/ current events / walk down memory lane / about me / leave me a note
2002-02-04/5:39 p.m.
take that - writers block. the start of a masterpiece.
well, i did it, i really did it. i solved my writers block! last night after i was rudely sent to bed by my stepdad, i picked up a pen and a notebook and started to write. at first it was just going to to be a journal entry that i would enter here later, but after a sentence or two i actually had an idea for my story. well...not fear that some of you may be familiar with, but a new story. and not just one idea - a flood of ideas. at 12:30 am i finally put the notebook away and went to sleep. i probably could have continued writing for hours, but i was exhausted. today i also wrote. whenever i had spare time, i wrote and wrote and wrote. i have (counts pages) about 13 pages done. mind you, the pages are small, but still - woo! the story is about a man who loses his wife and baby daughter. he is in a church, remembering all of the terrible things that happened after the christmas eve ceremony when his daughter was christened. that part got deleted off of my school directory and heads are going to roll. ill hafta think up the beginning again. grr. well, heres the bits and pieces of what i wrote. im warning you tho - its written more like a screenplay - it jumps around a lot. o well. and for future reference, these are my original works. stealing them would not be a wise idea. The roads were ice rinks. Much to the city's dismay, it had rained for three days straight, leading up to the holidays. 'Rain' was an understatement. It had poured. Rivers of water drowned houses, making windows useless. The temperature dropped like crystal keepsakes off the mantle. By morning, thick snow began to fall, which was just as persistent as the rain before it. It blanketed the entire city, covering the dirt and grime. Covering the ice. When his wife, Annie, had been stuck in bed with the flu, or taking Aspirin for a headache, or hunched over the bathroom sink with morning sickness, she had commented that Jason had never been sick a day in his life. She had been right. He was as healthy as horse, probably more so. He exercised regularly and took a handful of vitamins each morning. He ate balanced meals and rarely drank coffee. His own doctor chuckled at the absurdity of giving Jason vaccinations. He never aged a day. Until now. He easily looked ten years older than he was. His hair had dulled considerably, and he had a few gray hairs. His face was hard, and his eyes were harder. He could go shopping with the bags under his eyes. But he wasn't surprised. He thought he was doing rather well, considering. "John, quiet," his mother pleaded. Jason closed his eyes. Somebody had started ringing in the New Year about a week too early. She had plowed directly into the passenger side of Jason's Ford Taurus. Annie and tiny Jenny never stood a chance. Jason suffered only a concussion, and a few cracked ribs. He was a collage of cuts and bruises. Nobody dared to mention that it was a miracle he was alive. Gods performed miracles. Gods watched people drink, drive, and kill. Religion was crap. It would have been. "Fuck the cat." Annie had laughed with delight when Jason presented her with a slate-gray kitten on their anniversary. Her eyes sparkled like her diamond wedding ring. Annie spent countless hours watching the animal chase sunbeams and battle balls of yarn. She loved it like a child. Jason looked at his mother. A small, round woman, always had a kind word to say and a helping hand to offer. Glasses perched on her tiny nose. Sue's eyes showed pain. Jason's eyes showed both. Families weren't just torn apart. Mothers weren't just murdered. Babies weren't just slaughtered. Lives weren't just destroyed. But they were, he realized. They really were. Each and every day. "Every fucking day," he whispered. "I brought you some books to read, Jay," his mother offered. Jason sighed. "Mom, I can't read. I can't even see straight." His vision was still shaky because of the concussion. Sue pulled out Dealing with Grief from her purse. "Here." She placed it on the bed. "Jesus Christ, Sue!" John bellowed. "What are you trying to do, smother the boy?" "Of course not! I'm just trying to help! He can't very well-" Jason was suffocating, whether his mother meant to do so, or not. He wanted to get out of there. He wanted to run - to run far away. He did the next best thing. He jumped out of bed. Fell was more like it. His sense of balance was still very poor since the accident. His broken ribs didn't help matters much. He hit the floor hard. He hit his head hard. Again.
/ cross communication barriers / dreamland / where it all began
content © 2001 - 2006 caralynne. 
When he looked into a mirror, Jason Matthews should have been shocked at what he saw.
"It isn't your fucking fault," his father swore in Jason's hospital room, week after the accident. "The goddamn drunk broad-sided you!"
The beautifully wrapped gifts decorated the living room. Boxes of every shape and size surrounded the picture-perfect Spruce that Jason and Annie had harvested themselves. It would have been their first Christmas as a family.
"Jason," his mother said, looking at him, "I fed the cat."
Jason looked at his father. A large man, in all forms of the word, always yelled. When he wanted to get someone's attention, the building shook. He towered in the recovery room doorway, not wanting to enter, but knowing that he should. His hair was dark brown, like his son's. John's eyes showed anger.
He didn't understand.
He couldn't eat. Jason could barely even breathe. When he first came to in County General, he had to be put on a ventilator. He only recently came off of it.