Giving Way

She is ever changing with a sweet temper and a kind smile. She is looked forward to, but ever evasive. No one can seem to tell whether she is there to stay, never truly in one place for very long. She is loved and hated, always a signal for the end and a new beginning. No one ever gave her much credit, though, and simply passes over her for warmer people. She is beautiful and full of growth, readying the world around her for changes.

He is a mastermind, quick with his tongue with nimble fingers. He is watched carefully, warily, afraid they may slip in his presence. No one would dare cross him or take advantage of him. He would manipulate you into believing you knew exactly where you stood with him, then his temper would take hold and frost you over. He is handsome, charming, and is never considered simple.

These two are brother and sister, both with their talents, both on missions, both on their separate paths. He, constantly trying to find her, she always making sure he never finds her. He may always be one step ahead of everyone else, but his sister is slippery, leaving a wake of disasters behind. Everyone may not know how to handle his sister, but he needed her. Needed her to take over and make a change.

She shreds identities every other day, never staying in one spot long enough to make friends. She was meant to be moved and thawed, not set down roots. She was always in a shadow, despite trying to make way for a better day, a brighter day. She could move faster than her brother, with less notice. He needed her to continue her mission, but she would take no part.

He drove and blasted through cities as if they were his kingdoms. In a way, they were. He could make friends anywhere, a simple smile and a thoughtful word. He knew how to set out eyes to keep a watch for his sister. Despite his efforts, he could never quite describe her well enough. She had no features that stood out and never caught a glance at her for more than mere moments. At times she was like a rosebud, others like dirty slush melting in a street.

He chased, knowing the consequences of not following through. His sister was the key, if only she would listen to her older brother. He would make sure they succeeded. Everything rode on him finding her. If only he had more time.

She continued to move, constantly going from city to city, state to state, country to country. Even being on a plane too long presented time for her brother to catch up. If only he understood she could simply not hand herself over. But what life did she truly have? She traveled through life, trying to give life as she moved, but never quite received the glory she was due.  She was never truly seen, never admired, never made friends. Only the product of her work was considered beautiful. Her brother was the lucky one, despite how much of a fool he truly was. Maybe it was time to finally put an end to things.

He was drawing close. No one could outwit him, not even his own sister. She traveled too much, never realizing the bottle he was placing her in. Time was drawing near. He hated traveling, but it was necessary. His sister could run no more. He knew her better than anyone. She could not escape. Even having not spoken to her in several months, he could still manipulate her.

"Brother," she shouted from a southern household, a more than usual place to find her this time of year, "it is about time you found me for more than a moment."

"Sister, why have you been running? You know what happens if we fail."

She stretched and sauntered out in the open. "I know what happens if we do not fail, too."

He shook his head. His sister had no idea what she was dealing with. "It is time to come out for a while. The people need you."

She shook her head. "Brother, can you no longer hold on?" His hair was less white than usual. It was a telling sign, one she regretted.

He nodded. "Sister, it is time to put this to an end. I need you to. I've held on long enough."

She sighed heavily, kneeling onto the frozen ground. It was such a burden, but one that the people needed. She could feel her long, sunny hair flow in the bitter wind. "Alright brother, I am ready."

This time he sighed with relief, walking over to his sister and kneeled beside her. "Spring, I know you are not the most beloved, but the people need you to keep life going. You are essential to what Summer, Fall, and I do."

Spring smiled, her rosebud lips seeming to thaw the longer she smiled. It certainly was a heavy burden, being a season and making sure the cycle continued. She hated her mission, but gave in every time. Her brother never ceased to find her when it was time, just as she never gave up until she could relinquish her hold to Summer.

 

"Good bye, Winter. Sleep well and good luck running when Fall comes searching for you."

 

He smiled and took a deep breath before plunging into the earth. Spring shivered, but thrust her hands after him, readying the earth for the new growth she would bring.

Wanting Peace

Jonathon smiled brightly as he tapped his inked quill against the blank page. "I've got it!" he exclaimed, though there was no one around to hear him. It did not matter. All that mattered was that the words were finally coming back to him. 

He had been staring at the blank page all night, wracking the smallest memory out of his head while his wife had long since retired to bed. Her smile had been of encouragement, but he had seen in her eyes just how worried she was. Jonathon had to be careful to note every last detail, every last memory from his time with those strange people. He had not been a prisoner, but rather someone they let wander about their small camps. He certainly had not seemed a threat to them after he explained how he only wanted to learn. 

Jonathon wanted nothing more than to have peace between his people and the other tribes that had the land before them. They were gracious and full of knowledge of the land that he had never dreamed was possible. Jonathon had never farmed before he came this far west. His true place was with quill and paper, writing like he had back in the city. Mary wanted to escape from the city life, however, and he wanted nothing more than for her to be happy.  

So he had tossed his writings in his luggage and the two made their way west, along with what seemed like hundreds of people. Jonathon thought they were all foolish, trying so hard to claim land when most of them had been city folk, but Jonathon knew how to find out information. "Don't worry, dear, I will find out how to make us prosperous farmers!" he had told her, and meant every word of it at the time. 

Now that he hadn't touched his writings in several weeks, Jonathon had been itching to break off the stoppers on his ink wells and start something fresh. He wanted to write more than anything, but his wife chided him and reminded him what chores still needed to be done. Farming was more exhausting than creating a brand new story from scratch!  

Then trouble happened, when some of the Indian tribes tried to chase them from the land that the men laid claim to. Jonathon did not agree that they were savages like some of the other men in his community, but rather volunteered to find out what would make them happy. And learn how to make crops grow more quickly and better than the other farmers had successfully done. If these people have always lived out in the west, they must have some tricks for him to learn. He wanted to be the most prosperous farmer in the area, as he had promised his wife months before. 

And learn he did. He did not understand their language, but he understood their methods. He observed while they observed him. Of course he had set up a pact and brought gifts they did not have in exchange for their knowledge, but none gave him trouble. The women seemed to encourage him to help pick vegetation and even taught him how to gut a bison. It was more than he as a city man ever dreamed of doing. 

Every time he came back home, his wife embraced him as if he had been gone years, then kissed his cheek and told him to write it all down. Remember every detail that will help them understand who these people were. 

This time, Jonathon had not liked what he saw. Men from his community were closing in on the tribes and fighting would not be far away. As much as he did not believe in violence, he could see the Indian tribe getting ready for a war. They showed him spear points and arrow heads, things that would give them advantages, while he sat quietly and refused to tell them of the muskets and pistols his men would use against them. Not that he would ever raise his hand against either man. 

Writing quickly, Jonathon wrote briefly of the hunting methods used by the tribe. He did not mention their true intentions of war on his own community, but did feel clever as he whipped words into sounding more docile than they truly were. Surely the men in his community would appreciate the artistic view of his words and not view the Indians as 'savages' any longer. They simply needed peace between white man and red man. 

Dusting sand across the inked words, Jonathon beamed at his detailed work. It wasn't one of his masterpieces, but then again, this had little need for imagination in them. 

Quickly he set the page down and stoppered the ink well before standing from his small desk. He stretched and carefully tucked away his quills, not wanting anything bent or twisted if he could prevent it. He hated making new quills. 

Grunting in surprise as the door to his home rattled, Jonathon grabbed the lit candle from his desk and hurried to the front door. He hoped Mary wouldn't wake. She got little enough sleep as it was. 

"Open the door, John! We've got a problem!" a gruff voice yelled before Jonathon could yank open the door. He certainly was not pleased to be disturbed so late in the evening. 

"What is it, Hank? Mary is trying to sleep and I just now finished with my next-" 

"It doesn't matter. You've been feeding us a bunch of crock!" Hank said, his face twisted in pure anger. His eyes were glistening orbs of onyx, making Jonathon shudder despite the unusually warm night. 

"They are not bad people," Jonathon said as calmly as he could manage. He felt as if he were writing the bitter twist in a story, and he was the main character about to lose everything, despite all his efforts. "All I want is for us to have peace!" 

Hank reached forward and grabbed the collar of Jonathon's plain gray shirt. Slowly he pulled Jonathon forward until their faces were within inches of one another. Jonathon was too mesmerized to even think of pulling back.

"Then why did they just take my wife and daughter? Why did they just burn my home? Everything I own!" 

Jonathon merely shook his head, careful not to spill any of the wax onto his hand as he held the candle closer to Hank. He could see the man was covered in dirt and soot with blood on the side of his face. His green eyes rose to the north where Hank's farm once stood and could see orange through the trees, though the smell of fire had not reached his home yet. 

"Hank, why did you kill one of the families today?" Jonathon said calmly. He had seen it with his own eyes. All I want is peace… 

Hank's grip tightened and he began shaking Jonathon as if he were a girl's doll. The candle wax spilled over Jonathon's hand, making him cry out and drop the lit candle. 

"Because I can't stand sharing my land with one of those savages!" 

Jonathon stomped out the candle as best he could, desperately not wanting his home to turn into Hank's. He gripped Hank's beefy arm and held tight. 

"Then your pride has cost you everything! If all of you had just listened to my suggestions in the first place, you wouldn't have Sally and Maylin missing!" 

Jonathon thought he could hear Hank's teeth grinding as he shook Jonathon harder. The man was reaching for his belt, though without light, it was hard for Jonathon to see what. 

"Hank, don't do anything else you'll regret tonight. I can probably go to the tribe tomorrow and-" 

"Jonathon?" Mary's voice came from the back of the house, a candle in her hand. "Is that you, Hank?" 

"Yes ma'am, and your husband here thinks that all his work has made the savages less deadly. You are in danger, Mary. They took Sally and Maylin," Hank said, and although he had stopped shaking Jonathon, he seemed no less ready to let him go. 

"Hank, I'm so sorry! Jonathon said they were harmless, so maybe he can talk some sense into them…" slowly Mary trailed off as she came to the door, her mass of brown hair loose around her shoulders. 

Jonathon was able to crane his neck just enough to smile at his beautiful wife. He always thought the warm glow of candlelight brought out the coloring of her skin and made him want to write her in an epic tale.  

"I will try, Mary, but Hank has to let me go, first." 

But Mary's eyes never flicked toward her husband. Instead, she stared wild eyed at Hank, her pale blue eyes never blinking. 

"Hank, please put that down. Jonathon will do his best, I promise you will see your wife and daughter again." 

Slowly Jonathon turned back to face Hank, the man's onyx eyes no less cold than they had been. Now that there was candle light near him once more, Jonathon could see the small pistol in the man's hands. 

"No Mary. John is going to lose everything, just like I did," Hank said slowly, deliberately.

In what felt like seconds, Jonathon heard two loud bangs. He felt dazed as he realized he was sprawled across the floor, Mary beside him, a rosebud blooming out of her chest. Her blue eyes held a tear in them, but her lips did not move. He could not feel anything but sadness as those beautiful blue eyes lost its light. 

"All I wanted was peace," he whispered, not aware of the candle that had fallen a caught against the curtains Mary had worked so hard on. 

Jonathon slowly rolled onto his back, gasping for air as he clutched for Mary's cold hand. He smiled, in spite of himself. What a fitting end for a character in one of my tales.

Rustle #3

Rustle Donaldson III strode down the marble floored hallway, his head held high, nodding to the other students as he passed. Everyone in the school knew who he was and he liked it that way. He always had his best friend, Craig, at his side, leading the way wherever they went. Craig had been blind ever since Rustle knew him, but Craig's father had let him live with the family ever since they were both very young. Rustle felt he owed a lot to Craig, so made sure no one picked on him. Because of Rustle, everyone loved Craig.

                "Hey Rusty, let's go back to the room," Craig said, using Rustle's nickname, and began tugging on Rusty to make sure he was listening.

                Rusty winked at a girl passing by and she visibly swooned over his dark eyes and golden haired looks. He had that affect on every girl, though Rusty never purposefully  tried to gain their attention when he was near Craig. The guy was already blind, but he had the ears of an owl and usually teased Rusty when he was trying to go for a pretty girl.

                Finally Rusty switched directions, heading down the back hallway that lead to Craig's and his own room. Ever since they went to school, they made sure to have the same dorm room. The school understood that the pair of friends could never be broken, so went through extremes to make sure everything went properly. Rusty loved the outdoors, so they even found a room that was only a short trot away from the back courtyard.

                "You know, Rusty, I haven't heard from dad in a long time. He's usually calling me and telling me about the different business trips he's gone on, or where he is traveling to next in his fancy jet plane or whatever new toy he's gotten."

                Rusty could only shrug, not knowing what to respond to such a statement. He considered Craig's dad as his own dad, but Mr. Krueger never took the time to reach out to Rusty since they left for college. Rusty had expected something like this to happen considering he didn't even know who his own father was, and knew that in general he had bad luck when it came to the father department. He was, however, instructed to take good care of Craig, and that he would. Rusty would never turn his back on his best friend.

                "He got this new boat, you know," Craig continued as if not noticing Rusty's silence. "Apparently it was fixed up by some Captain of the Navy."

                Rusty only grunted as they continued down the quiet hallway. Rusty hated being out on a boat, and Craig knew it. Rusty also knew that Mr. Krueger hated boats as well, but couldn't resist buying something he felt was worthy of his money. He could just imagine how the man would want a boat fixed up by some Captain.

                "I know, I know, you hate boats and swimming, but I thought it would be cool to home and go for a ride on it."

                Rusty knew that Craig was hinting at him coming with, but just the thought of standing in a rocking boat made his stomach become queasy. "I guess if you want to go, we can," he murmured, trying not to say it loud enough where Craig would hear him.

                "That's the spirit!" Craig exclaimed as they turned into their dorm room and shut the door behind them.

                Rusty only sighed and shook his head as he made his way toward the corner of the room to grab a snack to eat. Craig slowly made his way toward his bed, sitting down heavily and throwing his books to the ground.

                "I really don't want to do homework tonight," Craig complained, but continued to open his Ancient Civilization book and started scanning through it, using his finger as his reading guide.

                The night went by quickly with the two taking frequent breaks outside in the courtyard, talking to the other students who were also ignoring their work for a few hours to enjoy the warm fall air.

                Finally the two settled down into bed, Rusty stretched on top of his blankets while Craig settled deep within his. Rusty knew Craig was becoming increasingly worried when his father did not call him yet another night in a row. It truly was very unusual.

                "Maybe I should call him," Craig tried to reason.

                Rusty shook his head. "You know he wouldn't answer this late at night."

                Craig sighed and rolled over on his bed, ignoring Rusty's words but not picking his phone up to call his dad, either.

                Hours passed when suddenly Rusty woke with a start. He could feel the air in the room change, making his hair stand on end. It was freezing, as if the window had been blown open and snow started pouring into the room.

                Blinking in disbelief, Rusty stared at an opaque figure standing right beside Craig's bed. It looked somehow familiar as if he knew who this figure was. He had never seen a see-through person before.

                Craig also woke with a start, sitting up straight, his hands tightly clenching his blankets from fear.

                "Rusty, what is going on?" Craig said, his voice filled with his panic.

                The figure only stood there, standing over Craig's bed, completely ignoring Rusty.

                "Son," the figure spoke, making Rusty shiver. He now knew why the figure seemed so familiar. "Listen closely, son. I was out on that boat. It crashed. Don't worry. I went quickly. Keep close to Rusty."

                As soon as Mr. Krueger had appeared in his ghostly form, he disappeared and the temperature in the room turned back to normal. Rusty felt his body begin to unfreeze, though he felt his panic rise.

                "It was dad! Something's wrong! Dad was a spirit! What's going on!?!"

                Craig threw his blanket off and ran to where his phone sat in its usual place on his desk. Rusty could see the light from the phone as it was flipped open and Craig dialed a number.

                Rusty's panic only grew and he jumped off his bed, yelling in fear, "What's going on? Why did I see dad standing by your bed? I don't understand!"

                Craig turned to Rusty and snapped, "Shut up! I'm trying to call dad's phone!"

                But no one answered. The two stayed up the entire night, side by side waiting for his phone to ring. But both of them knew that something was seriously wrong. Even Craig, who did not see his dad in spirit, felt his presence and heard his voice. Rusty was still trying to understand.

                Before the sun was peaking above the horizon, Craig finally got the call. His father had taken his new boat out to sea without waiting for his hired captain to take him. He had been impatient, and had therefore paid the ultimate price, capsizing out at sea.

                Craig had then thrown his arms around Rusty, weeping for hours while Rusty sat in numb silence. Mr. Krueger hadn't even said good bye to him in ghost form. He truly was an unwanted son, but knew his role was to be a protector for his best friend.

                "Don't worry, everything will be okay," Rusty reassured him.

                Another semester passed and the two were back home for the summer. Craig had never been the same since that night his father came to visit the two in the dorms. Craig became obsessed with the afterlife, knowing that something was out there, something that needed solving. Rusty wanted nothing to do with it, but unfortunately had the knack for seeing these spirits and being able to keep Craig from danger in the different run-down buildings they had been to.

                Rusty felt like Craig was searching for his father, trying to find his spirit again and talk to him one last time, but Rusty knew that his father had already moved on. However, he didn't have the heart to tell Craig that his father was beyond gone. Instead, he helped Craig find more and more evidence of otherworldly activity, which seemed to make him happy.

                Rusty had also fallen from being the most popular to just another body moving through the hallways. Craig seemed to throw people off with his internal pondering, even making Rusty want to run away a few times, but he knew he couldn't abandon Craig. So instead, he just kept his head down and pretended not to care that he was no longer the center of attention.

                "Rusty, this summer I have lined up all different places for us to visit and capture more electronic voices from ghosts. I know you can see them, so just keep letting me know they are there and I'll do the talking!"

                Rusty wanted to groan at the news, but kept silent. The house was only a reminder of the lack of life that had come from Mr. Krueger, so at least they were getting out of the house.

                "And look, Rusty, Nana Jean gave me this letter and told me the story of a nurse who committed suicide, not knowing that a man she saved left a love letter for her! Isn't that great? This nurse must be still lingering around! Maybe we can find where she lived and talk to her!"

                Rusty knew that this would be their first stop for the summer, so prepared for the adventure. There would be many more to come, so he knew better than to ask to sit out this one time. Craig had asked some others to come with them to help with the trip. Rusty didn't know how to handle the equipment, after all. He was never good with technical things.

                Several days later, the group had finished their research and headed toward a rundown farm a few hours from their home, ready to communicate with a ghost that may still be hanging around. Rusty had his doubts, but he continued on with the group. It was dark out by the time they reached their destination, but that didn't matter to any of them as they laid out the equipment in all the rooms.

                Once finished, they all sat in a wide circle in a small room, waiting for any change in the atmosphere. Finally, Craig asked the open air, "Is anyone in here?"

                Rusty scanned the room before his eyes came to an almost see-through girl curled up in the corner, openly weeping.

                "Did you hear that?" they all seemed to exclaim at once.

                The girl looked up suddenly, her eyes fearful and almost close to madness as they locked into Rusty's eyes.

                "A dog?" the girl's voice asked, sounding as if it were traveling across an entire ocean before reaching their ears. The next moment she was gone, as if the energy had been sapped right out of her.

                Craig shivered as he held out his device to capture any sounds a human ear could not hear. "Dude, did you hear that?" he asked the group. He could feel the group nod and murmur their agreement.

                Craig reached over and pet the top of Rusty's head in excitement. "You really are my seeing eye dog, aren't you? You see everything, even ghosts! This is going to be an eventful night!"

                He patted the retriever's head once more and grinned at his fellow group members. He couldn't see Rusty look up at him, but he could feel the dog's excitement as he panted and swished his tail.

                An interesting night indeed…

Mary #2

Mary had only seen the ocean twice in her life, the first time being when she was just a small child. She had looked upon the crashing waves with her bright green eyes misted with tears of happiness. Even as a child she understood the power of the ocean and the beauty it held. Mary could still hear the sea gulls whining from above and the small children laughing as they ran out to meet the waves. The ocean brought so much peace and love for so many people.

                The trip had taken place on the warmest day of the summer with no clouds to be seen and the warm, salty ocean breeze filled the noses of every person walking along the sandy shores. Mary had felt so happy that day, wearing her brand new pink swimming suit and her hair up in pig tails to keep her long, wavy brown hair from her face. In one hand she carried a plastic yellow pail and shovel, the other hand she used to grip tightly onto her grandfather's gnarled hand.

                Squinting in the bright sunlight, Mary looked up at her grandfather, a huge smile on her face. The old man looked down, returning the smile. His eyes mirrored Mary's; misty wet at the beautiful ocean.

                Mary's grandfather had been in the Navy for the majority of his youth. He had been through a war, though at that time Mary didn't know the sacrifices her grandfather had made. He was simply grandpa, and Captain Johnson didn't mind being anything but "grandpa" to his one and only granddaughter.

                "What did I tell you, Mary? Isn't the ocean beautiful? It's bigger than all of us combined, and more powerful, too." Captain Johnson knew the ocean well. He had lived on a ship for many years, even after the war, but the ocean could be unforgiving as well as beautiful. After being aboard a ship for so long, Captain Johnson finally knew it was time to settle down and have a family.

                Every year he had taken his family out to the ocean on a boat he fixed up himself. His family loved the water just as much as he did, but when financial trouble hit the family, Captain Johnson had to sell his beloved boat to a wealthy man that had never had the passion for boating that the Captain did. In hard times, however, one could not be concerned over material things.

                "Grandpa, I don't ever want to leave!"

                Mary could remember her grandpa throwing back his head and laughing at her excitement, a youthful grin spreading across his face. "Come on Mary, I'll teach you how to build a sand castle!"

                The two spent the day in the sand, molding a sand castle with a moat. Mary could remember smashing the sand castle once it was built, giggling at seeing all their hard work turned into a giant lump of wet sand. Her grandpa only rolled around in the sand, laughing so hard tears fell from his eyes.

                Next, Mary spent her time running to catch the waves as it drew back, then running from them as the icy cold water nipped at her legs. Her Grandpa held her hand the entire way, laughing along with her. At times he would pick her up and swing her over the water, sometimes pretending to drop her as the waves climbed higher up his legs. Mary had only giggled, feeling more safe than she had ever felt before.

                As the day drew to a close, her grandpa brought out a small picnic basket and a large checkered blanket for the two to sit on. He carefully wrapped Mary's favorite white daisy towel around her, telling her to let him know if she grew too cold.

                "Let's eat!"

                The meal was one of Mary's favorite parts of the day. They ate peanut butter and grape jelly sandwiches with potato chips, fruit snacks, and drank a juice box. As Mary munched on her sandwich, her grandpa shared story after story of his own childhood, of how he spent his days with his brothers and all the trouble they found themselves in. He shared stories about Mary's grandmother and her own mother, and even shared some tall tales that ended with both of them laughing.

                After that day, Mary would constantly ask her grandpa to take her back to the ocean, but he was always busy doing other things to help keep his family afloat. As time went by, Mary stopped asking, feeling it would be selfish to take her grandpa away from the rest of the family; even if it were for only just a day.

                Mary grew older and had to move away, accepting a job that would relieve the financial stress her family was experiencing. She regretted having to move away from her grandpa, whom had always been her best friend. Whenever she had a day of doubts, he would always set her down in front of a peanut butter and grape jelly sandwich, potato chips, fruit snacks, and even had a juice box waiting for her, no matter how old she was. When she had hit her teen years, she thought her grandpa was being ridiculous, but he always had the right story to tell and she always felt better about herself.

                Soon Mary had a life of her own, and while she always meant to go back and visit her grandpa, things always came up. They called one another twice a week, but the Captain never let her know how he was doing. Instead, they reminisced about their visit to the ocean, promising one another that they would go back one day. Mary always noticed how her grandpa's memory of the day became more and more faded, but she chose to ignore the signs of her aging grandpa.

                One night the phone rang, and a soft voice said, "Is this Mary Johnson?"

                Groggily, Mary replied, "Yes. May I ask who is speaking?"

                "My name is Allison from the North Florida Medical Center in Newberry. I'm afraid I have some bad news. Your grandpa has taken a turn for the worse."

                Only a few hours later, Mary was on a plane heading toward her grandpa. It was not a trip she wanted to make, and regretted more than ever waiting so long to visit him.

                Once in the hospital, Mary was greeted by a nurse wearing blue scrubs. The woman looked bone weary, her green eyes red from lack of sleep.

                "I'm so sorry, Mary. My name is Allison, I called you last night to give you the news. I have been your grandfather's nurse for the past couple of days."

                Mary only nodded as she leaned over her grandpa, feeling numb to the sympathy the nurse was trying to give her. His liveliness had left his body and he looked older than she ever remembered. The Captain seemed weak and his spirit gone.

                "Come on grandpa, I'm going to get you out of here. We have a promise we need to keep," she whispered to him as his eyes opened and a weak smile appeared on his face. Once again their eyes mirrored one another; misted, but not happy.

                "Mary, I've missed you," Captain Johnson said, trying to keep his voice strong for his one and only granddaughter.

                Against the hospital's recommendations, Mary took her grandpa to her car and they drove to the coast to where Mary had first experienced the ocean. This would be the last time she  would look upon the ocean.

 

               

                Fredrick Johnson jumped out of the car with excitement, his green eyes bright with excitement. It would be the first time he would ever see the ocean, inspiring a life-long love of the sea.

                He ran out toward the sand, wearing his brand new bright blue swimming trunks and holding a bright yellow plastic pail with a shovel. His mother, Mary, came out behind the car, placing a wide-brimmed hat on her head to keep the bright sunshine from her eyes.

                "See son? Isn't the ocean beautiful? It's bigger than all of us combined, and more powerful, too," his mother said with a broad smile on her face. Fred grinned back at his mom, taking a deep breath of the salty ocean air.

                "I never want to leave!" he exclaimed, jumping up and down excitedly, swinging his plastic pail back and forth.

                "Come on, Fred, let me teach you how to build a sand castle!"

                The two spent the day making a sand castle, then taking turns splashing one another in the water. Fred couldn't remember ever being so happy, finally getting to spend time by himself with just his mom.

                That evening, his mother brought out a small picnic basket and they sat in the sand eating a peanut butter and grape jelly sandwich with potato chips and an apple. Each wrinkled their noses as they spat out sand, then laughed at how his mother had forgotten to bring a blanket for them to sit on.

                "Next time, Fred, I won't forget!"

               

                Mary watched as her grandpa's eyes drifted deep into memory. They were sitting on a wooden bench that was stationed within the sand and gave a perfect view of the ocean. He was swinging his legs like a small child, a grin growing across his face.

                "Grandpa, I brought us something to eat," she said with a sad smile. She reached into a small cooler she had along with her and pulled out two wrapped peanut butter and grape jelly sandwiches, two packets of fruit snacks, potato chips, and two small juice boxes. "I had the staff at the hospital make it for us, specially."

                Captain Johnson could only laugh as he plunged into his meal like he had done so many years ago. He no longer was Captain Johnson or Grandpa, but simply Fred, finally rejoining his mother back at the beach, enjoying his favorite meal.

                "Welcome back to the ocean, Fred, welcome back."

Allison #1

                "Allison, please!" she heard another cry of pain from behind her. Allison, bone weary and afraid, had long ago lost the feeling of her feet. She had been running from bedside to bedside, trying to help ease the pain of the wounded men. Allison had become their savior, their comfort, their everything in their last gasp of life.

                "Allison, hand me that saw!"

                "Allison, hold down this man!"

                "Allison, help me!"

                Allison could barely remember what it felt like to live in her small, peaceful town. Only a few days ago she had been farming and working her father's land, just as she had done all her life. Until the war came to her very doorstep.

                Men in gray uniforms had overtaken her small home, using it as a makeshift hospital for all the wounded men. Because she was the only female living in the house, she had been told to help. Allison had never nursed a man with a bullet in his arm back to health before, nor had she ever held a dying man in her arms to help comfort him as his eyes lost their spark of life. She felt as if her hands would forever remain red with men's blood.

                Are you here, Allison?

                Shaking her head wearily, Allison ignored the voice. She had heard it a few times before, but the cries of screaming men, moaning, and the general rush of her overtaken home, she knew there was no voice that could be asking such strange questions. Instead, she knew that it was from lack of sleep and her mind was starting to make up voices in order to escape from the hectic scene around her.

                "Stop daydreaming girl and help the doctor out!" a man scolded her as he wrapped a piece of dirty cloth around a man's head. His eyes were bloodshot, as if he too had received no sleep within the last three days.

                Taking a deep breath, Allison gathered her strength and ran over to what once was her family's dining room. They had had a beautiful oak table her grandfather made when her parents got married. It was finely crafted and sturdy, which had made it a perfect choice for the doctor's to operate on. Allison had originally protested against the use of the table, but her protesting was pointless. They were all overwhelmed with the amount of wounded men and any surface that could be spared was being used in trying to help save at least some of the soldiers.

                If you can hear me, let me know somehow.

                Ignoring the voice once more, Allison grabbed a hold of the moaning soldier, pressing hard on his shoulders as she had done what seemed hundreds of times before.

                "Am I gonna be okay?" the man asked her through gritted teeth, his eyes wild with panic and fogged with pain.

                Looking down at his muddied body, she could see that this man was only going to lose his foot and ankle- certainly not the worst wound she had witnessed.

                "What is your name, soldier?" she asked in her quiet voice.

                Did you just hear that!?!

                Frowning, Allison shook her head. The voice was very persistent today, though she supposed it did have to do with just how tired she had suddenly become.

                "My name is Harold Flack, 3rd Virginian Calvary." The man let out a scream as the doctor went to work sawing at the ankle bone without warning.

                Allison only pressed harder on his shoulders to keep the man down, leaning in close to him. "Don't you worry Mr. Flack, I have seen men with worse wounds survive."

                Allison, how did it feel to have doctors operating on your grandfather's table?

                Startled, Allison looked up from the pained man's face to see a group of men standing on the opposite side of her father's table, looking around as if searching for something. They were extremely strange looking, wearing clothing she had never seen worn before. They were also carrying items that shone a strange light and an energy she could not describe.

                "Who are you!" she demanded of them, suddenly very frightened.

                Two of the men holding the strange lights gasped and turned to face in the direction of Allison, but as soon as they turned, they flickered away from her sight.

                The doctor paused in his sawing to look over at Allison. "Are you okay?"

                Feeling more drained than ever, Allison only shook her head. "I think I'm just dizzy from not eating anything today," she murmured to the doctor.

                Allison, you don't have to keep doing this anymore. You are free. Be at rest. There aren't any soldiers needing your help anymore.

                Closing her eyes, Allison willed the voice to just leave her alone. She couldn't take it anymore. There were so many soldiers that needed her help, so many men that needed caring for. How could she ever just leave them?

                Sighing, the doctor waved a bloody hand toward the stairs. "Go and get an hour's rest. I can't have you so unfocused while trying to perform surgeries."

                Allison nodded gratefully and pulled one of the lesser wounded men from the floor to help hold down the man as the doctor finished his surgery.

                Running to what once had been her sewing room, she fell to the ground crying.

                Do you hear that? I think she's crying.

                "Yes fools, I'm crying! Can't you leave me alone!"

                Allison felt angry at the voice. She still didn't know where it was coming from or how to cope with it. Those men were so strange, so frightening with things she had never seen before.

                It had all become too much. She couldn't stand having these men in her home anymore. Her father's beautiful home had turned into a bloody hospital for men that were dying left and right. More and more died every day no matter what she did.

                Feeling the tears stream down her face, Allison knew that she couldn't live like she was any longer.

                Wait dude, wasn't this the time of night when Allison killed herself?

                Pausing, Allison frowned. How could they have known that was what she wanted to do?

                "I don't make a difference in anyone's lives anyways. All these men are going to die whether I am there for them or not."

                I have a letter here, Allison, from a man named Harold Flack. He lost his foot in a battle, and you helped him by talking to him. He said that you were his angel that gave him confidence to fight to live. He wanted to court you, Allison, but you went and killed yourself.

                "How is that possible? I haven't killed myself and Mr. Flack hasn't even finished with his surgery yet!"

                None of the strange voice's words were making sense. It was talking as if she had already died.

                If you can hear me, just let me know. You can move on now. Just open your eyes to the possibility that you've been stuck here and haven't moved on yet. We know you are here.

                Blinking, Allison backed up into the corner of her room, more terrified than ever. She felt she had gone crazy. It didn't make any sense, and yet she felt that she had relived the same last day over and over and over again, replaying in her mind so she could not escape. She had passed it off as if it was just one long nightmare that would eventually end, but now she wasn't so sure.

                "Please, help me, whoever you are."

                She said "help me"!

                Allison, if you can hear me, please just listen. It is the year 2000. It has been over 138 years to the date that you committed suicide. Many say it's because you felt you weren't helping any of those men downstairs and that it was all pointless, but it wasn't pointless. Many of those men survived because of you. Allison, stop torturing yourself.

                Sliding to the ground, Allison let out a few helpless sobs. She felt so confused, and yet it all made so much sense. Maybe she truly was already dead.

                Be at peace, Allison, be at peace.

                Taking a deep breath, Allison closed her eyes. She let go of everything around her- her home, all the men downstairs, the blood, the cries, the groans, all the memories she's ever had, and even the vague memory of herself taking a knife to her throat.

                "You're right. I need to move on."