Shel Silverstein wrote:If you are a dreamer, come in
If you are a dreamer, a wisher, a liar,
A Hope-er, a Pray-er, or a Magic Bean buyer,
If you're a pretender, come sit by my fire
For we have some flax-golden tales to spin
Come in!
Come in!
What better way to introduce a story than with a quote? Just 'cuz I can, I'll give another:
I will not go quietly onto a shelf, degutted, to become a non-book.
Can't remember who said that one.
Anyway, yes, I have a story. I thought I'd try my hand at something sad:
Everybody gets mad. Nobody is ever happy all the time, and if they are, they're either hiding something or have a really bad memory. But I digress. Everybody has felt anger at some point in their life. However, very few have ever felt as angry as Reilly Berenson.
Reilly Berenson is 24 years old, doesn't drink, doesn't do drugs, and obeys the law to the best of his ability. Admittedly, his ability is a little lacking, but that's not the point. He's been angry. It's not often, but he's been angry. Not this angry, but he has been mad.
He's mad because right now, he feels he's had the worst luck of his life. That's not exaggerating much.
First, his girlfriend broke up with him, after being caught in the bed with another guy doing... yeah. Then, after declaring "it's over", she said she had a legal way to take his money, his car, and his dignity. Well, his money and car. Which she then does, promptly, and with much throwing of fragile things. His fragile things. The guy that she was having an affair with then proceeded to state in no uncertain terms that he would remove his eyes and stuff them down his throat if he didn't leave that instant. Reilly refused. His arm suddenly hurt quite a bit. He then left, but not without stating his dislike for them both.
Reilly grabbed his leather jacket off the coat hanger and slammed the door to his girlfriend's apartment, stormed down the stairs, went outside, and went ahead to walk the few miles down to his apartment through the midnight streets of downtown Manhattan.
That's how he got on the sidewalk, his hands in his dark brown cargo pants pockets, his leather jacket billowing out slightly over his red shirt in his angered haste to nowhere, his combat boots clomping loudly on the deserted streets. He wasn't the kind of person to talk to himself, but he was very expressive with his anger. He glared down the street in a huff with his eyebrows down, head forward, and with a grimace on his face that could put the Grinch to shame.
He was so angry, he forgot to look both ways. It's a rule to follow: Stop, look, and listen. If he had, he'd have seen the runaway semi truck coming right at him before he saw the headlights bearing on him 3 seconds before it was about to hit him head-on. The lights glared off his glasses. He could see his reflection in the truck's grill. It seemed to be moving in slow motion toward him in a huge, low roar as his life flashed before his eyes, straight from his first touchdown in a big football game to the last street he crossed halfway. The horn blaring brought him back to his last slice of reality.
He then felt a quick pressure on his back and was thrust forward safely on the sidewalk, and away from the blaring horn and headlights. He looked back just in time to see someone disappear in the passing truck. Reilly watched in horror as the truck stopped by hitting a light pole, knocking it sideways. The person was dislodged from the truck when it turned, and lay there in a crumpled heap. Reilly ran up to the person to see if he was alright.
It wasn't a he. It was a young woman. Reilly placed her at about 20 years old. It was hard to tell for the imprint on her cheek from the truck's grill. Her dark brown hair was tangled and matted with blood. Her legs were bent at an awkward angle. Her hand was over her stomach, seemingly holding a wound. The other was up by her head, laying there useless. She was pale, made worse by her white dress and shoes. She had a necklace on, but Reilly didn't check to see what it was. He was staring at her face. The imprint didn't break the skin, but it was bad enough to make him worry. He had no idea who exactly this woman was, but he owed her his life. He pictured her whole, intact, before the truck hit her. Beautiful, spinning around in her white dress, hair flowing around. Now he stared at her, and he felt sick. He couldn't bear to look at her anymore, but at the same time, he couldn't bear to look away.
He was startled when her eyes popped open. She saw his look as a mixture of worry, astonishment, and embarrassment. He was even more astonished by her next three words:
"A-are you a-alright?"
She spoke in a half-whisper, raspy and discomfiting to Reilly's ears. He couldn't decide what to say. He just stared in stark disbelief. A young woman, very attractive, rich by the looks of the dress and necklace, and clutching something brown with a bit of blood from an unseen wound. Her beautiful eyes were twitching with pain. Reilly found the ability to nod his head, and she smiled through her pain, furthering his disbelief. Her breaths came in irregular gasps. Reilly was no doctor, but he could tell she wasn't going to last much longer, smile or no.
He slowly walked up to her crumpled body and stared into her dark brown eyes like she might be healed and walk down to where ever she was going like nothing happened. He found himself tearing up. The girl just kept on smiling like he had just said something funny. She took her free hand and grasped the thing around her neck, revealing it to be a golden cross. She took it off of her neck with a wince, and tried to lift her other arm, clutching her side like a purebred poodle, but it seemed broken. Reilly was no longer staring with worry, now it was downright disbelief. She started giggling haltingly at her broken arm like a punch line. She tried to speak again, but she just held out the necklace for Reilly to take. He looked at it like it was a dead rattle-snake. The girl jerked again, and he took it, holding it loosely in one hand, holding it up in a light to see it better. It was definitely pure gold, with a diamond in the middle. There were gold and silver beads around the string. He looked down again to see her trying very hard to lift the thing she was clutching so dearly. It was a large, genuine leather book with golden-sided pages labeled "Holy Bible". Reilly took it before it dropped onto the pavement, and looked it over. He set it down and looked at the young woman's smile again before his tears started flowing.
I don't even have a name for it yet.
Don't worry, I'm gonna do some editing and revising to make it better, you'll just have to give me some time.
Oh, and I'm sorry I haven't had any captions lately, I've been writing this, and school and stuff. Thanks for reading!
