Broken (a short story)

Broken

written June 24th, 2011

Mason, it’s so beautiful out here, I texted a message along with the picture I had taken. Wish you were here.

I hit the send button, and then tucked my phone away in my pocket. I stood at the edge of the cliff, following the sweeping land slide with my eyes down to the roaring river at the bottom. It was spring, and the water level was higher than usual, dark and muddy, full of winter debris.

And it was here in this serene place tucked away in the woods, high up on the cliff looking over the whole world (it seemed), that I was at peace.

It was here that I could think, and think in my voice only. With no other influences or voices to distract me or deter me. It was just me, pure and simple.

And I guess that’s why I wanted Mason here. I knew he would appreciate this moment, this philosophical peace, just as much as me.  I could picture him next to me, leaned back on his elbows, looking up at the sky with those bright blue eyes so full of hidden intelligence. He would have a hint of a smile on his lips as he peered at life in its raw form. He loves moments like that, just like me, where things just click and you realize something new about life.  A new philosophy.

We would sit in silence for a while, him and I. Then we would start talking, and we wouldn’t be able to stop. If we had the time to talk about everything we wanted to with each other, we would talk until the day we died. I’m certain of it.

My phone chirped, and I opened up Mason’s response.

Looks awesome. I wish I was there. You always text me awesome things right when I need it, Ava.

I frowned at the last part, and quickly sent a reply:

Why, what’s wrong?

Just…shit at home. Mom.

‘Mom’. That one word explained it all to me. The two of them are always butting heads.

Call me tonight and tell me about it?

I smiled at the reply that came a few moments later.

Was already planning on it :]

I stuffed my phone in my pocket, looking down at my feet, hanging over the cliff edge, swinging back and forth to an unknown beat.

Casting a final glance over the tree tops of the expansive forest, I began the long descent down to the river, a descent I had made many times. I shimmied my way quickly down the sloped cliff-face, my feet and hands knowing where all the holds were from endless repetition of this process.

Ice Cold (a short story)

Ice Cold

            I remember that day being especially cold.

            It had been nice all week; we were having luck with the fall weather. So that morning I didn’t put on a coat, just a hoodie. As soon as I walked out of the house to wait for the bus, I knew it’d been a mistake. But I couldn’t turn back for fear of missing my ride. Mom would be madder than hell if I woke her up because I missed the bus. So I gritted my teeth and walked down the driveway.

            It was the type of cold that seeped right down into your bones and made them ache real bad. It was the type of cold that left your insides freezing long after your skin had warmed up again.

            The bus didn’t come right away, so I paced back and forth, like they say you’re supposed to in order to keep warm. AS my shoes crunched back and forth over the frost bitten pavement and I was shivering violently, I couldn’t help but think what a load of bullshit that was.

            I had never been happier when the long yellow vehicle finally came to halt in front of me, the sweet relief of the heater melting away my goose bumps.

            At the time I had just taken it as an indication that the winter season was staring to take over, and feeling angry about it. I could hardly stand the thought of pushing through another long New York winter, my sweet summer so far away.

            Looking back though, and knowing what I do now, the biting cold was almost like an omen.