[a short story about letting go, complete at 8k words ]
Wheelchair-bound and dream crushed, Esme Lance gives life one last chance, but at that, all she can do is sit back and watch Devon Zachary die.
I watched the players race through the court, they're shiny trainers skidded across the smooth wooden floors. The gym was swamped with people. It was the game of the year, a game I was supposed to play. My dad should've been out there cheering for me. I should've been thrumming with excitement.
But I was lame. And in a wheelchair. There was no way I could dunk a ball like Dale Cliff or dribble between legs like Emilia Donald while being seated.
My eyes stung with tears and I felt my lips tremble. I felt weak then. I wanted to play. I wanted to jump high with the ball. I wanted to be team captain again.
I retreated back to the doors because I didn't want to watch the game. I wanted to roll my wagon on and on, forever.
Someone's shadow fell across my face. It was thin and as I lifted my head, I saw the eyes of the boy I admired. His ocean gem sparkled in the fluorescent tube lights.
"I saw you leave. I followed if that's alright?" Devon said, his voice having that same butterfly effect on me.
"Oh, I- I got bored and yeah, it's no problem." I swallow heavily and don't let my eyes leave his face.
We stand there in the corridor, under the bright lights. Me sitting and him with his head tilted downwards to look me straight in the eyes.
"How are you, Esmé" His French accent of my name caught me off, guard. My heart bounced in its cage and my hand sweat.
"I'm okay. How are you, Devon?"
"None of us are really okay. You're far from okay."
I didn't know how he could read me like an open book.
"I feel okay talking to you and right now I'm completely okay," I whispered and Devon Zachary smiled sadly.
━━
I wait for Friday but it never comes, the days drag on like it hates my wishes. I want to see Devon. I so badly want to hug him and tell him that he's going to be fine. I don't know if Ruston was simply catapulting my response when he said Devon cared for me too.
Maybe Devon thinks we're good friends, like him and Ruston. Maybe that's what the care meant and I'm probably not thinking straight myself.
I like him. I'll still like him if he doesn't like me. I'll make my love for him a secret to my heart. I won't let a soul know I had the biggest crush on Devon Zacahry, like ever. I would flood my diaries with his name and my 16-year-old self would be proud to proclaim her admiration for the boy.
I climb into bed and kiss my dad's photograph goodnight.
When I close my eyes, I let the nightmares swallow me whole because I deserve them.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
