Hey. Lookit this!

Waldon here, and I had forgotten to post the story I wrote a few months ago on here, so I figure I'll do that now. I was browsing the forums on Deviantart (Or was it Gaia? xD) and somebody was ripping up the forums about how nobody writes "Inspirational-from-life" stories anymore. Of course, I solemnly took this as what it was.

A challenge! >:D

So, I looked back over my remarkably short existence and made a list of things that could possibly be considered "Epic or sad" in a certain casting of literary light. I found a few I thought I could just, you know, 'embellish' a little. So, here it is! Hopefully you fans of those deep stories like this! I know I read it and get a giggle. :P

PS. Don't look at this as real. Please. In fact, us in the literary circles might even say many portions of this are *ehem* *ehem*, "fake".

Too many people think I'm depressed or something already! This is mostly just pointless embellishment to see if I could do it. Okay? Okay. Good to see that you all understand. :P

PPS. THIS IS

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From Memories

Waldon Best

 

“Everybody is offered a choice. A choice to step away from everything and just disappear. To start over fresh and become a new person- this is a chance to give everything up that they’ve ever done.

This is the story of my choice;”

It all felt normal, as I woke up. That is to say, I felt like crap. I rolled out of bed, stepped over my sleeping dog and walked upstairs.

I stepped around my mother, who hardly noticed I was there, and walked into the bathroom. I got into the shower; letting the hot water soak it’s way into my sleep-tired muscles. I nodded off under the torrent, my forehead slowly dipping until it touched the wall with a startling stir. I woke with a start and rushed to get out. I found my support and walked downstairs again. I hurried into the warmth of my room, looked around for what I needed. I saw the purple disk.

Who else has to take medication from a disk? It was odd, that medication. It had to be inhaled. I made an odd face as I drew it in. It wasn’t like the other stuff that I had to inject or swallow. I didn’t like the new stuff. It left a bad taste in my mouth.

I noticed the time and started my truck. Thank god for electric start. As I fumbled around trying to reattach my medication to its plastic port in my body, that still sounds grotesque, I noted with irritation. It just happened to be that I was the lucky one in a thousand or two that had to deal with this diabetes crap.

Before long, I had finished with my daily tribulations and was on my way to pick up the Girl. Bless that girl for everything. I can’t help but smile when I’m around her. It’s almost creepy... Hell, it IS creepy. Damn. I don’t want to be a creeper.

I got in my truck, and glanced around at the world. My town is small and quiet, and is usually pretty peaceful. We’re hundreds of miles away from everywhere that’s anywhere. We’re the stereotypical hick town up north.

My thoughts turned to what I would be doing within the next while. I’m odd like that, you see. I don’t wonder what I’m doing that moment or time frame, I wonder what I’ll be doing in a few months, or in a few years, never what I’m doing now. After thinking my way through the school’s drama festival and the dance recital I had to dance in, I ended up thinking about the Prom. I wasn’t looking forward to the Prom.

I’m a third level high school kid with all of the stereotypes that implies. I was constantly angry, resentful and hungry. Also, I had zits. Which is possibly the worst thing that can happen to a guy hoping to impress a girl.

It took me months, years even before I had the courage to ask the girl to walk in with me to the prom.

Well, in all truthfulness, I never actually got the chance, but the intention was there.

She told the whole table at lunchtime that she was walking in with a guy. Okay, I can accept that. That’s cool. He was braver than I was. He asked her first.

Time passed, things changed. I grew up a little, I hope. The girl and I started seeing each other in the meantime. I was happy, it was great to have somebody to actually talk to, you know? But then the topic of prom dates was brought up. I didn’t want to think about it. I mean, I knew the guy was still walking in and going with her, that was a given. She would never break a promise. That was one reason I liked her.

I’m a jealous person. I’ll admit it. This was infuriating. I had had this perfect ideal in my head of prom that I could be proud of for the rest of my life. To most people it wouldn’t be a big deal. But for some reason it bothered me immensely. It was a thorn in my side that wouldn’t go away. It was the idea of it, I suppose. I was the guy she settled for, the one that was a backup. I hope she doesn’t hate me for it.

It’s irrational. I know that. But, still… It hurt.

I pulled into her driveway. Stepped out of the truck and got it running again. It’s too cold out to let it stop. I felt my legs go weak beneath me as the soles of my feet touched the icy dirt. Damn these knees. I’m eighteen! How many other eighteen year olds have to worry about bum knees?

These knees are always ruining stuff for me at the worst possible opportunity. I think they have a life of their own.

They made me into the one limping helper at the school events, the guy who couldn’t even do his job during the summer because they couldn’t even hold him up.

Oh well. It’ll pass. It always passes.

I knocked on her door and stepped in. I wait for her as she gets herself ready for school. I laugh as I notice the time. We’ll be late today, it seems. But that was okay. I liked being around the Girl.

We rush to school, get ourselves in order and commence with our day.

The day crawls by, one long grey blur of mathematics and smelly people crammed into cramped hallways.

But around noon I feel something odd, almost like my knees aren’t there anymore. I can taste a strange taste on my tongue. The center of my chest feels kind of  … hollow.

I know what it is now. With weary acceptance, I ask my teacher if I can go to my locker and get my glucometer and medication. He nods.

I sigh and stand.

When I was four years old, I woke up on a bright autumn day with a few odd things on the go. So odd, in fact, that my parents decided to take me to the hospital.

Immediately.

I guess being blue would be the incentive to provide that sort of reaction.

I was monitored, prodded, tested, moved and jostled. Within a week we had the diagnosis. I was a type 1 juvenile diabetic.

I had to look forward to a lifetime of testing and degradation.

Diabetes took over my life. I didn’t have any other memories before being this way. It was the only life I knew. Cold sterile hospital walls, invasive needles, an intimate understanding of where, exactly, it hurt to put a steel point.

Diabetes did more to me than I thought it did, in the end.

It almost eradicated my immune system. It damaged my cardiovascular system. I was hardly able to breathe; I could feel my heart beating through my ribcage just from walking down a hallway.

By the age of twelve I had been hospitalized.

With an assortment of drugs and material that I didn’t really understand, I was brought back to health. I was laid out for three weeks.

I think it probably wouldn’t have been so bad if I had a visitor once or twice.

It was during this time that the diabetes changed me the most, in retrospect. I mean, I could deal with the liquid filled lungs, the compressed heart, the chronic bronchitis… it was the self-doubt that really did the damage.

How could I ever have a kid with myself like this? What would I do if they showed up like me?I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if they were born with all of my problems.

Marriage too. Marriage is out of the question. Marriage is a holy, wonderful bond between two equals. Between two people that want to spend the rest of their lives together.

I’m not even capable of living past the age of fifty. I’m not going to marry somebody, and then just as they’re getting old and ready to settle into life, leaving them. That would be the cruelest of things to do to somebody.

If I couldn’t walk down the street without having to make sure I didn’t die, what chances did I have in the real world?

School was over by now. The afternoon had passed. I held my report card in one hand. My face immobile as the stone school walls I had left with all haste. It was a drive home that wasn’t lonely. I was driving Her home today. So I had Her with me. She talks to me. I like that.

I dropped her off and started on my way home.

I slowly stepped out of my truck. The brisk winter wind tugging at my hair. Nudging the oh-so-important paper in my hands.

I raised my feet just enough to make each step. Every one felt as heavy as lead. I walked into my house where my mother waited for that oh-so-fucking-important-paper.

I handed it over without a sound.

She looked at it. Slowly. I stood and waited.

She raised her head. I didn’t breath.

As I looked forward and saw into her eyes, I knew she wasn’t going to and didn’t have to say anything. I trudged downstairs and closed my door with the unspoken accusations ringing loudly in my empty ears.

When I was young I was an outcast compared to the other kids. I was always giving myself needles and eating funny little candies. I was short and tubby, the perfect target for children who want to be like everybody else to pick on.

One of those was the other Boy.

He was thin and pale, and had black hair. He thought it was hilarious to keep picking on me.

Throughout my first, second and third years in school, he was my bully.

But sooner or later, something had to change. And it was I.

I grew a little. That was all it took when the average kid was never more than an inch or so different than anybody else. The guys who bullied me stopped. They were scared of me now.

As I sat with my head in my hands, I felt something cold and wet pressing against my forearm.

It was my dog, that beautiful, wonderful friend that never failed to be there for me with an unquestioning love. I was lucky, so, so lucky. I had several friends, but only a few of those were as close to me as he was. I thought of one in particular that was like a blood brother to me.

Who was always there, who singlehandedly stopped all but one of my bullies.

Every single one stopped - except for the Boy.

He would never stop picking on me.

… Because we became best friends.

In a weird twist of fate, when my family moved, I moved in next door to the Boy. We spent nearly half a decade nearly inseparable from one another. But, like before, things changed. The boy moved to another part of town, and we grew apart. But we always were brothers. Always will be.

We spent too much time together as stupid kids, beating each other up in our worlds of make believe underneath our parents porches. I can remember watching television with him. It was a documentary about tribes in Africa. We listened in rapt preadolescent attention as two men cut their wrists, put them together and suddenly were family.

Guess what we did?

He is now my brother. And as that powerful looking man on television said;

“He is my brother. I would fight for him. I would die for him. He is one of my own, and I will treat him as family.”

Clearly, I can remember being allowed to start walking around town with him, trying to find a new place to play in.

Eventually we did. And we called it “Cloudy Hollow”.

It was our place. Nobody else would ever be able to claim it from us.

I wish I could still live like that, without a care in the world to weigh me down.

We grew up, that’s the only thing that could have happened. After he moved to the other side of town, things started changing. He stopped caring about working. He stopped caring about anything but having fun now.

His marks dropped and despite my efforts, he continued to stay complacent with his work.

He didn’t care about getting a good grade. He was focused on having a good time, all the time. I’m not the kind of guy that dislikes that. To the contrary, I love relaxing and having some good fun with friends.

He didn’t care about school, or work, or anything that didn’t interest him. If it wasn’t an interest, it didn’t matter.

I had to stand there and watch as I saw his future going down the drain.

I’m taking my dog for a walk. It’s one of the few things I do that really lets me relax. It lets me just stretch myself out and see things, you know? I could forget about all the jealousy and resentment. About how lonely I was without the Boy or the Girl around, about how my health had gone to Hell and how Mom thought I was useless.

It was a beautiful night.  So I decided to walk the long way home and go through the path in the thicket of trees a short while away from my house. That thicket led straight out across the land. You could walk all the way to the ocean from there.

My dog. My faithful companion followed me and hounded me. I never walked him on a leash. You don’t chain your brother. Especially not if your brother loved you even if you were a defect like me.

We came up to a river or a pond. I couldn’t tell which. Did it really matter? I suppose not. Looking out over the frozen water, I felt an odd pressure building up behind my eyes. Like there was some great hand pushing me forward and holding me back simultaneously. I had a choice to make and I knew it.

Out there, in that water, was a chance to start over again.

I could just tell my Dog to walk home. He would do it. He was a smart boy.

I could just walk right out over the ice and wait. I could break it, I think. I’m a big guy now. I can push myself to be stronger for just a few minutes to open just one hole. That’s all I need to make a fresh start.

I started to open my mouth. I started to point towards town and tell my Dog to go home, when I saw it.

There was a small patch of water open near the edge of the pond, and I could see myself in the reflection.

As I looked at the mirrored picture of myself, I could see into my eyes. I hardly knew them. I was suddenly aware of myself. Of all the scars and contusions. Of all the damage and signs left from a life lived.

Maybe, if I just started over, I could actually accomplish something this time. Maybe I could actually make Mom proud, or be the guy my Girl actually wanted, hell, even stop Boy from ruining his life. I could clean myself out of all this damned disease and internal filth. I could make myself into a person with real hopes and dreams.

Of course, if I let the water take me, my life obviously wouldn’t end up like it is now. This life would be left far behind. I’d find another Girl. Another Boy. Maybe even another Dog.

I could hear the wind rustling in the bare trees, the branches rubbing dryly against one another, the pine needles brushing themselves against each other. I prepared myself to walk forward to that small, glistening patch of salvation in the ice and snow. A portal to blessed oblivion… and then life.

Dog pressed up against my leg.

I could feel his warmth through my jeans, very foreign feeling.

It was just so out of place. Where did all that heat come from? When did I get so cold? When did everything I start seeing things as dark and shadowed with resentment and jealousy?

I had a Girl who, if she didn’t love me, at least tolerated me. I had the Boy, who stuck with me through thick and thin, who was there for the toughest and best times of my life. I had a Dog that would walk with me through the coldest night because I was his brother, his pack mate.

With utter disregard to everything else, I had let myself be guided by my self-pity, to this pond. I had been given a bitter pill, and I had swallowed it without a moment’s hesitation.

I had decided on what I would do.

I was sick of being diseased and defective. I was hot to death and I knew it wasn’t long before I was burned out. I didn’t have long left to go. I was tired of feeling like I was a reject who had been placing last his whole life. The girl shouldn’t have to deal with my whining. The Boy needed a teacher, but I wasn’t it. I couldn’t save the Boy from wrecking his life. What right did I have to keep mine going? I tried my best, but I’m sure that I’ve ruined so much around me with my negativity.

I reached forward, slowly stretching my fingertips towards the opened ice.

I stopped as I felt the icy cool of the liquid release frosting my fingertips.

I remembered the warmth of her touch on my arms, her voice in my ears.

I recalled the warm days, the cool nights spent running around having worldly adventures and epic quests to save the world; with the Boy as my fellow adventurer, with the Girl as we walked a starlit promenade.

I saw Dog, sitting patiently. Waiting for me to come back to him. He didn’t doubt for one minute that I would be back. His certainty in me was absolute.

I felt something odd on my face. It felt weird. I was smiling.

Maybe my life wasn’t perfect. I’ll never be able to have kids or start a family. Nor live long enough to see my friends grow to old age.

But it was my life.

No matter what I did and no matter what was happening to me. I would never turn my back on it.

I have a chance, right here in front of me to start fresh, healthy, loved.

But that would mean giving up what I’ve already got.

I turned back to my Dog. I smiled and held out my hand. He placed his head in it, eager for a petting. He wasn’t going to leave me.

I wonder what Boy and Girl are doing right now? Would they let me come back to them?

I think tomorrow will be a good day, a good day to start fresh.

I was leaving old tracks behind and seeing a world once painted black, now colored in a vibrant new light.

I walked home under a new set of stars.