Unfinished Business

A story I wrote for my Year 11 English class.

Thought I'd put it online to get some extra feedback.

Property of Kyle White.

0Likes
0Comments
325Views

1. Short Story

With the touch of our hands, I felt chills down my spine. A feeling of pain rushed through every cavity of my body, and despite the feeling I had to endure, my girlfriend seemed to be unfazed by the connection, staring forward, wide-eyed, into the distance. Her auburn locks blanketed her broken eyes in a way that I never could’ve imagined; the faint blue powering through the sadness to give a colour reminiscent of the beautiful cerulean I once know. There was an air of uncertainly, like the short moments leading up to learning what you scored on a test. For some reason, a lack of comfort surrounded the two of us on that bench, a feeling unlike any our relationship had felt before. When I took my hand away, there was no response. It was as if it were never there in the first place. With ice on her breath, she stared, wide-eyed, into the distance.

 

I looked left. I looked right. Each time I tried, my body felt constrained, and my neck was arched slightly backwards, locked into place. I couldn’t move my arms, though opening my mouth resulted in a sudden jolt of pain in my forehead. A burning sensation. The sky was overcast with fifty shades of grey, and snow blanketed us both, with nothing we could do to stop it.

 

“Sarah. Listen. Look at me.” Every word felt as if it had no substance. I went to grasp her hand a second time, but she only shivered. Her fingers curled into her lap, away from mine.

 

Sarah was suddenly overcome by a chill. “W-…why…why did you do this to me?” Was she questioning me? I couldn’t tell. She repeated the query three times, each with a more broken feel to it than the last.

 

Though I tried to wrap my hands around hers once more, she pulled away before I had the chance. She took them to her lips and covered her mouth, doing everything to maintain the stare; to hold back the tears; a losing candidate trying to keep her cool for the cameras. I found that every time I touched her, be it her arm, waist or shoulder, I felt the chills around. Then, I went for another approach. As I placed my arm around her shoulder, feeling the soft sheep’s fabric of her cardigan, I decided to put up with the pain. The feeling of us being so close was enough to make every second worth it.

 

I tried to find a way to speak again, but it was as if my words were lost. I seemed cursed, only able to mutter her name over, and over and over. Before long, it sounded weird. “Sarah.” There was a sweet taste associated with me muttering it, one like the taste of the honey she used to coat our roast beef in, or the sweet smoothie she’d prepare for me every day before work. Yet, no matter how many times I reached out to her, she maintained that bone-chilling stare.

 

            At last, I watched her fall to her adversary; watched Sarah lose her fruitless battle with the tears. They came gushing out, hard and fast, and as they increased in volume, they began to freeze in her lap. Regardless, she seemed fascinated with that stare, keeping it through every passing second. The tensing began, and I could practically see the blood rush to her hands. She took off her right hand glove, raising it to wipe each eye. I heard her whisper to herself as more tears fell. “You bought these for me. You knew I’d love them.”

 

I did buy them for her, for her thirtieth birthday. They screamed ‘Sarah.’

 

“You left me, John.” She muttered my name and my eyes widened. Sarah had my attention.

            “You left Gabriel. You even left Mr. Squiggles, and he still barks every day as if you’re coming home. I look at that door each afternoon and I’m reduced to a crying mess.”

 

I chuckled slightly and tightened my grip on her shoulder. I knew the comfort that I was pushing into that grip and all the love behind it. I’d held her that way since we were ten years old. I held her that way the night we first kissed, the morning we married, and in the hospital bed when she was attempting to get Gabriel out relatively pain free. I’d held her that way during a fight, and for even a moment, it calmed her down. In an instant, I felt my vocal chords relax. My words were free.

 

“I’m right here, baby. Please just look at me.”

 

She kept her gaze, watching the child skating along the frozen lake, smiling without a care in the world. I watched them too, and laughed a hearty chuckle. Gabe and I always enjoyed a game of hockey on a winter’s Sunday, and even from the earliest days he could walk and talk, he’d always tell me that those games were when he felt that our family belonged together most. It was enjoyable to see a boy of only seven swinging a stick too big for him on a frozen lake, all the while struggling to stay upright on his skates. I thought to myself I should be over there with him. I tried to stand; to make that thought a reality. My efforts were in vain, with the feeling of a thousand weights keeping me pinned to the isolated bench. I took in a view of Sarah again; mesmerised by her beauty just as I was in fourth grade. Once more, she didn’t notice.

 

“Darling, do you still love me?”

 

She left a pause between my question and her response, as if she were considering it.

            “I’ll always love you, John, but every day, this gets harder.” More tears gushed out.

 

I saw Gabriel come running towards us, tripping a few times in his skates, but smiling along the way all the same. His teeth were pearly and shone through; his face emblazoned with my blonde hair and green eyes. Covered in thick red clothes, not unlike a mobile quilt; he jumped into his mother’s arms, and Sarah held him close, closer than she had ever held me before.

 

“What are you doing, Mummy?” He threw the shards of ice from her lap and onto the ground, keeping a stunned look of intrigued. “Don’t cry.”

 

“Don’t worry about me.” She faked a smile, as I’d seen her doing a thousand times before.

                        “I’m just remembering your Daddy.”

 

Remembering. That word hit me like a hurricane; a bullet with the force of a thousand shots. After all, I’d remembered something myself. Everything came rushing back to me. When you die, it becomes harder to leave if you don’t go out the way you want. The touch; the chills, everything made sense. I wanted to tell her I was sorry; sorry for storming out after the fight; sorry for fighting the robber by the lake; sorry for getting a bullet through my head on this very same bench.
 

It made sense why she’d chosen to sit there.

 

“He’s not gone, though!” Gabriel shot a smile her way, pointing to where I was. It was obvious they couldn’t see me. “His body isn’t there, but our family isn’t just us now. Daddy is still with us in here.” He put his hand to her heart, and they embraced one another.

 

I wanted to tell them what my dad had told me when my mother died.

 

Just because they’re gone, doesn’t mean that their presence is gone. A drunk old man’s failed attempt at rhyming to please ten year old me.

 

“Sarah, death doesn’t mean I belong with you any less. I will think of your every day for the longest time, since my days will never end. Stay strong.” 

           

I watched them walk away and a teardrop of mine fell to the bench. Within seconds, it was gone.

Join MovellasFind out what all the buzz is about. Join now to start sharing your creativity and passion
Loading ...