A Collection of my Stories... enjoy!

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 Note: The misspelled words are there for a reason.

        She’ll walk into the room, and she’ll be dragging her feet. Tears will fill her eyes at the horrific sight, but she won’t cry. She’ll be strong. She’s always been strong. Two others will follow in after her, one being a doctor and the other a middle aged man. His face will be of equal depression to the woman’s, but he’ll be stronger. She’ll walk up to the hospital bed and then begin to cry. Even though she promised herself she wouldn’t, she will. The atmosphere will change once the doctor leaves the room. They’ll be left alone in a sea of sorrow that’ll drown their minds while they stare at the body half hidden under the covers. She’ll be joined by the man who’ll stand beside her and mourn. He’ll grab her hand and they’ll lower their heads, giving in to their undermining thoughts.

        As time passes she’ll stop trying to forget. She’ll think about the past as the memories overtake her. The first day of school when she kissed her little girl goodbye. That one day where her little angel got lost at the amusement park. Running around the supermarket in the middle of summer trying to find her missing child. Watching her grow up into the strong, mature woman she is. Half of that time watching her sleep in the same bed day after day. Trying to be a good mom. She’ll start to blame herself. She’ll remember the incident; the day her little girl didn’t wake up. She’ll remember ignoring the signs; the signs that warned she was going to fall into an eternal slumber. She’ll break out into a silent sob, hating herself for what she’s done. The man will pull her closer and hug her to his chest, and she’ll relax a little, but it won’t be enough to stop her melancholic thoughts.

        She’ll continue to remember. The hours and days and weeks and years she spent waiting for her little girl to wake up. Exchanging old flowers for new ones every day. Hanging up pictures of old memories around the room. Giving her hand-quilted blankets she’d spent months making. Just wishing and hoping for her to wake up. Just wishing she was there for her more. Blaming herself for not being the best mother in the world.

        She’ll recall the time when her daughter’s friends would join her visit. They’d watch her chest rise and fall, slowly and mechanically, afraid to see the familiar pattern stop. They’d add flowers to the pre-occupied vase and leave without a single word. She’ll find herself touching her little girl’s frigid, stony face, trying to warm her and bring her back to life. She’ll expect her to react to the soft touch of her mother’s loving hands. But she won’t. Her husband will grip her tighter, resisting the urge to cry. She’ll raise her head and stare desperately at her chest, wanting it to rise and fall again. But it won’t. And she’ll continue to weep.

        The girl will lay lifeless on the bed. Her face will be sickly pale and her hair will be knotted in clumps. Her eyes will be closed, lips gently shut. She’ll look peaceful. She’ll look asleep. But her body will be motionless…

        “Jessica?”

        My vision fades and I’m suddenly pulled back into my timeless dream.

        “Oh,” a familiar voice says, “for a second I thought you woke up.”

        “No,” I say in a state of shock. “I don’t want her to remember.”

        “What?”

        “I don’t want to die yet…”

        “Wait, you’re going to die?”

        “I shouldn’t have gotten this vision…”

        “Tell me what happened, Jessie!”