Random Snippet

Random Snippet

A Story by Kelsey
"

A story I was gonna write as a Christmas present to a friend, but I lost the passion for it and so here I let it rest in peace.

"

   It hadn't been especially cold that morning so Marina didn't think she'd need a jacket, but now as she sat in her car, hands wrapped tightly around the steering wheel so the knuckles shone white, she shivered violently. It had started snowing about half an hour ago with the first small flakes resembling nothing more than bad dandruff. Now, as she stared out the windshield, it looked like thousands of huge angry white moths. She didn't dare leave her car.

   Last day of school and she was still idling in the parking lot, her mouth coated with the smell of vodka. The taste was bitter, like she had sipped perfume, and made her feel sick. She wouldn't have drank at all but she'd been sick and had a bad migraine. The alcohol helped take off the edge. After a while of sitting in silence she turned on the radio. Nothing worth really listening to, just a lot of talking and random rap music that she couldn't stand. As she made to turn it back off there was a knock on her window.

   When she turned around, hand still stretched out towards the radio's knob, she saw a boy about her own age. In a way, he looked oddly familiar. He smiled, waving with one gloved hand. With a sigh, Marina rolled down the window an inch, "What?

   "Got a light?" he asked her, holding up his other hand that held on tightly to a cigarette.

Rolling her eyes, she unlocked the passenger's side door and motioned for him to join her. He ran quickly around the front of the car and hopped in, slamming the door behind him. He held the cigarette out to her with one shaking hand.

   Without speaking, she took it from him and lit it with a lighter she pulled from her purse. She took one quick drag on the cigarette before handing it back to him, but he didn't seem to mind. "I haven't seen you in years, Marina." he said to her before raising the cigarette to his lips.

   "I don't remember you." Marina said, staring out the windshield at the swirling snow.

   "We went to middle school together. Remember? You sat in front of me in music class. I stepped on your notebook once and you said..."

   "...said that you needed to be more careful." she finished.

   He laughed, choking on the cigarette smoke, "Well, yeah. Only not in such a nice way." With one hand he held onto his cigarette while he offered the other to her for a handshake. "Roger Palms. Remember me now?"

   She didn't shake his hand. "Yeah."

   Admitting defeat, he lowered his hand and took another shaky drag on the cigarette. They sat in silence, the rap music still playing quietly. Suddenly, Marina wanted to blare the music as loud as possible, loud enough to shatter the windows, making the glass rain down like slivers of frozen water. She didn't touch the knob.

   "I've been meaning to talk to you for weeks now. You know, whenever I managed to find you." he said to her, his smile half hidden behind his hand. "I always kinda wanted to thank you."

   "For what?"

   He smiled at her. "You don't remember? Has it really been that long?"

   She turned to stare at him. "I honestly have no idea what you're talking about."

   He pulled up the sleeve of his coat, held his arm out to her, "See those scars? You're the one that called that day, right?"

   Her throat closed up. Yes, she had forgotten. Had wanted to forget. It had been eighth grade and she'd walked into a deserted classroom to cry because she'd been teased about a new haircut. Instead of finding it empty, Roger had been sitting cross legged on the floor with the razor shaking in his hand and blood dripping onto the floor. When he'd looked up at her she could tell that he was frightened. She had grabbed the phone on the wall by the door and dialed 911 without pausing to think. "Suicide...razor...come quick." and dropped the phone where it began to swing back and forth like a man hanging from the gallows. She had stood there gazing at him with morbid fascination. Her stomach churned at the sight of the blood -- so dark. Was her blood that dark? Was her hair the same color red? She was only dimly aware that she was holding her breath.

   The boy was whispering under his breath, sobbing, rocking back and forth. The hand that held the blade was still shaking violently until it fell to the floor. He did not pick it up again. She wanted to say something and wanted to turn and run at the same time. She had called for help, that's all she needed to do. She took a step closer.

The boy's voice was frantic, he was staring at his mutilated arm, tears falling and mixing with his blood. "I just want to stop, I just wanted him to stop, I'll be okay...It's okay...It's okay." His voice grew quiter, lowered so that she could no longer hear him or barely see his lips move.

   When help finally arrived she was still standing in the same place. She had not taken another step and the boy had not met her eyes again. He looked pale. When they had removed him from the room she stood there staring at the blood smeared on the floor, the razor lying harmlessly on the floor, and she felt her knees give out. She barely remembered hitting the floor, the teachers coming in to see why an ambulence had been called without their knowledge, and she blacked out.

   Now, sitting in the car with him, she felt sick again. Her knees felt weak but she was, thankfully, already sitting down. Why had he sought her out? Surely not just to thank her. They would be seniors next year. They would be growing up, the would graduate, they would go to different parts of the world. Why now?

   "Marina?" his voice was soft. "If you're uncomfortable, I'll leave. All you have to do is say so."

   She nodded slowly, not trusting herself to speak.

   Silently, he opened the door and got out of the car. He closed the door quietly behind him before shoving his hands deep into his pockets and walking off into the snow. Marina's hands had tightened around the steering wheel, they hurt terribly, but she did not let go. In fact, her grip actually grew steadily firmer. She slowly moved her right hand away from the wheel and shifted into drive before following his footprints in the snow by looking out of her window. She pulled up beside him and rolled down her window another inch.

   "Get in, Roger."

   He did.

© 2008 Kelsey


Author's Note

Kelsey
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Added on March 14, 2008
Last Updated on March 14, 2008

Author

Kelsey
Kelsey

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About
I'm 22-years-old. I am a Christian writer-singer girl who enjoys fried chicken, the color green, and the ability to dance about ridiculously in the rain. I hope you enjoy my writing (new and old!). more..

Writing
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A Story by Kelsey