blacklemons
The Freeman
This is a short story written in my English class. it has won the state gold key award (first place) in the statewide scholastic competition in Harrisburg, it has now moved on to nationals. enjoy, and post how you like it 8).
Gordon Way
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
She opened her eyes slowly, but she didn’t want to, not at all. It was still dark outside. She sat up, looking to her left, she yawned. She saw her husband Billy, breathing softly in the darkness. Stretching and putting her feet on the floor, she stood up. Billy would not be awake for another two hours.
Miranda was a fair skinned, fairly skinny brunette woman of about 35. Billy had given her two wonderful children, Samuel and Erica. Twins five years of age.
She went through her normal morning routine, starting with a shower. She then brushed her teeth, got dressed and left for work.
Miranda was a factory worker, working at a Compact Disc packaging plant. Every day she got up when it was still dark out, drove down to the plant, and stood there, watching the blank discs go by one by one. Thousands of them each and every day. Strange thoughts came to her while standing there. Flashbacks, wonderings about space and time, she dreamed about learning to fly. She did not question her existence, nor did she question why she was who she was.
The family lived in the small, broken down town of Stillborn, Arkansas, or at least what was left of it. It was a dark, strange little town, with not many inhabitants. It was dark, gray, and the streets were always foggy, almost as if the town did not exist. The town was founded in 1991 and was soon to be nearing its one-hundredth anniversary.
The house that they lived in was run down with a sort of gray color, a lot like every other house in the town.
Miranda had lived in Stillborn her whole life, and it is also where she met Billy. Long ago, she remembered summers sitting with her grandmother, who had long since passed away. Her grandmother told her stories about strange little animals called “dogs,” but Miranda did not know whether she was pulling her leg or telling the truth.
Miranda, Billy and their children lived a nice quiet, small little life. They were happy. Until one night, Miranda had the dream….
She dreamt of a small, white room with a small window and some flowers on a table. When she looked up in this dream, she would see the brightest light she could ever imagine. It was almost as if she was about to be tortured or something. She had this same dream every few nights for about three months. Although haunted by her dream, she told no one about it. Miranda tried to pretend it didn’t exist, because…maybe it didn’t. It startled her to think, that after her whole life of being normal, maybe she was losing it.
On her 37th birthday, Billy had gotten her a painting. When she unwrapped it, her face became blank instantly.
“What’s wrong dear?”
“……nothing, I love it”
It was a painting of a small white room with a small window and a bright light. Was it a sign? Was she crazy? It consumed her for the next few weeks. Why was she having this dream? Why? Why her?
This white room was becoming more familiar to her every day, as if it was part of her, part of her past. She wanted to know, she wanted to get out of the room in her dreams. Until one night, when it would all end…
She dreamt that she was in that same white room with that same small window and that same bright light. But this time it was real…too real, but this time it was different. Instead of flowers, there was a walkie-talkie with a “Gordon Way Mental Hospital” label on it.
“Where am I?”
A woman then appeared next to then picked up the walkie-talkie, and said into it “Miranda’s having an episode again”, then put it back down on the table.
“Where am I?!”
“Calm down Honey, your in Gordon Way Mental Hospital, you have been for the last seven years, don’t you remember?”
There was no Billy, no Stillborn, no Compact Disc Factory, no Erica, no Samuel and no…home…nor was there ever. They did not exist. They never did. Everyone and everything that was important to her was a figment of her imagination, keeping her mind occupied for the last seven years.
In fact, the only things she could remember from her past were those long, lost summers of her childhood with her grandmother.
As the years went by, she often went back to Stillborn in her dreams to visit the family that had made her so happy, and they welcomed her.
On august 12th, 2098, Miranda was found dead in her bed. Doctors say the cause was a heart attack, from an unknown allergic reaction to one of her medications. She was only 47.
When the Hospital cleaned out her room, they found only a few of her cherished possessions. Along with a cracked old flowerpot and some earrings, there was a faded, torn photograph of a young couple and a set of twins, standing in front of a gray, dark, broken down house.
Gordon Way
Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.
She opened her eyes slowly, but she didn’t want to, not at all. It was still dark outside. She sat up, looking to her left, she yawned. She saw her husband Billy, breathing softly in the darkness. Stretching and putting her feet on the floor, she stood up. Billy would not be awake for another two hours.
Miranda was a fair skinned, fairly skinny brunette woman of about 35. Billy had given her two wonderful children, Samuel and Erica. Twins five years of age.
She went through her normal morning routine, starting with a shower. She then brushed her teeth, got dressed and left for work.
Miranda was a factory worker, working at a Compact Disc packaging plant. Every day she got up when it was still dark out, drove down to the plant, and stood there, watching the blank discs go by one by one. Thousands of them each and every day. Strange thoughts came to her while standing there. Flashbacks, wonderings about space and time, she dreamed about learning to fly. She did not question her existence, nor did she question why she was who she was.
The family lived in the small, broken down town of Stillborn, Arkansas, or at least what was left of it. It was a dark, strange little town, with not many inhabitants. It was dark, gray, and the streets were always foggy, almost as if the town did not exist. The town was founded in 1991 and was soon to be nearing its one-hundredth anniversary.
The house that they lived in was run down with a sort of gray color, a lot like every other house in the town.
Miranda had lived in Stillborn her whole life, and it is also where she met Billy. Long ago, she remembered summers sitting with her grandmother, who had long since passed away. Her grandmother told her stories about strange little animals called “dogs,” but Miranda did not know whether she was pulling her leg or telling the truth.
Miranda, Billy and their children lived a nice quiet, small little life. They were happy. Until one night, Miranda had the dream….
She dreamt of a small, white room with a small window and some flowers on a table. When she looked up in this dream, she would see the brightest light she could ever imagine. It was almost as if she was about to be tortured or something. She had this same dream every few nights for about three months. Although haunted by her dream, she told no one about it. Miranda tried to pretend it didn’t exist, because…maybe it didn’t. It startled her to think, that after her whole life of being normal, maybe she was losing it.
On her 37th birthday, Billy had gotten her a painting. When she unwrapped it, her face became blank instantly.
“What’s wrong dear?”
“……nothing, I love it”
It was a painting of a small white room with a small window and a bright light. Was it a sign? Was she crazy? It consumed her for the next few weeks. Why was she having this dream? Why? Why her?
This white room was becoming more familiar to her every day, as if it was part of her, part of her past. She wanted to know, she wanted to get out of the room in her dreams. Until one night, when it would all end…
She dreamt that she was in that same white room with that same small window and that same bright light. But this time it was real…too real, but this time it was different. Instead of flowers, there was a walkie-talkie with a “Gordon Way Mental Hospital” label on it.
“Where am I?”
A woman then appeared next to then picked up the walkie-talkie, and said into it “Miranda’s having an episode again”, then put it back down on the table.
“Where am I?!”
“Calm down Honey, your in Gordon Way Mental Hospital, you have been for the last seven years, don’t you remember?”
There was no Billy, no Stillborn, no Compact Disc Factory, no Erica, no Samuel and no…home…nor was there ever. They did not exist. They never did. Everyone and everything that was important to her was a figment of her imagination, keeping her mind occupied for the last seven years.
In fact, the only things she could remember from her past were those long, lost summers of her childhood with her grandmother.
As the years went by, she often went back to Stillborn in her dreams to visit the family that had made her so happy, and they welcomed her.
On august 12th, 2098, Miranda was found dead in her bed. Doctors say the cause was a heart attack, from an unknown allergic reaction to one of her medications. She was only 47.
When the Hospital cleaned out her room, they found only a few of her cherished possessions. Along with a cracked old flowerpot and some earrings, there was a faded, torn photograph of a young couple and a set of twins, standing in front of a gray, dark, broken down house.
