Secret Within

This story is one of a pair, written as part of a writing exercise myself and S. M. Melling, a fellow writer here on writer's cafe, are doing to hopefully improve each other. *Possibly Graphic*

 

 

“I long for you Lizabeth. I long for the sweet smell of your hair when I'm behind you unnoticed. The way the jet-black strands flutter around during a light breeze, Oh Lizabeth. The hours I've spent getting to know you from afar, watching you from my window, wondering if you might be watching me from yours.

“Lizabeth, your eyes have captured my soul. Your allure has captured my thoughts, and now there is nothing left of me you don't have. I am forever yours. You may not have noticed, but I did. I saw the way our eyes met and you stared at me; your intentions. I know what you felt, cause I felt it too.”

He sat, crouched behind a bush waiting for the moment to let his feelings out of their secret box. There she was, walking down the sidewalk, a book held in her hand. The wind blowing softly across her black and red polka-dotted dress. She's…

He breathed deep; trying to muster the courage to talk to her, but quickly slunk back down. That familiar fragrance wafted across his nose and he could no longer stand it. Thirty yards behind he walked, silently and gaining.

“Lizabeth,” he yelled. “I…um, wanted to talk to you. I love you Lizabeth, more than life itself. I’ve wanted to tell you for so long.”

He stopped and watched as the girl of his dreams continued to walk. She didn’t even acknowledge his presence. “Didn't you hear what I said? I said I love you!” With each step she took anger bubbled inside him. “Fine,” he screamed, “you …”

All manner of curses came to him, but he had lost and hadn’t gained her heart. Ego bruised and battered, he stood there with his mouth open, waiting for her to disappear out of sight. He couldn't follow her home. She lived next door and would see him, and mock him, showing him the same treatment she had just shown, or worse, disinterest.

 

 

His head spun. His thoughts went deeper down a hole with no bottom, and what had been nervousness with a feeling of shy anxiety was now something dark and sinister. He fell from his bed to the floor below. It was covered with his belongings; ones once organized and stowed neatly upon the many shelves, now scattered. Tears streamed down his face and he had a long thin blade clenched in his left hand. He crawled until just before the rays of light from the window stretched across the gray paint-stained carpet could reach his skin and stared outside.

Soft whimpers rumbled inside his chest as he choked to keep them inside. He opened his mouth to ask something of the world, but the words did not believe they would be granted their freedom and quickly retreated. The blade flashed in the light and he drew it across his forearm ever so lightly and watched as the smallest amount of blood displayed a sign of agony. As he watched it gather and mix with tears a thought formed and called upon him. He rose to his knees and leaned against the window. “Is this what you want? Is it, my love?” He stabbed at his finger and watched as the reddish liquid disappeared into his black jeans. “This is for you Liz.” He raised his finger to the glass and pressed it hard, spelling out her name across it and whispering the letters as they were completed. “L… I… Z…” He stabbed at the finger again, opening up the wound deeper. “A…B…E…T…H… Her name spelled across the window was encased in a crudely drawn heart. “I loved you,” he whispered, I died for you.” He raised the blade to his throat and drew it across while staring at her window.

He choked and spat at the wall, making sure not to spoil his work. Blood ran down his shirt and he froze in place, thinking about how she had hurt him, and then he slumped to the floor, landing on his side. His vision faded and the air that once promised life now filled his lungs with his death. With one last gasp for life, he flattened out and closed his eyes, succumbing to mortality.

 

 

“Liz… Liz, why aren’t you wearing your hearing aids?”

            “Because I don’t want people making fun of me.”

            “Please darling, you might get hurt.”

            “Mom, I can read lips”

            “I know. I’m just so proud of you. I just wanted to tell you that.”

            “I know mom.”

            “Liz, come take a look at this. Your name is on the next door boys window.”

 

            

Author's Note

Thanks for taking the time to check out the story. I hope you enjoy. Thanks S.M. Melling, for the idea and motivation.

Reviews

[Shannon]

Well written, James. This feels like a big step forward for you as a writer. The twist is is just long enough. And either result (her hearing him or nit) leaves one wondering about the potential consequences.
I would suggest, if you don't feel the need to add mature label (I don't think it does, either) I maybe add a little subject warning in the intro area.

[James Whitefall]

Hey, thanks for the read. I asked a few people if they thought it needed a mature rating and they said no. I'll add the warning though.

[Shannon]

However you have been working on your writing, it shows. ☺
I think people on the Café see the mature label as indicating sexual content.