Short Stories (reconstructed)

Mark and Cindy

Mark and Cindy were orphaned siblings. Mark just turned seventeen on the eve of their tragedy, and Cindy was ten. He always did his best to make ends meet with his many jobs, always having her wellbeing in mind to keep him going.

In the days he'd be off from work, they would always spend their days together will smiles and laughter, Mark always by Cindy's side. They would play badminton or soccer out in the park, or have a picnic by their house. They would frolic in the rain together as if they were the same age, pretending to be water fairies. Sometimes they would stay home doing tea parties with Cindy's toys.

She was never short on celebrations, as he always made sure he was there for and with her. She would always receive special gifts in her birthdays, anything he knew she wanted that he could afford. Despite this, she would never mind if all they had was a simple meal of spaghetti and hotdogs. She would be as happy to have that meal as she would've been with other gifts.

Cindy always loved to hear about how his days went, even if he thought they were too boring to share. She would always follow through by telling him all about the mystical adventures of her characters, raving on and on about how beautiful the worlds were.

Mark would always read her stories at night to help lull her. Sometimes he would sing, and sometimes he would simply sit beside her to help her ease her fears and fall asleep. She would wake up to the scent of his cooking every morning, and in turn, the first words he would hear every day would he her good mornings.

One morning, however, he received a letter in the mail. It came from a name and address he was desperately hoping he'd never have to see so soon. He's far from overdue, but they're getting impatient. He met them all during the night, after he had read his stories and said good night to Cindy.

As she slept tight, his heart beat faster than it ever has. His eyes were on open watch, his body on guard, perked up, on defense. He didn't know how that was going to go, and the most he could ever do was to pray.

A smirk greeted him in the closed corners of the building, a voice less than welcoming sounded the open halls. In this old decrepit building he stood, with nothing more than his clothes as cover. Until your birthday, he said. Pay money or pay life., he threatened. He begged on his knees, tears falling like rain, but he was given no other option.

He went home and started recording tapes for Cindy's coming birthdays. He knew he could do it, but he knew better than to trust these peoples' instabilities. He started writing a manual for her, every detail he could muster, teaching her how to cook her favorites and his, and every other meal he's ever eaten with her. And finally, he wrote the last page of the story he'd been working on for her.

The dawn of the day arrived, and he celebrated as he ways would. Smiles and laughter, a long day of playing with Cindy. He always shared this day with her, and took it like his birthday was hers. He gave her an album full of pictures of them with their parents, and just themselves. She couldn't have loved it more.

She gave him a tight embrace, telling him how much she loves him, and how much he means to her. He couldn't muster the courage to tell her what was coming next for him. So, on the eve of the day, before midnight struck, he wrote a letter. In that letter, he explained why he couldn't be with her anymore. He'd so desperately wanted to believe that he'd make it, but their presence outside their house says otherwise.

He put all his payment in a briefcase, his life ticking like a clock in his mind. He took a long ride with them to the building he first came to, and he gave all that was asked. They weren't contented. Not even close. They drew their guns at him, saying he lacks the money they added to the debt. He knew nothing of this.

Cindy was woken by knocks on the door the next day, still as happy from the day before. She smiled as she approached, but found it strange that Mark wasn't already awake and cooking breakfast.

It was the police, and they were shocked to know that she was the only one in the house. They'd gotten a report the night before from a neighbor just one street away from the scene. The suspects fled, but he had a note in his pocket. He wrote his address, and with it came a note telling whoever was reading that there are gifts in the closet, and the bottom wrote: let her keep what I left behind.

He was only able to write four distinct names on the paper before he had to go, which wasn't much, but was enough for them to find the rest in due time.

The police didn't know what to tell this little girl, because it was clear to them that in her mind, her brother was rushed for work. They didn't know how to break it to her, but they told her about her brothers' gifts in the closet.

In each wrapped box was a note saying don't open until, each day on the notes corresponding to their birthdays year after year. On top of the box at the very front were two handwritten books, both made and signed by Mark. Inside one of them was the note he wrote the night before, which fell out as she picked the first book up.

Her wailing made it clear to the police that she'd found what they couldn't say. She threw the note behind her, her voice breaking, her eyes hurting. She spotted a box with a note saying: open today. It was a teddy bear. She hugged it tight. Tight enough to let a voice out. It was Mark's voice, saying all the I love yous and sorrys he wasn't able to say. She didn't want to let it go.

Another box just behind her said open tonight.

The police stayed with her in the house, trying to figure out how to carry Mark's will out of letting her keep all these gifts.

She opened the next box, still embracing the one she'd gotten in the morning. She saw a little pull string on the waist of this male doll, and pulled on it. It read her a story and sang her a song for the night, saying good night in Mark's voice, in his stead. She believed he was living in each of the gifts he left behind.

She would look to the sky and act like she was talking to their parents, asking them how they're doing, how Mark is with them, and turn back to his gifts. She would talk to these toys at night, in the morning, and whenever she was out at the park, letting them repeat the responses recorded in them. And every time they finished, she would say her own I miss yous.