Post by mysteryking on Dec 23, 2010 23:55:19 GMT -5
(Perhaps a bit of a downer, but I like it. This is an idea that I began to toy around with as I almost fell asleep two nights ago. The notes I took so I'd remember the idea are terrible, but they did their job. I ran it by an English major pal of mine, but that's all the revising it's gotten. I'll probably go back and note some things in it later. The varying tenses and point of views are very intentional. Please feel free to critique.)
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Emelia Lockheart was in the corner. Poor thing, I think she had been hit by this harder than any one else. She was Louis’ girlfriend. She’d been seeing Louis for almost a year now. I’ve seen her around since she was just a little girl, always smiling. Her curly red hair and blue eyes just seemed so ill-suited for the terribly tragic frown and mourner’s dress she wore that night.
Her mother was one of the investors to found the funeral home, so she’s sure to have spent some time there, but that night she seemed so foreign in that room, as if she had just been a poorly doctored addition to a picture. I suppose it makes sense, though. None of us expected Louis Jackson to have anything but a long and happy, albeit perhaps not the most successful, life, and if we didn’t expect for the funeral to happen, it wouldn’t make sense to expect Emelia to be there.
I remember Emelia sitting in the front with Louis’ mother and brother as the preacher spoke perhaps the saddest eulogy I’ve ever heard in my life. It was a beautiful service, with five local singers offering their talents. A few friends of Louis’ parents questioned if it might have been a bit excessive, but a friend and I explained how much Louis had loved music.
She loved music too. Some of us half-expected Emelia to sing at his funeral until we saw her. Her face was wracked with something that was a terrible mixing of the expected grief and anguish and doubt. The poor girl couldn’t bring herself to look at him in the casket for more than a moment before having to leave the entire room in tears and wailing.
None of us blamed her, or rather, none of us in our right minds. I think I saw Samantha, her older sister, give her a strong look as she passed her running out. I don’t understand what could be going through her head, but her poor sister is going through hell right now. What ever is going on between them, I hope Sam can forget about it for Emelia’s sake right now. I guess I shouldn’t be judging though; Louis was as much a fixture in Emelia’s family as Emelia was in his.
I’m sure everyone involved is taking this terribly. It’s a terrible pity that he had that accident. I’ve seen him drive, and he was always a safe kid. I’ve never seen him speed or even follow too close. I guess we never know what’s about to hit us. It’s just so sad that it had to happen like this, though.
‘How can she do this to me? She has, she has no damn right,’ Louis thought as he blazed a path onto the bypass. His eyes were red from tears still flowing. He wore his best shirt and jacket that Summer night. He looked out in front of him just in time to dodge the oncoming car.
His fist pounded the dash of the 1998 pickup more than a few times. ‘She promised me that,‘ this time he couldn’t even finish the thought. “Emelia-” his voice cut off as he tried to speak the name to the empty air in the truck with him.
She had no right to torture him like this. If Emilia wanted to break it off with him, that would be one thing, but this-this was beyond words, beyond evil, beyond human. He had to wipe a few more tears to be able to see the night road in front of him.
It was raining that night. Thankfully there weren’t a great many cars to interrupt Louis as he drove home, if he was even going home. He’d go anywhere away from there.
His mind fluttered from thought to thought with less surety than a ball on a roulette wheel, and he felt no more a part of the world around him as such a ball is a part of the eyes that greedily watch it. Did the lights outside his windows mean anything? Did the signs he couldn’t make himself notice have any significance? Were the cars rolling to his left important? He couldn’t even imagine the questions, let alone answer them in the affirmative.
‘Emelia’s just another jerk. I was wrong, I was wrong, I was WRONG. Why couldn’t she be different? Just for once, why can’t someone be different?’ he thought as the needle of his speedometer teased the 50 line.
‘I was so sure this time, but there she was. She couldn’t care about me,” he continued, ignoring the yellow sign with a curved arrow that he passed, “How can you care about someone and do that?’ The needle was past the 70 line now.
“How could you do this to me?” he screamed at the air around him as his car failed to take the curve and slid into a telephone pole. The truck flipped as the pole broke the windshield and crushed the cab. His angry thought was his last.
I hope she doesn’t mind that I’m late. Tonight’s the end of the first year after we started dating. She had to run some errands, so I told her I’d meet her at the movie theatre tonight. I don’t want to push my old truck to hard, and she’s always been patient with me.
It’s eight minutes after nine, and it’s just now getting dark. I love Summer. It’s been misting all day. I hope the water won’t hurt her flowers. Even if they do, I know the ring’ll put me back in good graces. I’ve saved up for five months to buy it for her, but it’s been worth every penny and second.
I can finally see the Cineplex up ahead. It looks nice after the renovations the new owners put it through, and the windows are always spotless. I see all of the familiar townsfolk as I drive from the bypass to the front. There’s a lane to go through coming from the main entrance.
I’m trying to spot Emelia now. She always looks pretty, even after a long day’s work. Her hair is gorgeous, and she never fails to look her best even after running around all day. I know I’ll look like nothing to her in my old dress shirt and Dad’s old coat, but it’s the best I have for tonight, and she always just looks so gorgeous.
It’s unbelievable. I stop my truck dead as I look on to make sure I’m seeing what I think I am. That girl-that girl is Emelia. My Emelia. She’s kissing someone, and hardly a peck on the cheek. I feel my fist tremble as I realize she’s in the arms of--I don’t even care who the hell he is.
My truck coughs as I shoot out of the parking lot. I’ve got to get out of here. It’s too much.
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I
Emelia Lockheart was in the corner. Poor thing, I think she had been hit by this harder than any one else. She was Louis’ girlfriend. She’d been seeing Louis for almost a year now. I’ve seen her around since she was just a little girl, always smiling. Her curly red hair and blue eyes just seemed so ill-suited for the terribly tragic frown and mourner’s dress she wore that night.
Her mother was one of the investors to found the funeral home, so she’s sure to have spent some time there, but that night she seemed so foreign in that room, as if she had just been a poorly doctored addition to a picture. I suppose it makes sense, though. None of us expected Louis Jackson to have anything but a long and happy, albeit perhaps not the most successful, life, and if we didn’t expect for the funeral to happen, it wouldn’t make sense to expect Emelia to be there.
I remember Emelia sitting in the front with Louis’ mother and brother as the preacher spoke perhaps the saddest eulogy I’ve ever heard in my life. It was a beautiful service, with five local singers offering their talents. A few friends of Louis’ parents questioned if it might have been a bit excessive, but a friend and I explained how much Louis had loved music.
She loved music too. Some of us half-expected Emelia to sing at his funeral until we saw her. Her face was wracked with something that was a terrible mixing of the expected grief and anguish and doubt. The poor girl couldn’t bring herself to look at him in the casket for more than a moment before having to leave the entire room in tears and wailing.
None of us blamed her, or rather, none of us in our right minds. I think I saw Samantha, her older sister, give her a strong look as she passed her running out. I don’t understand what could be going through her head, but her poor sister is going through hell right now. What ever is going on between them, I hope Sam can forget about it for Emelia’s sake right now. I guess I shouldn’t be judging though; Louis was as much a fixture in Emelia’s family as Emelia was in his.
I’m sure everyone involved is taking this terribly. It’s a terrible pity that he had that accident. I’ve seen him drive, and he was always a safe kid. I’ve never seen him speed or even follow too close. I guess we never know what’s about to hit us. It’s just so sad that it had to happen like this, though.
II
‘How can she do this to me? She has, she has no damn right,’ Louis thought as he blazed a path onto the bypass. His eyes were red from tears still flowing. He wore his best shirt and jacket that Summer night. He looked out in front of him just in time to dodge the oncoming car.
His fist pounded the dash of the 1998 pickup more than a few times. ‘She promised me that,‘ this time he couldn’t even finish the thought. “Emelia-” his voice cut off as he tried to speak the name to the empty air in the truck with him.
She had no right to torture him like this. If Emilia wanted to break it off with him, that would be one thing, but this-this was beyond words, beyond evil, beyond human. He had to wipe a few more tears to be able to see the night road in front of him.
It was raining that night. Thankfully there weren’t a great many cars to interrupt Louis as he drove home, if he was even going home. He’d go anywhere away from there.
His mind fluttered from thought to thought with less surety than a ball on a roulette wheel, and he felt no more a part of the world around him as such a ball is a part of the eyes that greedily watch it. Did the lights outside his windows mean anything? Did the signs he couldn’t make himself notice have any significance? Were the cars rolling to his left important? He couldn’t even imagine the questions, let alone answer them in the affirmative.
‘Emelia’s just another jerk. I was wrong, I was wrong, I was WRONG. Why couldn’t she be different? Just for once, why can’t someone be different?’ he thought as the needle of his speedometer teased the 50 line.
‘I was so sure this time, but there she was. She couldn’t care about me,” he continued, ignoring the yellow sign with a curved arrow that he passed, “How can you care about someone and do that?’ The needle was past the 70 line now.
“How could you do this to me?” he screamed at the air around him as his car failed to take the curve and slid into a telephone pole. The truck flipped as the pole broke the windshield and crushed the cab. His angry thought was his last.
III
I hope she doesn’t mind that I’m late. Tonight’s the end of the first year after we started dating. She had to run some errands, so I told her I’d meet her at the movie theatre tonight. I don’t want to push my old truck to hard, and she’s always been patient with me.
It’s eight minutes after nine, and it’s just now getting dark. I love Summer. It’s been misting all day. I hope the water won’t hurt her flowers. Even if they do, I know the ring’ll put me back in good graces. I’ve saved up for five months to buy it for her, but it’s been worth every penny and second.
I can finally see the Cineplex up ahead. It looks nice after the renovations the new owners put it through, and the windows are always spotless. I see all of the familiar townsfolk as I drive from the bypass to the front. There’s a lane to go through coming from the main entrance.
I’m trying to spot Emelia now. She always looks pretty, even after a long day’s work. Her hair is gorgeous, and she never fails to look her best even after running around all day. I know I’ll look like nothing to her in my old dress shirt and Dad’s old coat, but it’s the best I have for tonight, and she always just looks so gorgeous.
It’s unbelievable. I stop my truck dead as I look on to make sure I’m seeing what I think I am. That girl-that girl is Emelia. My Emelia. She’s kissing someone, and hardly a peck on the cheek. I feel my fist tremble as I realize she’s in the arms of--I don’t even care who the hell he is.
My truck coughs as I shoot out of the parking lot. I’ve got to get out of here. It’s too much.
