11.08.2004
"Fragments"
Yes, that is the name of my story. And yes, it's very short, because we had three double-spaced pages as our limit--single-spaced, it's something like a page and a half, which is probably the shortest (decent) story I've ever written. I ended up writing it all last night, like I said, and I only realized today (when it was too late, naturally) that I had structured the first six sentences basically the same way, so it starts out sounding really bad. You might have guessed that's where my writer's block was bugging me the most. And...oh...I suppose it would help for y'all to see the picture I used to inspire it, but I don't actually have it with me right now. I'll scan it when I get the story back. Basically it was a cute little girl playing around in a park.
A chill wind wormed its way through the cracks in the windowpane, brushing delicately against Aidan’s face and drifting outward into the room. He barely noticed, staring through the smudged glass at the street below. A few tenacious leaves clung to the tree outside, still resisting the inevitable.
Aidan turned his gaze to the picture in his hand, his fingers tightening on the frame. A dark-eyed little girl beamed back at him, captured in a moment of carefree delight. He leaned against the wall, unable to look away. He remembered taking that picture, remembered it well—Ari had pestered him to drive her to the park until he finally gave in and decided to abandon his homework for a few hours. He remembered…
How could an entire year—no, more than a year—have passed so quickly?
One year…he checked the date on the picture, but he knew he didn’t need it; he had looked at the numbers so often he’d memorized them. One year, two months, and twelve days since that day in the park, and one year since…
He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his free hand into a fist, but the memory came tumbling back into his mind anyway.
…The road stretched ahead of him, dim and silent; beyond the trees, the sun curved down toward the horizon. He glanced at Ari, curled up on the passenger seat beside him, and smiled. “Wake up, little sister, or you’ll end up sleeping right through your birthday.”
She stirred, blinking at him. “I wasn’t sleeping.”
Aidan shook his head, still smiling. “Sure you weren’t.”
“I wasn’t,” she insisted. “Mom said she’d have my cake ready, right?”
“Only if you behave on the way home. Next year I’m going to make sure you have your party at our house so I don’t have to brave the elements trying to rescue you from all those crazy little friends of yours.”
She looked up at him innocently. “We were having fun.”
“Oh, sure…” He slowed the car around a curve. “But next time you all decide to ambush me, you at least ought to give me fair warning so I can arm myself with a squirt gun of my own.”
Ari giggled. “Then it wouldn’t be fun.”
“Hey, check the clock—have you turned eight yet?”
The glowing green numerals read 6:28. She shook her head, staring out the window. “Are we almost home yet?”
“A few more miles.” He squinted, trying to stay focused on the road. Next time he tried to drive in the evening, he’d have to make sure he’d slept well the night before.
Headlights flashed out of the darkness, blinding him. His hands froze to the steering wheel. Lights coming fast, way too fast, fixed on a collision course—
Aidan jerked the wheel hard right, swerving for the shoulder—overshot and plunged off the road, crashing through the ditch, the world spinning out of control—
The car lurched to a halt, resting precariously on its side. He couldn’t see, couldn’t hear a thing— “Ari?” He swore, struggling with his seatbelt. “Ari!”…
Aidan pressed his forehead against the window. Outside all was still, trapped between seasons—too cold for autumn rain and too early for winter’s first snowfall, the ground still as dry as Aidan’s eyes. Even at the funeral he had not managed to weep…
Killed my own sister and I don’t even know how to mourn!
He pushed back from the window and looked at his watch. The seconds blinked forward, and then the minute changed. 6:28. One year…exactly one year.
Aidan turned and flung the picture at the far wall. The glass in the frame shattered on contact, spraying shards across the floor. He stood shaking, breathing hard; and then a heartbeat later he was on hands and knees, scrambling to gather the pieces. A fragment of glass sliced into his palm, smearing blood across the face of the photograph. Aidan stared down at his hands and then lunged to his feet, desperate to escape his apartment.
He hurried down the steps without knowing his destination; a leaf spiraled down from the tree as he passed. Only several minutes later, when he reached the gate of the public cemetery, did he understand where his impulse had taken him. Now the same impulse stayed true and led him to the grave he remembered, though he had never once revisited it to refresh that memory.
Over the mound and around the gravestone grass had grown since the funeral, but time had withered it already, and the greenness was gone. Aidan stood silent, hands shoved deep into his pockets, the wind ruffling his hair.
Hesitation held him in thrall for a few long moments, and then he moved forward to kneel at the grave marker, brushing his fingers over the inscription. He pressed his hand against the cold stone and pulled away, leaving behind a thin streak of blood. A bird crowed somewhere nearby; another called back in answer. From the clouds far overhead, the first few snowflakes began to fall.
And there, finally, the tears came.
A chill wind wormed its way through the cracks in the windowpane, brushing delicately against Aidan’s face and drifting outward into the room. He barely noticed, staring through the smudged glass at the street below. A few tenacious leaves clung to the tree outside, still resisting the inevitable.
Aidan turned his gaze to the picture in his hand, his fingers tightening on the frame. A dark-eyed little girl beamed back at him, captured in a moment of carefree delight. He leaned against the wall, unable to look away. He remembered taking that picture, remembered it well—Ari had pestered him to drive her to the park until he finally gave in and decided to abandon his homework for a few hours. He remembered…
How could an entire year—no, more than a year—have passed so quickly?
One year…he checked the date on the picture, but he knew he didn’t need it; he had looked at the numbers so often he’d memorized them. One year, two months, and twelve days since that day in the park, and one year since…
He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his free hand into a fist, but the memory came tumbling back into his mind anyway.
…The road stretched ahead of him, dim and silent; beyond the trees, the sun curved down toward the horizon. He glanced at Ari, curled up on the passenger seat beside him, and smiled. “Wake up, little sister, or you’ll end up sleeping right through your birthday.”
She stirred, blinking at him. “I wasn’t sleeping.”
Aidan shook his head, still smiling. “Sure you weren’t.”
“I wasn’t,” she insisted. “Mom said she’d have my cake ready, right?”
“Only if you behave on the way home. Next year I’m going to make sure you have your party at our house so I don’t have to brave the elements trying to rescue you from all those crazy little friends of yours.”
She looked up at him innocently. “We were having fun.”
“Oh, sure…” He slowed the car around a curve. “But next time you all decide to ambush me, you at least ought to give me fair warning so I can arm myself with a squirt gun of my own.”
Ari giggled. “Then it wouldn’t be fun.”
“Hey, check the clock—have you turned eight yet?”
The glowing green numerals read 6:28. She shook her head, staring out the window. “Are we almost home yet?”
“A few more miles.” He squinted, trying to stay focused on the road. Next time he tried to drive in the evening, he’d have to make sure he’d slept well the night before.
Headlights flashed out of the darkness, blinding him. His hands froze to the steering wheel. Lights coming fast, way too fast, fixed on a collision course—
Aidan jerked the wheel hard right, swerving for the shoulder—overshot and plunged off the road, crashing through the ditch, the world spinning out of control—
The car lurched to a halt, resting precariously on its side. He couldn’t see, couldn’t hear a thing— “Ari?” He swore, struggling with his seatbelt. “Ari!”…
Aidan pressed his forehead against the window. Outside all was still, trapped between seasons—too cold for autumn rain and too early for winter’s first snowfall, the ground still as dry as Aidan’s eyes. Even at the funeral he had not managed to weep…
Killed my own sister and I don’t even know how to mourn!
He pushed back from the window and looked at his watch. The seconds blinked forward, and then the minute changed. 6:28. One year…exactly one year.
Aidan turned and flung the picture at the far wall. The glass in the frame shattered on contact, spraying shards across the floor. He stood shaking, breathing hard; and then a heartbeat later he was on hands and knees, scrambling to gather the pieces. A fragment of glass sliced into his palm, smearing blood across the face of the photograph. Aidan stared down at his hands and then lunged to his feet, desperate to escape his apartment.
He hurried down the steps without knowing his destination; a leaf spiraled down from the tree as he passed. Only several minutes later, when he reached the gate of the public cemetery, did he understand where his impulse had taken him. Now the same impulse stayed true and led him to the grave he remembered, though he had never once revisited it to refresh that memory.
Over the mound and around the gravestone grass had grown since the funeral, but time had withered it already, and the greenness was gone. Aidan stood silent, hands shoved deep into his pockets, the wind ruffling his hair.
Hesitation held him in thrall for a few long moments, and then he moved forward to kneel at the grave marker, brushing his fingers over the inscription. He pressed his hand against the cold stone and pulled away, leaving behind a thin streak of blood. A bird crowed somewhere nearby; another called back in answer. From the clouds far overhead, the first few snowflakes began to fall.
And there, finally, the tears came.
4:24 PM|| 
