Beneath the Surface

It's split into four sections, each through the perspective of a different character. The only character who narrates two sections is Ben. I was trying to capture the true hopelessness of depression.

Ben

Death. It was never something I had considered until now. But as I sit here by the side of the road, I can’t get the thought out of my head.

I remember when I was nine and my sister was eleven. We were in the woods, and I beckoned her to catch up. We reached a glen, and I kneeled in front of a patch of earth.

She crouched, not caring about getting dirt on her dress. “What is it?”

I plucked the flower I had found earlier and held it to her.

“Thanks,” she said, her delicate hand taking the rose from my hand and bringing it to her nose. She closed her eyes, relishing the flower’s fragrance.

“Look at it,” I said. “Each petal is arranged in the prettiest way possible. Each one is as red as red can be and the stem is just so green. It’s perfect. Just like you.”

She kissed me on the cheek. “So are you.”

I realize now she was wrong. I’m far from perfect.

 

Mary

“Listen!” I yell. “Can’t you just listen to me?”

The officer at the table sits up after an hour of leaning back in his seat. “I’m going to have to ask you to calm down.”

“I am a mother of three kids,” I say, trying to say calm. “My autistic son is missing. And you can’t do anything?”

“Autistic?”

I groan in frustration.

“Has your son been gone for 24 hours or more?”

“Well, no. But-”

“Come again when that has passed.”

“That’s idiocy!” I say through my teeth.

The officer leans towards me. “That, Mrs. Clares, is the law.”

“Ms. Clares.”

The police officer’s features distort in confusion, eying the diamond ring on my finger.

“Widow.”

Before he can respond, I open my wallet and pull out Ben’s junior yearbook picture. I hold it up to him. “Where can I find someone who will take this?”

“Ma’am…”

“Forget it.” I walk out the room and find every eye in the room is on me.

“Come on, Sarah,” I say to my daughter, who is sitting at the chair propped against the wall.

I am halfway through the doorway when my eye registers what it just saw.

Grabbing a thumbnail from a desk, I pin my son’s face to the corkboard. The one marked, “Missing Persons.”

 

Sarah

I’ve never cried very much. But now, it seems like I shed tears every single day.

I don’t have any of my friends over anymore. I feel disconnected from them now. I am quiet now.

Our mom is so worried. I feel so sorry for her that I don’t care about how everyone in the police station heard her losing it.

I don’t think Ben was forced out of the house like everyone thinks. He thought he was stupid. He thought no one liked him. I think he ran away.

Long ago, Ben gave me a rose. He said it was perfect. I still keep it sitting in a jar of water on my desk. Whenever I look at it, I feel a sharp pain in my chest.

Now, I tiptoe in the garage, two bottles of wine in each hand. I lift the lid off of the garbage can.

I don’t want my mom to fall into drinking the same way she did when dad died. I’m sick of hearing her slurred voice.

For a moment, I stand in silence, hesitating. Then, I throw them both as hard as I can into the heap of garbage. The metallic clunk of the garbage can lid slamming shut echoes long after I exit.

Ben

Everyone I meet asks me if I remember my dad. I always reply, No. Not really.

I always lie.

My dad was in the army. Although he went away to fight, we kept in close contact with him.

We used to send e-mails back and forth. He would always e-mail back within a day at the longest.

But one day, he didn’t.

I ran away because I couldn’t stand it anymore. I was sick of my mother’s drunken voice and I was sick of being the subject of so much anger at school. People don’t realize that I’m completely different beneath the surface.

Now, I’m sitting by the side of the road. Geese are flying south. December starts in three days.

Death was never something I had considered. But now, it seems pretty nice.

Maybe my voice has more power than I think. I don’t see the car that’s swerving towards the side of the road.

 

My eyes flutter. I am on a hospital bed, and my sister is sitting on a chair next to me.

“Ben?” says a gentle voice.

Seconds later, I am embraced. After a minute, two arms pull away and I see Sarah’s face.

I try to fight the drowsiness that washes over me.

My mother runs over and leans over me.

“Oh, honey.”

The drowsiness becomes overwhelming.

“Mom. Sarah. I love you.”

Those are my last words.

 

Now, my dad is reaching his hand out to me. I take it.

Author's Note

This was written for a writing contest, and this was literally at the exact maximum amount of words allowed. Excuse the clunky writing.

Reviews

[Sasha]

Wow. The ending was completely unexpected. I wasn't sure what happened to his dad until Ben passed away. It was sad overall, but the sadness really hits you at the end. Anyway, I really loved this story and the way you broke it down into smaller chunks with different perspectives. It was nice hearing things from each character's point of view, and the story still progressed very smoothly.

“Has your son been one for 24 hours or more?” You should throw a g in there. I would change "not caring about" to "not concerned with," but that's just my opinion.
Very well done.

[Danielle Wesley]

Wow. What a powerful story. I always admire writer's who can separate different character's voices in a narrative way. Given your word maximum, I think you did an amazing job at character development. Each narrative communicated a similar pain from different perspectives. Even though death resulted in the end, I do find the last line to be somewhat uplifting. I'll be reading more of your stories. It may take me a while to review some of them. I appreciate your review of my first chapter. :)

My only grammatical catch:

I say, trying to say calm. (stay instead of say)