A Story by Rebecca

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A recorded message from a telephone conversation, dated June 1, 2076
Male Voice: Marie, it was so weird. I've never seen anything like it.
Female Voice: What happened?
Male Voice: Me and John were riding our bikes when we saw Alex standin' there in the middle of the road. We stopped and called to him "Aye A-Man. What are ya doin?"
Female Voice: And?
There is a pause
Male Voice: He growled at us, and ran at us like it was no joke. He's messed up Marie. Something's happenin' here and it ain't good.


"Hurry honey, we have to be packed by seven tonight so we can send off our things."
"I know sweetie. We have time. It's barely nine in the morning. Why don't you go check on the kids?"
Helen didn't want to go check on the kids. She wanted to make the most of this rare moment with Hank. Where his terms of endearment seemed sincere, and not just said mechanically. Where he truly loved her in every word he said, and didn't sound as if he were reciting them to an audience. But instead, she said, "Yea, yea. Good idea. I'll make sure they're getting ready too." Maybe it wasn't just because he insisted that she left. He looked as if he was about to throw up. This had been happening often, and Helen wondered if maybe her husband had some sort of stomach virus. Whenever she tried to ask though, he pushed away the subject as if it were talk of the weather.
She hurried down the hall towards her children's rooms, barely noticing the empty walls. Just days before they had been filled with memories. The snapshot of them by the ocean, a bright grin on her pretty face, an arm slung around her husband. Joane, her daughter, was standing in front of them, arms outstretched and a smile lighting up her green eyes. Even Andi had put an arm around his sister. Andi, who loved girls but couldn't stand to touch his sister. It had been a great day, a wonderful day, but a day she didn't know if her family would ever have again.
She stopped in front of Joane's room first, and knocked on the dark cherry wood door.
"Joane, sweetie, can I come in?"
"Yeah, go ahead."
She opened the door and stepped into her daughter's room. It was a sixteen year olds dream, the walls were hot pink, and covered with posters of the current stars, as well as some old favorites her mother had dug up from the attic. It had taken some convincing, but after listening to some of the rock bands of her mom's youth, Joane had decided she liked classic rock. Her mom had been so enthusiastic that she showed Joane some old videos from her concert going days. Joane had watched with awe and envy.
Joane's bed was queen sized, with fluffy purple pillows and a thick purple silk comforter. Here Joane sat, staring out the window at the mist veiled trees that covered the mountain on which the family had made their home.
A suitcase lay on the thick creamy carpeting next to Joane's bed. Items of clothing were strewn on the floor around it, but none seemed to have made their way into the suitcase. In fact, it was empty except for a worn photo which lay at the bottom. It pictured the smiling Joane when she was six, her arms around a panting puppy, and Joane's mother smiling over her shoulder.
She remembered the day, and stared at the photo, mesmerized by the vivid memory.
"So this is it, huh?" Joane said suddenly, startling her mother out of her memory induced trance.
"Yes dear, I suppose it is. I'm going to miss this place so much. Hopefully when you grow up you can come back. Maybe raise your own family. I would hate to see the house go..." she stopped, unable to finish speaking. Tears were forming in her eyes now and she struggled to finish talking.
"You...you need to get packed dear. Your things need to be packed by seven," she managed to choke out.
"I know mom. I know."
Joane turned to her mother, and it was obvious that she, too, had shed some tears.

© 2012 Rebecca

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Added on May 16, 2012
Last Updated on May 16, 2012
Tags: Outbreak book novel rebecca need



I'm Rebecca, just your average *** year young girl who likes to write, read, watch movies, go on walks, blah blah blah. more..

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