Maggie is a 34 year old woman with an unassuming appearance. She’s average in most ways- average height, healthy weight, decent face. She was never the prettiest girl in school, but wasn’t made fun of either. Boys found her attractive enough, but she didn’t have to fight them off.
She usually doesn’t do much with her chesnut brown hair. It’s either pulled up in a messy bun or hanging around her face in whatever way it air-dried. Her eyes are probably her best feature- naturally light brown, but in certain lighting sometimes a greenish-yellow. There’s nothing average about the way she uses her eyes.
Maggie has always dreamed of being a mother. After struggling for six years with infertility, she finally had her sweet baby boy, Greyson. He is her whole world and her life finally feels complete. Nothing could be better than this.
However, things don’t stay perfect for very long. She begins to have extremely vivid dreams that bleed into reality. Conversations she thought she had in real life turn out to have only happened in her dreams, and crazy events she thought were confined to her dream world begin occurring in real life.
What starts out as simply unsettling, quickly turns into something more disturbing. When she wakes up to find her son missing, panic sets in. Her worst nightmare is becoming reality. Maggie now must sort through every memory and detail of her life to determine what is real and what was only a dream. Will she be able to find her son, or has he been a dream all along too?
I had to get out of there. I just had to. You don’t understand, it was hell living in that house. I had no other choice. Children are supposed to wake up to the smell of breakfast. They’re supposed to see their dad kiss their mom before they head out for the day. Children are supposed to be wild and curious. They’re supposed to make up games and wrestle around with their siblings. That is what’s supposed to happen, but that was not my experience.
I woke up to the sound of glass breaking and my dad shouting. I saw my dad hit my mom with such force that I felt the pain. I was quiet and scared. I stayed out of the way and tried to shield my siblings from the horrors of our home. So, the day I turned 18, I left. I left them all.
Leaving dad felt like taking that first gasping breath after being underwater too long. I never felt more alive. But leaving my mom, brother, and two sisters was like accidentally hitting an animal with your car. It’s that unique guilt that sits in your stomach even though you didn’t mean to do anything wrong.
I’ll always remember the look on my brother’s face when I put the last suitcase in the trunk of my car. I’d expected sadness, but instead it was pure fear. I had always protected him as best as I could. I tried to protect all of them. I’d take their punishment whenever dad would let me. I’d tell them to hide under the bed when I could tell he’d poured the drink that would begin the spiral. I did everything I could to make sure dad didn’t hurt them. But that meant I couldn’t stop him from hurting me.
I’d had enough. I knew there was no changing dad. He had always been like this and always would be. I think some people don’t know how to choose to be good. They’ve been evil for so long, they don’t think there’s another option.
So I left. That was my only option. But it meant leaving them behind to fend for themselves. They were only 12, 8, and 5. I tried to rationalize it by remembering that I was only 6 when I started bringing mom bandages and shielding my brother from the flying beer bottles. I survived and I gave them more time than I had to be a kid. It was time for them to grow up like I had to.
I didn’t visit as often as I said I would. I did a pretty good job of convincing myself that I had valid excuses any time it came up. I felt steadfast in my decision to start my life over. It was hard and it was unfair, but I had to do it. I had no other choice. But the moment I got the phone call from the chief of police telling me that my brother killed my dad, I regretted ever leaving.
He would never get into too many details about it. Believe me, I asked. He only ever responded with, “It was hard and it was unfair, but I had to do it. I had no other choice.”
I lived over twenty years of my life before you. It was a good, full life. I laughed and I cried before you, I accomplished great things and I failed miserably before you, I was loved and I was heartbroken before you. I lived a lot of life before you. But somehow in the moment of meeting you, I couldn’t remember a single thing about that life.
The first time I looked into your dark eyes and held you in my arms, I knew my life would forever be defined by that moment. In the timeline of my life, events would now be categorized as “before you” and “with you”. You crashed into my world and conquered my heart instantaneously. Nothing else mattered except knowing and loving you.
But life on this earth is fleeting, and we never know how much of it we get to live. There may come a day when I have to add the category of “after you” to my timeline. On that day, my heart will break into a million pieces, each one holding a precious memory of you. Events in the “after you” will remind me of events in the “with you”. I will wish to trade everything to go back and have another moment with you, only to be denied by reality.
But today, we are still in the “with you” so I will hold onto it tightly. I will be thankful for every moment. I will cherish the new laughs and new tears with you. I will appreciate the new accomplishments and new failures with you. I will learn from the new loves and the new heartbreaks with you. So much so, that when someone asks what life was like in the twenty or so years before you, I can say, “I have forgotten.”
I can’t bring myself to get rid of them. Those vibrant and beautiful roses you brought home still sit on the counter where you placed them, but their life left them long ago. There’s a bed of dry and broken petals laying around the vase. The smell of the dying plant has become so familiar now, I don’t notice it anymore.
These flowers died with you. Getting rid of them somehow means getting rid of you. You looked at these flowers and saw their beauty. You held them in your hand and cut them free. You breathed in their sweet fragrance and tied them together with string. Throwing them away is like throwing away a piece of your existence.
These dead roses can’t speak, but they tell me all the time how much you loved me. So I will keep them as long as there is something to keep. I will remember a piece of you with every petal that falls. These roses may be dead, but my love for you will always be alive.
This has been the longest car ride of my life. It’s so piercingly silent it’s painful. No fan blowing, no music, no talking- I’d even take screaming at this point. But no, I’ve screwed up so badly this time that I’m now subjected to the sound of silent disappoint.
“Mom, I’m so sorry.” Each word comes out carefully as I expect her to cut me off at any point. “I swear I’m gonna work on paying you back.”
“Oh shut it, Kasey. You and I both know I’m never getting that money back. Just drop it.” She says with exhausted anger. More silence.
I can’t stand this. I have to try and make her understand. I didn’t mean for all of this to happen, “I know you think I’m a disappointment and you probably wish you never had me, but I really am trying to be better. I just needed the money to pay back what I owed a friend-“
“So you decided it was a good idea to steal from me so you could pay back your friend, who you also stole from? Kasey, how the hell does that make any sense?” The exhaustion has subsided. She’s just angry now. “I’m not disappointed. I’m done.”
I look over to make sure I heard her right, “You’re done? What’s that supposed to mean? You’re my mom. Aren’t you supposed to love me unconditionally? Be there for me when I mess up?”
“I have, Kasey! I’ve put up with your attitude ever since you were dumb enough to get one. I’ve bailed you out countless times with no thanks from you or anyone else. I’m done!” Her knuckles turn white as she grips the steering wheel. She’s probably imagining that it’s my neck. “This is the last time I’m helping you out. I’m dropping you off at your grandma’s and I’m gone. Don’t contact me until you’re done being immature and stupid.”
Her words sting straight through my chest. I know she means them. I knew one of these days I would push her so far she’d have no choice but to jump off the edge. I got her to this point. I have no one else to blame but myself.
Mom lets out a deep sigh, “How did we get here, Kasey?” I notice her quickly wiping away a tear. “I know I was hard on you sometimes, but I just wanted more for you.”
“But nothing I did was ever good enough,” My turn to try hiding the tears. “I was just trying to be what you wanted. But I always fell short, and you made sure I knew it. So at some point, I stopped trying.” My heart pounds from the adrenaline of honesty.
More silence. Neither of us having more to say, or maybe just not knowing what to say.
We pull into my grandma’s driveway.
Is this finally happening? The man who made my life hell for as long as I can remember is dying in my arms.
I used to daydream about how he would die. I used to wonder if he would be in pain when it happened. Would it hurt as much as he hurt me? Every insult hurled at me, every slap across my face, every sinister grin flashed at me, all of it fueled my hatred for him. I hoped for nothing more than to be present for the moment his evil soul left this earth. Being responsible for it would be icing on the cake. So why now, as his weakened body lays in my arms gasping for air, am I feeling sad?
I hate this man, but seeing his face get paler by the minute as the blood drains out of him, makes me scared for him. He is responsible for so much pain and torture and heartache. I should not feel sorry for him. But he looks nervous.
“You used to say all the time that I was your favorite.” He slowly looks up at me, wincing as he tries to adjust his position. “Yes, I did.” He barely gets the words out.
“Did you ever mean it?” Silence lingers in the air. He stares at me with a contemplative expression, almost like he’s trying to decide in the moment whether he meant those words or not.
“Once, yes. But only once.” He looks relieved at his confession.
“When?” I choke back tears of anger, “When did you mean it?” I don’t want to give him the power of knowing that I still care about his opinion of me, but this may be the last moment I have with him. I need to know if everything I ever believed was a lie.
“The day you left.” He manages a small grin, “That was the moment when you finally made a decision for yourself. I knew from the beginning you were too strong for me. That’s why I held such a tight grip on you.” I can’t tell if the pain in his face is from his body approaching death or from him finally being honest with me. “But I knew it wouldn’t last. So when you left, I was beaming with pride, because I was right. I knew that’s what you were always meant to do. I saw what you were supposed to be- an obnoxious pain in my ass. You were my favorite when you decided you were ready for it.”
He begins to smile, but it’s cut short as he coughs up blood onto his shirt. Both of us knowing that he’ll be dead any second, we choose to sit in silence. His breathing becomes more strained and less frequent. I watch as his eyes slowly lose their life.
“I forgive you.” The words surprise me as much as they surprise him. He finds my eyes again and in the moment they meet, he breathes his last.
_Where is that file? I know she sent it to me. _I was meant to debrief the rest of my team on the contents of the file 30 minutes ago, but I cannot find where I saved it for the life of me. I hear some commotion coming from the meeting room down the hall probably because they’ve grown restless waiting for me. Wait, what is that sound? Oh god, is that a drone- __ __ I don’t know how long I’ve been out, but I wake up under the debris of my very broken desk. Miraculously, I feel okay, but the ringing in my ears is obnoxious. It must be the reason why I didn’t hear Malik enter the room.
“Ellarie! Oh my god, _____ okay? Hey, we gotta _____ here! Ellarie there ____ more- we have to ___ C’mon, we have to leave now!” Everything is muffled and I can only catch pieces of what Malik is saying, but the panic in his eyes tells me all I need to know. They found us and they’re going to kill us.
He helps me out from under the debris, but when I go to take a step my right foot feels like it went straight through a hole in the floor. With the amount of damage that hit the room, I half expect it to be true. But when I look down, the floor is still there and my ankle has now swelled to an alarming size.
Malik grabs my face so that my eyes meet his. He must’ve been trying to get my attention before, but damn it my ears won’t stop ringing! He motions for me to follow him, and I try my best to hobble after him as fast as I can.
When we get to the door frame, I stop and lean against it to catch my breath and take the pressure off my bum ankle. That’s when I see that the entire east wing is gone. It’s rubble, smoke, and fire. _Oh god, that’s where the meeting room is. Was. _
Before a tear is able to drop, Malik is pulling my arm again. “We have to go! There’s already ____ strikes.” He says something else that I don’t catch, but after he says whatever it is, tears well in his eyes. Maybe it’s best I missed it.
We start running in the opposite direction of the fire. Well, Malik runs. I do a very quick hobble. _We have to let the rest of the team know. _I call out to Malik who’s at least five feet ahead of me, “We have to find a radio so we can alert the others!” I must be screaming because he turns around and motions for me to lower my volume.
At that exact moment he quickly looks up and then grabs me with his whole body and throws us both to the ground, his body as a shield over mine. I still can’t hear a damn thing, but I feel the ground beneath us shake violently over and over as dust from the walls and ceiling start raining down.
Is this really it? Is this how I die? We came so close, it can’t end like this.
Chauncey is misunderstood. Maybe it’s the exposed bone or the stench of decay that make people fearful. After all, it’s not everyday you come across the undead. But you see, Chauncey isn’t the bad guy in this story. He’s simply the messenger.
You will only see Chauncey when it’s your time to die. He tries to be gentle as he understands how unnerving of a process it can be. He tries to hide his face and body to make it less obvious of his true intentions. His skeletal limitations don’t allow him to reassure you with a kind word or a sympathetic frown. Chauncey can only be cold and stiff. He brings a gift to each of his guests but most of them don’t appreciate his thoughtfulness. He’s not evil. He’s simply the messenger.
It’s easy to feel bad for Chauncey when you’re not his next guest. But how do your feelings change when you see him standing in the street, there for you?
With each swipe of the wiper blade, Chauncey seems to get closer and closer. The sound of the raindrops bouncing off the car and the pounding of your heart seem to be beating together. People and cars move right past him, oblivious to his pursuit of you. He arrives at your driver side window. Knock. Knock. Knock.
Without even thinking, you roll down the window. He hands you a small blue butterfly. It looks just like the ones you used to draw on your notebooks as a kid. As his bony hand reaches for yours it’s hard not to plea for more time. You’re not ready. There’s still things you haven’t done and people you aren’t finished loving. Please, not yet. His hand remains open. The hollow of his eyes still fixed on you. Without saying a word, he tells you it’s pointless. It’s time. He didn’t make this decision. He’s simply the messenger.
