Devin (canariesrise) wrote,

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Wow, Fiction! I've Never Heard of Such A Thing

Well, this is a story that I wrote as part of my final for tenth grade english class. A weird prompt for a weird teacher, so I guess it fits. Anyway, I was really happy with how it turned out. I think I'll explain the prompt, just so you can understand why it is the way it is. I'll try to remember the requirements, but there were lots:
1. It had to be less than four pages
2. It had to have allusions.... bwahahaha, I laugh in the face of this requirement, mostly because I'm the queen of the allusions, and this story is full of them.
3. The names had to have meanings befitting the story. But I don't think I'll tell you what those meaning are just yet.
4. You had to use some vocab words from the class. I chose Imminence, evanesced, rivulets, azure, incredulously.
(Yeah, I wouldn't remember half of this stuff if it weren't for the explanatory notes at the end. 
So, anyway, I hope you enjoy. This is definitely fiction, I repeat: this did not happen. But there is a good chunk of reality buried in there somewhere...

The Apple of My Eye

            On this particular day, like most other days in August, heat layered the Earth in heavy sheets, smothering her inhabitants. This same oppressive heat dressed females of young adulthood in the most virginal way: flowery blouses and white linen skirts. This heat, however, also contributed to the sinful laziness that kept minds daydreaming and laundry undone. And for this reason, as Laramie Dickinson wandered through the orchard the afternoon, she wore not a white skirt, but one of a red even deeper than that of the apples that would be harvested here later in the year. While the sun’s angry attack caused bodily discomfort, further scrutiny proved the setting itself was a sensory delight. A warm and gentle breeze tickled the millions of species growing here and the distant sound of water trickling through the rivulets that bordered the orchard made it the most lovely place for a stroll. Although Laramie wasn’t just strolling through the orchard, her explorations had a purpose, and after almost an hour of searching, she found that purpose sitting under a lone oak tree at the far west end of the orchard.

            From under the oak tree blazed the green eyes of David Adamson, his charm infallible even in the heat. Here was the boy that Laramie had loved for three years; had lived for on many days. She had loved him long after the day he told her he was not interested. Their preexisting friendship had served as an excuse to continue spending time around him, and each minute of this time she fell more in love. From the shade, David saw his dear friend approaching, like a bullet, determined to draw blood once again.

            His own great compassion had caused him guilt in having to reject her and given him a tolerance for her frequent presence. A year after this rejection, his guilt, his compassion, and a sensible desire allowed him to succumb to her advances. Their relations continued, two teenagers drawn together in a confusion of unrequited love and uncontrollable desire. Still he never loved her.

            She sat next to him and, taking one of his earbuds, placed it in her own ear. A new song had just begun, the untainted beauty that is “Wake Me Up When September Ends.” She looked deeply, longingly into his eyes, wanting to sink into those green fields, which to her seemed so much deeper than the azure above their heads. David turned off his iPod before the lyrics began. Both knew that this would be the last time they saw each other before their roads diverged and drove them forward into adulthood. And they knew that in order to really live, this would be the last time they would see each other ever. They understood and so she looked into his eyes, her most treasured gems, and said:

            “‘You can’t have livin’ without dying.’”

            He managed to whisper a hoarse “Hey” as he absorbed this. He knew that what she meant was that she would die for him, in whatever sense he needed her to.

            “I love you.” The imminence of their parting brought from her mouth something she had promised herself never to tell him. Something she had never needed to.

            “I know. But I want you to . . . to love someone else. Don’t forfeit before the game’s even started.”

            She nodded, unsure of what to say next.

            He continued: “You’re an amazing person, Laramie. Any guy is stupid to reject you.”

            She watched him incredulously. “Then again,” he confided, “I’m pretty sure all boys are born stupid. It usually takes us a couple decades to overcome that obstacle.”

            Laramie giggled and laid her head on his shoulder. Eventually he allowed his own head to rest on hers.

            After several minutes of silence, Laramie began to sing softly, her lips only inches from his ear:

Quando sei lontana
sogno all
e mancan le parole
e io si lo so
che sei con me con me

The words washed over David in gentle waves, forcing his mind back to sweet memories, and forcing his eyes closed.                                                                                                            
Tu mia luna tu sei qui con me                                                                                                                                                           
                                             mio sole tu sei qui con me
                                             con me con me con me . . .


Sleep was eventually violated by the distant sound of gunshots. Both minds were too occupied to consider what else might be dying outside the garden. Knowing there was nothing else to be said, Laramie gave him one final kiss. It was a simple kiss but its duration seemed to imply she was trying to convey all of her love for him with that one simple action. Then she walked away, the sun setting behind her, her shadow tall and jagged in front of her. As darkness engulfed the orchard, the shadow evanesced, the light that supported it having retired. Even with this powerful flame extinguished, the Earth still smoldered, burning all the Earth’s inhabitants, but scarring some worse than others. She walked without looking back until she was outside the orchard gates, back to the bedlam of all the remainder of life.

Tags: english, fiction, short story, sophomore year, writing

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