My Collection of Short Stories and Poems

So, I don't just write novels. I write short stories and Poetry as well.
I gathered them up for you all and that is what this new Movella is for. To have all my short stories and poetry all on one place.
Enjoy!
Tell me which are your favorite and I will make sure to write more like those.
Thank you! :)

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11. The Sea is Calling (Short Story)

I stand in my hallway for a long while, not really knowing what to do or when to walk away and I face the wall on which hangs the last picture I have of him. It is nothing special, just a picture of us sitting together outside on the porch wrapped in a blanket; it was his birthday. I lightly kiss my hand, then place my hand over the picture as if I were really touching him with my kisses, my eyes locked on his, and I hesitate when I go to walk away, but I do, slowly.

The morning sun is just peeking out above the clouds when I step out my front door. I love sunrises. I love how the different shades of orange splash everywhere as if they are exploding off the bright sun, burning everything that it touches. Life works like that in a way. It explodes onto everything it touches. It comes each day and there is nothing that anyone can do to stop it. But that isn’t a bad thing. No. Life is beautiful, full of so many colors, just like the sun that comes up each day. Once the front door is closed behind me I bend over and touch my toes, stretching every part of my body before starting this adventure ahead of me. I don’t think to lock the door when I close it. I will only be gone for the day. I try not to think about those little things, like locking the front door.

 I take those few steps off of my front porch and slowly make my way towards the sidewalk ahead of me, just outside the fence the encloses my home from the rest of the world, and I let the sunshine hit my face, filling my body with warmth.

I enjoy the surroundings around me as I step onto the sidewalk, seeing so many things that remind me of why I moved here in the first place. There are a couple little girls playing hop scotch across the street and a young couple sitting on their porch, holding each other, arms intertwined within each other as they watch the little girls with the same expression that I do. I watch as a stray dog come up to the little girls and when they bend down to pet it, the dog licks her face clean and she just falls over and giggles at that little dog, letting the excessive licking continue. These things make me happy and I could stand here forever and just watch the day go by, but I have something that I need to do today. Saying so to myself, I pull my IPod out of my back pocket, plug the earphones into my ear, put the IPod onto shuffle and place the device into a strap that I have wrapped around my arm that holds the IPod in place.

Stretching my legs once more before I start, pulling each leg up to my chest followed by bending over to the ground and touching my toes once more, I start running, and soon my body is moving down the street at a pace I didn’t even know I could go up to. I start out by walking and my speed increases gradually the more I move down the street. I am running at full speed and cannot help but smile between deep breaths. I run down the street and into another neighborhood and soon I am running down through the small town that I live near and looking at all the stores and restaurants as I pass them and watching the life go by me at a great speed.

I can only imagine what it is like for people who don’t know if they are going to live tomorrow or not, because they are the people who need to worry about the tiniest details of life. They have a true reason to fear such things. Yes, I have had my moments where I feared what was going to happen next. There was when my mother got sick and I feared that I wouldn’t be able to help her get better. There was when my dad left my family and I feared how we were ever going to continue without him. There were all of those fights that I regret ever having with my brother that have pushed us from each other. There was the moment when I felt my friends drifting away from me as life went on and I felt more alone than ever. There was even when I graduated from my high school back home and had no plan for the rest of my life, my young-self afraid of the choices I had to make then.  

I stop running once I hit the end of a dock that marks the end of this tiny town. What is beyond that dock? I don’t really know. All anyone sees when one looks over to that unknown area are fields of grass and border lines of trees way into the distance that looks disturbed in a way, yet somehow inviting. I have never seen anyone go out there. I guess because it’s so dark out there and people always seem too afraid that they might never see the sun on the other side.

I can feel the dock shake as the waves hit against the ridged poles that hold it. I don’t really like this dock. It is always so dark over here. It is as if the sun only hits the places where life is, and no one ever comes over here, except for some fishermen sitting along the edge of the dock and a few tourists who walk its length many times at once.

Thinking back to a couple of hours ago, I realize how far I have run just today, which is pretty far considering my usual distances. I usually stop at the pizza place about half way through, eat lunch there and then head over to the library across the street and spend the rest of the day lost in the magical world of literature. I don’t know why I ran the rest of the way. I guess thinking about life distracted me and I ended up way out here. That is the good thing about running: if you start thinking about life then the physical aspect of it doesn’t feel so physically challenging.

I remember the last time I was on this very dock and it is not a day that I like to look back on. It was a day much like this one, but there was something else that made it fill with a different feeling. I woke up to find that he wasn’t asleep next to me like he usually was. I stood up suddenly soon after waking up, to seeing emptiness next to me. My head filled with darkness and I almost fell over because of it, but my arm caught the dresser next to me and I stood there, gripping the wood until I could see somewhat clear. White little dots sprinkled across my vision and soon I could make certain things out of my room. I could see the outline of my full length mirror, and my dresser, and my bed with its messed up sheets all mingled together. Where is he? When I walked down the stairs he wasn’t their either. Everything was as it was the night before, dishes in the sink from our dinner the night before and blankets sprawled over the side of the couch from where we were watching TV together. When I yelled out his name, he did not answer. All I got back in return was my own echo. I’m used to him making my breakfast, but I can manage on my own. So, I made myself some scrambled eggs, my favorite, and I sat down at the kitchen table that overlooks the whole neighborhood. As I took a bite of my eggs, I soon heard the house phone’s shrilling ring, its echoes following it soon after, and I knowing something was wrong the second I answered it.

“Hello,” I said, wondering what was happening on the other end. The voice greeted me back and asked my name, with the sounds of someone crying their eyes out in the distance on the other end.

“Yes, this is she,” I said, “What’s wrong?” I ended with, wanting to get straight to the point and skip all the foreplay of “hello” and “how are you” beforehand. The voice on the other end continued, knowing that I felt this way, and he told me. Maybe I didn’t hear him right?

“That cannot be right. I was with him just last night.” The voice reassured me that his facts were correct and I suddenly felt the room getting smaller and smaller by the second, pulling all the air out of my lungs as it did. I felt something trickling down my cheeks at an excessive rate and when I went to wipe them away I found that I was crying.

“That cannot be right.” I said again, after the long agonizing minute of silence. I had to get out of the small emptiness of the kitchen so I ran outside, not even bothering to hang up the phone and the next thing I knew, I was running out the front door, letting the suns morning rays hit my face as it is just peeking out over the clouds. I didn’t really have a plan as to where I was running; I just ran until I couldn’t run anymore because the barriers of the dock prevented me from doing so. I remember hitting the end of the dock as if I had no brakes and I could feel the waves crashing the poles of the dock that hold me up with great force. By now I was crying until I had nothing to cry out anymore, but I still cried anyways. I cried because he was gone and I was never going to see him again. I was never going to see my one true love ever again, and it was entirely my fault. If I had of woken up the morning when he left, then I could have stopped him, even if I didn’t know then what I knew now. I turned back around to look back at the land because all of this was too much for my mind to comprehend at one time. I see a man looking at me with concern in his eye. He was kind of old, running an ice cream stand and when he saw me he grabbed a cone then, with hesitation, walked over in my direction, and handed me the cone from a great distance as if I looked like I wanted to kick something. At the time I can say that it did cross my mind. 

“You ok, Miss?” The old man said to me.

I remember this old man. Everybody calls him Mr. Smith because I don’t think anyone even knows his first name at all the name just sort of stuck and I guess he went with it. But that is not why I remember this old man. Mr. Smith is always at Barnes and Noble when I go there every day, and sometimes, most of the time really, we sit together. We don’t really talk. We just sit and read, enjoying each other’s company in silence and enjoy the many worlds within the pages. It’s nice to have someone to be with, even though our relationship doesn’t really involve anything at all. But it works because I can see that he is just as lonely as I am and it makes me wonder why he is like this.

 I tried to recover my sanity by the time he came over, but I failed. I was stuck in this stage of heavy crying for a while and nothing could help, and the old man could see this. I took the cone into my hands and looked back at myself though his eyes, seeing that I looked a mess with my face all red and puffy and my body covered in a layer of sweat with my pajama’s all dirtied up by now. I didn’t know how to answer his question. I wasn’t ok, and he knew that, but for some reason he felt the need to ask.

“He’s gone.” That was all I could say, just a whisper loud enough for him to hear.

“He’s gone.” I repeated, as if to come to terms with the fact in my mind. I could tell that he wanted to ask who, but he also could see that I couldn’t say it out loud just yet. I didn’t want to. Instead of asking me another question that he knew I wouldn’t be able to answer, he just opened his arms and on any other day I wouldn’t have done this to a stranger, but I just filled the gap between us and he wrapped his arms around me and I burst into loud tears.

“He’s gone.” I said again, but this time a bit louder. My crying got so heavy the midst of our hugging that we both fell to our knees on the dock and as I sat there crying.

I zone back to reality to find that I have moved myself to a bench that sits along the side of the dock and my face to be as red and puffy as it was that unfaithful day. As I whip the tears away from my face, more just pour down to fill their places so I give up on trying to do so.

“You ok, Miss?” I jump slightly to the sound of someone sitting behind me and find that Mr. Smith is there with an ice cream cone in one hand and a tissue in the other, holding them out for me to grab. I take them, using the tissue to clean my face a little and licking up some of the half melted ice cream. “Has it been a year already?” He says, more to himself than me. I am still crying but he knows I won’t answer these questions because I never do, so I just lay my head on his shoulder and cry some more, his arm going around me to give me half a hug. It’s been a year that I have been without him. I don’t know how I am supposed to react to all of this. How does one usually react to losing their reason for living?

I don’t feel like eating lunch or reading at the library today, I have the rest of my life to do so. I spend the rest of my day out on the dock, staring out at the line of trees in the distance and listening to the wave’s crash along the dock underneath me. Sooner or later I will have to run back home, but for now I will just sit here. It’s been a year since the last time I have even stepped foot onto this very dock and every day I spend running, in the hopes that I can run these feelings away, but even though I try to do so, I know that they never will. And he is never coming back.

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