. My breathing is ragged now. I stop in front of Room 221, gazing at my distorted reflection in the brass numbers. A quick turn of the handle and I am inside, my last bit of clinging hope vanishing as I take in my surroundings. It hadn’t been a dream.
The foyer is the only area that is not in complete ruin. My shoes remain in a perfect line along the wall, undisturbed by the complete bedlam. I am vaguely reminded of the eye of a storm; the eerie calm before everything comes crashing down.
Almost every surface shimmers with broken glass. One of the tea tables is overturned, its twin strewn across the room where it had a painful encounter with the wall. The window is smashed and the upholstery of the couch is torn open. But my eyes are drawn to a tattered Polaroid photo fluttering on the windowsill, threatening to be carried away with the breeze at any moment. I lean out the window and grab it just as it is picked up by the wind, scraping my arm on a shard of loose glass in the process. The photograph was taken two years ago on the Fourth of July, just before we had started dating. The two of us are seated side-by-side on the dock, waving, not holding hands, just enjoying each other’s company. Things were easier then.
I am hit with the sudden stench of alcohol, jerking me from the lapping waves of the lake to the painful memory of the previous evening. The details are still all too clear:
The door slams, followed by shuffling footsteps.
“Jake? Is that you?” I call from the bedroom. I am propped up in bed, watching television. I can’t sleep until I know he is home safe, not out doing something stupid. When there is no reply, I kick off the covers and make my way to the living room.
“Jake...?” The living room is dark, but I can hear him breathing heavily. He stumbles out of the foyer, the moon lighting up half of his face. His eyes are wild, his breath rank with the stench of alcohol.
“Oh, darling,” I reach out to cradle his stubbled face, but he grabs both of my arms with surprising strength. I let out a shaky breath. “Come on, let’s just go to bed. Everything will be fine in the morning.” I try to lead him towards our bedroom, but he tightens his grip on my wrists.
“Jake, stop, you aren’t yourself-” but my pleas are cut short by a deafening strike to my face.
“Shut up!” he yells, striking me again. “SHUT UP!” I am slammed against the wall. Dozens of stars explode inside my head and I slide down the wall, seeking the comfort of the ground. But he yanks me up again, shoving me against the wall once more and presses himself upon me.
“Please, this isn’t you,” I whimper. He stops suddenly and shoves his face next to mine.
“Isn’t it? How many times do you reckon this happens a week?” his breath is hot in my ear. I remain silent, for fear that saying anything will set him off again. “Exactly. And you just keep coming back, don’t you?” his voice is patronizing now. I feel myself boiling with rage but still I bite my tongue. “Well not anymore. Because I’m done with you.” He slams me against the wall once more and backs away from me, still looking into my eyes. I stare back, watching as the boy I fell in love with disappears before my eyes, leaving nothing more than a ghost.
I back away quickly and lock myself in our bedroom, the tears already beginning to fall. He was right, this did happen frequently, but never as bad as tonight. I drag myself to the bathroom, where I evaluate my injuries. Besides a bruise on my cheekbone and a cut above my left eye, I am relatively intact. I can hear crashes coming from the other side of the thin walls, where Jake is inevitably wrecking my apartment. I clean up the cut on my forehead then curl up in bed, trying to ignore the sound of my world being turned upside down. Eventually I hear the door slam and I know he is gone for good.
I look back down at the Polaroid in my hand, wondering when things went so terribly wrong. I brush the glass shards off of the couch and sink down, resting my head on one of the torn cushions.
“I’ll see you when I fall asleep.”
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