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sort of the journey of two women making the leap from college students to authors in a month archives
May 2003June 2003 August 2003 November 2003 February 2004 links
nanowrimoHeavy Metal Hippie One Angry Dwarf... blogger blog skins! etcetera
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"Obsession"
Amherst, New York November 22, 2001 11:57 pm One lone candle flickering. I sat Indian-style in the middle of the room, fervently rubbing my hands together, trying to keep some warmth in my body. Everyone had left the building - to stay in hotel rooms, to stay with relatives - with the exception of me. I decided to stay in my own apartment tonight. Tonight was an exceptionally cold night. You see, an ice storm had blown through the region, all by paralyzing the entire town. Sheets of ice covered everything that wasn't breathing, and howling winds through the night guaranteed that things wouldn't get better if and when the sun came up the next morning. People were simply afraid to go anywhere, for fear of being stuck somewhere outside in the cold. Me? I just didn't have anywhere to go. I sat in my empty apartment. I mean, I had a mattress, a small refrigerator, and a lamp in the studio I currently inhabited, with a candle shedding very little light onto the thousands of pictures I was staring at, as they encompassed me into my own little circle, isolating me in my own world. The silence was almost deafening, setting the hair on the back of my neck on edge. I could hear the wind rattling the shingles on the side of the building. I could feel the cold seeping in through the windows, languidly consuming the entire room. The only warmth in the entire room was within a radius of only a few inches around the candle. I folded my arms, tucking my hands up into my armpits. But the aching cold was no longer an issue. Even though I knew these pictures inside and out, I needed to see them. I hopped to my feet, tip toed through the pictures scattered around the floor, and fumbled for more candles. After stumbling upon two more candles, the room seemed much brighter. A smile crept across my face as I saw the face that graced every single one of those pictures. I sat back down on the floor, in the same position I had been sitting in before. Suddenly the room seemed warmer, my fingers no longer too numb to move. 1:14 am The last candle was about to burn out. But I could still see them. All of those pictures - my love, my life, my obsession. Most of the pictures were taken without him knowing (he never took pictures...he hated the fact that someone would know where he's been), but some of them he knew I was taking, and for that split second in time, allowed his picture to be taken. Those were the ones I treasured most. As the flame slowly flickered away, I ran my fingers over my favorite picture, and gingerly picked it up off the floor. The picture itself felt different; not because it was printed on a different material, but because I was in it. We were together. Stockholm, 1997. It had just snowed the first real snow of the season, so it was still clumped onto the tree branches. The glow reflecting from the city lights on the clouds above was illuminating the entire season, and people were out enjoying the gorgeous, albeit cold, evening. A man was walking around takng picture of vacationers, so we decided to get a picture of us, together. We stood by the dormant fountain, ready to take the picture - savor it for all time - when he wrapped his arms around my shoulders. I was beyond surprised, the goofy grin on my face made that clear. But I was so happy. I never wanted that moment to end. I picked up another photo, and sighed heavily. Prague, 1996. The first picture. I was there in Prague, simply passing through on a backpacking excursion with my college friends. I was only 19 at the time - no set plans for the future - and I wasn't expecting anything like him. I spotted him in a bar, sitting by himself and sipping straight vodka. The first thing that caught my attention were his eyes. They were an extremely bright green - like a Crayola crayon, almost electric - I was completely mesmorized. I didn't even notice him staring back at me. He waited outside the bar for me, which I'll have to admit is kind of creepy, but he was so beautiful I just didn't care. We walked around virtually all night, talking and simply getting to know one another. But I was falling in love. Fast. We ended up going back to where he was staying, and we slept together. It was my first time - not exactly the way I had pictured it, but special nevertheless. I was seriously in love with him, never knowing it wouldn't last. The candle finally blows out, and I'm left alone in complete darkness. Darkness. He always moved under the cover of darkness. From Prague, to Moscow, to Stockholm, to London, even back to the States. But always when it was dark. He was more beautiful in the dark. His features were almost highlighted by the darkness; I had memorized every single one of them. I memorized how his skin was so cold it was almost frozen under my fingertips, his lips were like ice until I kissed him. I was his warmth, he told me. I was the candle that lit his way. My eyes were beginning to adjust to the lack of light and focusing on the natural light pouring in from the reflection of the big city lights on the clouds. Everything outside had an eerie pink aura to it. And still my eyes didn't shift from the pictures. My neighbors upstairs had a portable generator for situations like this. I could hear a television - barely - spewing news of the ice storm that had almost crushed this little town, and I chuckled to myself. My breath was extremely visible inside, as I figured that the temperature outside had dropped well below freezing, and the temperature inside would soon follow. Even though I knew I needed more to keep me warm, I knew the pictures were all I'd really need. Amherst, New York Three months ago It was very early morning. Close to dawn, as I could see the sky begin to lighten with the promise of the sun. I was laying in bed, bundled up in the fleece blanket - the one thing we owned collectively - and I noticed that he wasn't there. I sat up immediately, and saw him sitting at the end of the bed. "I knew I'd wake you." "You, you didn't wake me. I was just..." He slumped his head down, and his shoulders seemed to heave as if he were crying. "You okay?" He was dressed, and I knew that that meant. "You're leaving." "I...I promise this is the last time." At that moment he turned around, and looked right at me, his bright Crayola eyes staring into mine. He crept back up the bed and lay down next to me. "I, I hate running Ali." He curled his fingers around my head, up behind my ears, and kissed me. I reached up and stroked my fingers through his hair, knowing this kiss would be short lived. "Are, are you coming back?" I asked. He nodded, and almost smiled. "W...When?" He didn't answer, only kissed my forehead and slid off of the bed. Four hours later he returned, weak and bloody. "Micah! Oh my God, what..." He collapsed to his knees, shrieking in pain as his knees hit the floor. I ran to his side, cradling him in my arms as he slowly stretched his legs out in front of him. All he could do is whisper, "S...Shot..." I almost panicked, as I pulled his jacket away from his stomach, revealing a bullet hole, gushing with blood every time he tried to take a breath. "Why'd you come back here, Micah? Why didn't you go..." "I...promised you I'd...be back." I knew I shouldn't have, but I couldn't help but smile. In other words, he'd rather die in my arms than in some emergency room. "Alison I...I want to...tell you that..." I shook my head. "Not a word. Save your breath." He looked up at me, his beautiful green eyes starting to lose their luster. "Alison, I...I love you." Tears were starting to roll down my cheeks. My entire body had gone numb, and I couldn't feel anything but the saline on my face. I tried to blink the rest of them out of my eyes, but I couldn't even blink. I could feel death's cold breath on the back of my neck and, sitting there among pictures of him, I knew I had nothing to live for. "Micah," I whispered, my tears now flowing with more intensity. "Micah I'm sorry. I'm, I'm sorry for doing this to you." "Ali, it's not your fault." I looked up as saw him standing there, smiling down at me. I started to shiver, and looked down at the floor right in front of me. "You know, you're going to die if you don't warm yourself up soon." I just shook my head. "Micah, I'm already dead." I reached up to brush my hand along his cheek. He seemed to nuzzle my hand as my blue fingers made contact with his face, and he reached up and held my hand close to his face. "I miss you." "Ali, I miss you so much." He kissed my palm, and gave me back my hand. "I have to go." "No!" I shouted. "Micah..." I could see my breath as I struggled to breathe through gentle coughs. "Take me with you." His lips touched mine, as I slowly closed my eyes, feeling a sudden warmth rush over me. In the morning the power would come back on, and everything would begin to thaw. The landlord would knock on my door, knowing that I was in the apartment all night without any heat or electricity, and after about ten minutes of knocking, probably key himself in. And Mrs. Friedell from next door would peer in, along with Nana from upstairs - who invited me to come in with them and keep warm - and they'd see me sitting in the middle of the floor, my eyes closed and my pictures all around me, frozen. posted by Amanda L. on 8:31 PM Gunmetal grey.
The Anthology
Greetings! And welcome to Anaheim's Finest -- a collection of short works of fiction, some poetry, and maybe a play or two. The idea behind this is, if you're a writer and want to publish your stuff on the Internet for the world to see, give a holler and we can hook you up.
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