Okay, I’m actually really sorry for not posting in forever. I think I might be finally able to post more often. Maybe.
Today, I’m going to share a bit of my writing. I’m writing at least five different stories. No, that’s a lie. Four different stories. One of them is the sequel to one of the others…
This is the beginning of Pine Springs, Pop. 408, the story I’m the most serious about. I’m honestly don’t know I want to do this, because I know it’s pretty bad. I wrote it during NaNoWriMo, and I’ve only done minimal editing. But…here goes…
Pine Springs, Pop. 408.
Thus read the sign as my dad and I sped past it. Pine Springs. The tiny town which was to be by new home. Up until shortly before my fourteenth birthday, I had lived in Duluth with my dad, Simon Tyler, my mom, Christine Tyler, and my then-sixteen-year-old brother, Jonathan. My dad was a mechanic, and my mom was a chiropractor. We’d been a perfectly happy family, living in Twisted Oakes, a picture perfect housing development. I was in a really high level of figure skating, and my brother was a star lacrosse player. Both my parents were good at what they did, and we were pretty well off. I had an almost perfect life. It would have been perfect, except for one thing: my mom had a cigarette addiction. She was trying really hard to break her habit, but, just like any addiction, it was very difficult. But she was trying, right? She knew smoking was bad for her, so she was trying to stop. She was a Christian. She was the best person I had ever met. Everything should have been fine, right? That’s what I thought. That my perfect life would go on forever.
But it didn’t.
Because right before my thirteenth birthday, we found out my mom had lung cancer.
And she had it bad.
We were shocked. Devastated. And totally unprepared.
But life went on. My mom started chemo as soon as possible, and for a while, it seemed to be helping. But after the first couple months, things started going downhill. After calling in sick several days to work, my mom’s wonderfully understanding boss fired her. We were now living at half our income, with extra expenses. My dad took on a janitor job at our school to help cover some of the expenses, but the bills piled up. I had to quit ice skating, and Jack had to quit lacrosse. It was hard, but we got by -for a time. But things kept getting worse. Mom and Dad weren’t sure how they were going to keep paying for the house.
They didn’t have to worry about that.
August 6th, 2014, our house burned to the ground after my mom passed out and dropped a towel over the stove.
I was at my friends house for the night. My dad called my friends house at 9:30 at night. I could barely understand him, he was crying and coughing so hard. But all I needed to hear was the word fire. I knew I needed to get home.
I didn’t hear the whole story until a few days later, when I was with my dad visiting my mom in the hospital. My mom had been feeling bad all day, but that was pretty normal. She hadn’t mentioned anything unusual. But apparently there was something more wrong than usual. My dad said she had been at the stove cooking dinner, drying her hands on a dish towel. Just as my dad walked in, she put one hand to her forehead, the other, holding the dish towel, extended over the stove. She suddenly dropped the towel on the stove and fell to the ground. My dad carried upstairs to their bedroom and laid her on the bed. He got water from the bathroom and tried to revive her, but nothing was really working. Meanwhile, downstairs, the dish towel had caught fire, and spread to the cookbooks leaning against the wall, and a cardboard box, and from there it apparently devoured everything in reach. My dad stayed upstairs with my mom for a while, and she woke up after a little bit. My dad stayed with her for a while, even though my mom insisted she was fine, she had just had a spell. My dad made her stay in bed, and told her HE would finish dinner.
He had no idea.
Not until curls of smoke made their way up the stairs and into my parents bedroom. My dad rushed downstairs. He was greeted by a crackling fire.
Scratch that. A ravenous inferno prepared to destroy everything in its path. Including my dad.
My dad sprinted back up the stairs and scooped up my mom for the second time. Smoke was already filling the room and my mom had started to cough. Dad got her down the stairs, but the fire was already licking at the bottom of the stairs. The smoke was so thick, my dad could barely see where he was going. My mom was coughing really hard, and my dad was struggling to breath. Every minute the fire grew.
And my parents were trapped.
My dad knew he’d have to get out a second story window. He got back upstairs, struggling now, struggling to breath, struggling to move, struggling to live. Outside, they could hear sirens. By now, my dad was crawling, practically dragging my mother through a hallway and into my bedroom. Laying my mother on the floor, he managed to get the window open. He could barely yell, but he managed a few noises and waved his arms enough to catch the attention of the firemen. They got a ladder over to the window and a fireman climbed up and carried my mother down. My dad was so weak he had to have another fireman help him down the ladder and to safety. My mom was carried away on a stretcher unconscious, and my dad was helped into another ambulance. My mom was put on an oxygen pump right away, and my dad, receiving some minor treatment, was able to call my friends.
My friends were able to rush me to the hospital, where my mom’s parents were waiting. They didn’t know what had happened, because my dad hadn’t had a chance to explain over the phone, so we all just sat in the waiting area, and my grandma and I cried. We waited for almost two hours before a nurse came out and told us that my father would have to spend the night in the hospital because of all the smoke inhalation, but that he would be fine and could probably go home the next day. The nurse continued talking to my grandparents, and I half-listened as thoughts catapulted around my brain.
Dad’s gonna be okay. He’s going to recover. He’ll be home tomorrow. Everything will go back to normal tomorrow. I didn’t even want to think about the state of our house. Dad will be home and he’ll fix everything in the house. Him and Mom will -Mom.
“Where’s my mom?” The nurse didn’t answer at first. “Where is my mom?” I repeated, my voice getting louder.
“She also breathed in a lot of smoke. She was already weak from her treatments. The cancer has really weakened her lungs, and the doctor’s aren’t sure her body can take this,” the nurse answered quietly.
“But she is going to be okay. She has to be. She’s a Christian. God will heal her. He has to. We just have to pray hard enough. He will heal her,” I insisted. The nurse just smiled and asked my grandparents if they had any more questions. They didn’t, so the nurse turned to leave, saying that she’d update us if anything else occurred.
Suddenly feeling exhausted, I curled up on a couch and closed my eyes. I had to sort out everything that had happened in the past five hours. I tried to organize my thoughts and make sense of everything, but sleep quickly overcame me.
When I was awakened later on by someone shaking me gently, it was still dark outside. I blinked a few times and found myself staring up into my grandpa’s face. He was crying. For the very first time ever, I was seeing my grandpa cry.
“What’s wrong? What time is it? Is Mom okay?” I asked, suddenly fearing the worst.
“Mae, your mom -she’s -gone. Her body couldn’t handle the smoke. I’m so sorry, Mae.” His voice gave way to sobs.
Tears started to my eyes, but I couldn’t tell why at first. I couldn’t quite tell what had just happened. My brain, still more or less asleep, couldn’t quite grasp what had just been said.
Then it hit me like a tidal wave.
My mom was dead.
Let me know how awful it is in the comments:P