Thread of Hope

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic

Chapter 3 (v.1)

Submitted: March 27, 2013

Reads: 55

Comments: 1

A A A | A A A

Submitted: March 27, 2013



I picked up a rock and skipped it across the ocean. Morrie. That was her name. The girl from Wednesday. Her brown hair was long than my own. I tugged at my locks, dark and straight. I grabbed another rock and watched it beat against the waves before sinking. Morrie. Her name bounced in my head, every thought connected with her.

I left my boots back in my Escalade, so the mud pushed up between my toes. I tugged off my shirt, a tan thin thing. I was left shirtless with the cold wind beating against me, the cold not actually touching me. I shucked off my pants and then my boxers. I rushed into the ocean, the water surrounding me.

Not only did fallen angels not feel, they didn’t need food or air or even sleep. I brushed the surface of the ocean, the sun filtering down as warming the ocean. What I’d give to feel the warmth of the sun, or even the bitterness of Morrie’s words.

Diving back under, I swam back to shore. I stood , ankle deep in the water, staring out at the setting sun. It was Friday, a weekend of sorts. I heard laughter on the wind. Morrie and her friend Andrea were walking along the beach. I grabbed my clothes and disappeared into the thicket surrounding the private beach.

I watched them, feeling a bit like a stalker. Morrie was skipping rocks, just as a I was. Andrea was dragging a stick, and they were talking about…me?  “I have PDM with him.” Morrie said, looking for another rock. She selected one and chucked  it.

“Really? He’s smart and hot?” Andrea said, her voice taking on a dreamy hint. I chuckled to myself.

“Yea, he’s smart.” Morrie said, looking out to the sunset. She sighed and the paused right where I had stripped down. I looked down and smiled. I was still naked, and here were these two beautiful girls talking about me. I slowly began to dress, not for a moment missing my chance to hear what Morrie had to say about me.

“That’s it?” Her friend scolded. I looked up and seen Morrie’s back, and her friend looking at her, her arms crossed. “That’s all he gets? ‘He’s smart’? The boy is so deliciously handsome. I would eat whip-cream off of him any day!”

I’d prefer Morrie to do the honors, I thought to myself. Andrea seemed to purr. I smirked to myself and thought about showing myself. At Morrie’s sigh, I rejected the idea.

“I brought you out here because I wanted to tell you something in private.” I bit my lip and I knew I shouldn’t be listening to what she was about to say but it was too late to leave now. And I couldn’t very well reveal myself now. Morrie would just kill me where I  stood and she would never speak to me again.

“What’s wrong, Morrie?” Andrea laid a hand on Morrie’s shoulder. Morrie’s head hung low as she leaned into her friend. “Morrie?”

With her shoulders beginning to shake and sobs carrying up to me, Morrie said, “My mom has cancer.” There was a sharp intake of breath and I’m not sure who it came from, me or Andrea. Andrea wrapped her arms around Morrie.

After a loud bought of noises, I got the hell out of there. I shouldn’t have heard what Morrie said to Andrea. It was secret, a secret not meant for me to hear. Safe inside my car, and dressed, I noticed another car, a flashy red Corvette, as clique as it sounds. I scuffed at it and revved my engine before pulling out of the lot.

I took a sharp left and ended up in forest part of the town, where the cemetery is at. I slowed down. The cemetery was crowded with people, all dressed in black. They surrounded a coffin. Nobody paid me any attention as I shut the car off and walked to the back of the group. The coffin was being fed into the hole in the ground and I heard somebody sob, loudly. The group squeezed into the mid 30’s woman, hugging her and patting her. I had an idea that it was her husband in the ground, now.

I escaped the funeral, feeling like an intruder. After winding through the streets for a few more hours, I decided it would be best if I headed home. What a strange word for the flat I lived in. An artist studio the ad said. A studio so secluded, the Higher Up’s would let me do whatever the hell I want.

I grabbed the wheel tight, my knuckles turning white. I didn’t feel it bend beneath my hands as I thought about the night I was banished. The night I tumbled down to earth, broke into a human home and escaped before they realized what had hit them. It was horrible night for me. I was alone and knew my skin was cold, though I didn’t feel it.

I whipped into the parking lot and jogged up the stairs leading to my flat, which I never locked. Harlem, my right hand man was lounging on my sofa drinking a beer. “Hey, Dante, where have you been?”

I shrugged my jacket off. “You know. Around.” I said, grabbing a beer for myself. Harlem laughed as I knocked his feet off the back of my couch and sat next to him. I turned to TV on and the news flashed. Something about a storm. I changed it to football and relaxed.

“Where you studying?” he asked, another laugh in his voice. I shook my head and took another drink. “Getting some ass?” I shook my head again and stretched my legs.

“I was down at the lake, thinking.” I said at last.

Harlem’s voice didn’t hold its usual hint of mockery. “This about that girl? Morrie?” Harlem had gotten it into his head that Morrie and I were fated because when I looked at her that first day I felt grounded for the first time since I fell. I felt like somebody tied a tether around my waist and around the world and I was stuck, all from looking at her.

I shrugged off Harlem’s question and  let my head fall back. Morrie and I fated? I doubt it.

Yet I didn’t….

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