A Random Collection of Short Stories

Miracle

Aaron lay flat on his back on his bed, looking up at the ceiling. Not a single thought passed through his head, just the constant feeling that he should be doing something more. He held up his right arm to the light above him. He turned his arm over and looked at the black number 09 printed on the underside of his bicep.
Only nine left, he thought to himself, only nine more miracles.
Bored of his own thoughts, Aaron reached over and grabbed his iPad laying on the ground on top of a pile of clothes. He flipped it open to the most mindless app he could think of: tumblr. He proceeded to scroll through his daily feed, skipping over all of the social justice nonsense arguments, of which he had grown quite tired of seeing. He had nothing against them and he certainly didn't support women being oppressed, it just seemed like the same thing being said and nothing being done. He paused once in awhile to watch a video or a vine, laughing at a particularly funny cat video.
Then he paused and saw something. It was a post that a close friend of his had reblogged. What stuck out to him was that, she was the only person who reblogged it. It had been originally posted by someone he didn't recognize. The post itself was about something pretty serious. Curious, Barry tapped on the other person's icon, which took him to the blog. He saw the name in the description.
"Wait, could that be..." he whispered to himself. He looked at the post again then looked at the number on his arm again. He let out a sigh.
I know what I'm using my 9th miracle on now.

The next day, Aaron muddled through school as he always did, saying hello to his acquaintances, hanging out with his friends, talking about the pointless things he always talked about (whether or not a cyborg spartan army could take on Godzilla) but not seeing her all day. The end of the day came and he ran to the theatre, where he finally caught up with her.
"Luna, hey, Luna!"
She turned around, her long, light brown hair flowing behind her. The light caught off of her blue, rectangular glasses over her light hazel eyes.
Her voice was light and quiet. "Oh, hey Aaron. How are you?"
"I'm doing pretty well," he half said, half panted. He had, in fact, run straight there and he was not overly good at running. He took a deep breath and stood up straight. "How are you?"
She looked down and bit her lower lip. She looked up and smiled. "Yeah, I'm doing just fine."
Aaron reached out and took her hand and looked her in the eyes. "Please tell me the truth," he said calmly. "I want to help you, but I can't if you don't tell me the truth. Are you okay?"
Tears began to well in her eyes and one ran down her left cheek. "No," she said, her voice beginning to tremble. "No, I'm not okay, I haven't been okay for a long time. I'm sorry."
Aaron pulled her close to himself in a deep embrace. "I know," he whispered to her. "It's gonna be okay, everything is going to be alright." He took his right hand and placed it on the left side of her face. A brilliant white light shone from his arm. The light faded and Aaron let out a grunt of pain. He looked back at Luna.
"So, how do you feel now?" He asked her.
"Great," she said in an amazed voice. "I feel great," she said beaming.
"That's great," he said in weak voice. He started to cough violently. "Excuse me a moment," he said between the coughs. Aaron ran off to the bathroom, his hand over his mouth, blood seeping out between his fingers.
As soon as he reached the bathroom, he bent over a sink and took his hand off from over his mouth and started to cough blood into it. After about a minute, the coughing finally subsided. Barry looked at himself in the mirror. Blood was coming out of the corners of his mouth, sweat was pouring off of his brow, the taste of blood was heavy in his mouth.
He turned on the cold water, cupped it in his hands, and splashed it on his face. He drank a little of it, swishing it around in his mouth, and spitting it out, repeating this process twice. He reached over and took several paper towels, wiping off his hands and face. He looked back in the mirror.
Only eight miracles left.