A Writer's Aesthetic || Short Stories

¶ Beautiful Hands

What happens to a person of the arts that loses the ability to create?

To no longer create lightly crafted words, to no longer yield a brush or pencil to bring masterpieces to life, to no longer play a note so beautiful you are sure it could stop a war in progress?

There was a girl, almost through the age of eighteen, who arrived back home to Bonita not a minute past eight. Her dark hair was pulled away from her face in a braid that cascaded down her back. Hands, beautiful hands, had reached for the doorknob to her old family home without an even whisper of a smile. How could she smile anymore? The equivalent to going home a failure was the equivalent to selling her soul in those dark eyes of hers.

It didn't matter.

Carter Sumner lost all hope at exactly 6:32 p.m, August 6th. She lost all will to live at exactly 6:32 p.m, August 6th. She lost all the promises of a happy ending at exactly 6:32 p.m, August 6th.

Carter Sumner lost the man she loved -correction: loves- at exactly 6:32 p.m, August 6th.

When she heard of the Selection so long ago, she had left her home with an air of hope, a smile as bright as the sun, and an old suitcase full of sheet music. She was nothing but a deer in the headlights, but as she had been told in a quiet whisper, she had been quite a beautiful doe.

One hand grasped at the doorknob while the other had a tight grip on her old suitcase. In it you could find all the same items as before as well as a few things that weren't hers. No, they were still his. Even if he no longer breathed. It took ever ounce of strength in her to open the door, carefully taking off her shoes at the mat to lay them aside on the wooden floors. "Papa?" she called out in a hoarse voice then. Any other words Carter could have spoken were stuck in her throat; not a chance of the words being released any time soon.

"Carter?" Her father had called back in his always gruff and stern voice. Closing her eyes she could feel the fall of what had been left of her happiness. There wasn't a moment to waste. Her old life awaited.

-

She laid awake at night, old headphones secured over her ears as she stared up at the ceiling. She had avoided listening to the tapes the entire ride back home. Even now, when sleep was supposed to grace her, she couldn't bring herself to fall into her false hopes and dreams. Or even fall into him. Fingers had oh so carefully placed the tape inside the old Walkman cassette player that was quite literally over a century old. She treated it with delicacy, her fingers brushing over the play button for a good moment before Carter had finally hit play.

She heard shuffling first, almost as if he had not been prepared to speak. Finally, finally, his voice had graced her ears. She had almost forgotten what he had sounded like.

"Uh, not sure if I should start numbering these but maybe I should? If so this is number 15 but the first one regarding the selection that's started."

The faintest of smiles pulled at her lips just from the mere sound of his voice. She missed it. She missed him.

"There were a /lot/ of girls there today and frankly it was very overwhelming. A lot of them were really nice when talking to me, but I mean I'm sure some of them were just being nice so I'd choose them. Right?

"Except this one girl, gosh the poor thing was like a little doe caught in headlights... a very pretty doe but scared regardless. Her name's Carter and she's the one that's really sticking out because she really wasn't trying to flirt with me but rather be my friend first. That's... it's pretty amazing if you ask me.

"We left that horrid room and went into the kitchens to just be by ourselves. I swear it was like I've known her forever from how /easy/ it was to just talk to her and joke with her and... yeah. I could go on and on about how pretty and overall lovely she is for years if I could, but this thing's dying so I have to go for now."