Tag: Nora Roberts Young Writers Institute

 

Ella was a beautiful woman who was filled with a strange desire to be different and even stranger words which she used to whisper to me in the moonlit bliss. I loved her, and in the moments when her mind didn’t disintegrate, she loved me. We used to share many wonderful times and it saddened me to know that, at times, they were lost.

Every day, forgetful or not, she would sit at a specific table in the corner of her favorite bakery. I would join her, and if it was a day she would recall me, like today, she would acknowledge me.

“Evan?” She asked as the rain outside slowly tapered off. It produced sunshine that slid inside the window and across Ella’s golden skin.

I smiled and started playing with the buttons on my camera to turn it on. I was an amateur photographer, taking pictures of only things and people I treasured and rarely showing anyone my work. “Hello, Ella.”

On the days she’d forget, when she would tip over the boundary lines within her mind, she would shy away from my camera. Today, however, I captured her smile perfectly.

Sometime after that we found ourselves on a park bench by the river. “I missed you,” I whispered as I carefully slid my hand into hers. The people near us rushed by without a care, unaware of how much pain both Ella and I dealt with each day.

At the young ages of 22 and 23, we were promised so much more happiness than we ever received. That didn’t matter, however, when we had each other in moments like these, and Ella didn’t question who I was. These times allowed us to grasp a small snapshot of the life we could have had.

Ella leaned her head on my shoulder and turned further into me. I felt her tears slowly glide onto my skin and tried to turn to hug her, but she stopped me. “I’m so sorry I don’t remember, Evan.” She choked out.

I gently pulled her chin up and turned to face her. With the pads of my thumbs I softly wiped her tears away before looking at her seriously. “Ella, it’s okay. We’re together right now and that’s all that matters. I love you, okay?” I gave her a quick kiss on the forehead and tucked her head back into my shoulder.

“I love you, too,” Her voice came out muffled against the material of my t-shirt, but that was okay. It was amazing just to hear her say it.

We spent a little more time at the park before we began to return to her apartment. I was just about to hold her hand again when a car sped by us, too close to the sidewalk for me not to worry. Ella gripped my arm tightly and almost fell before I caught her. I stood her up and looked in her eyes, which were wide and shifting, seeing memories that were best left behind.

I smoothed back the hair on her forehead and attempted to bring her out of the memory she was in. “Ella, listen to me. It’s okay. The car’s gone, sweetheart.” I could tell it was too late as she was shaking her head and pulling away from me.

A car accident a year ago took Ella’s memory and left broken pieces for the rest of us to pick up. Even now, a single car could trigger Ella to fall back into a confusing maze of memories. It was a rare kind of amnesia that puzzled the doctors. After all, how could someone recall all her memories one day and overlook them the next? It was like Ella stood in front a mirror that reflected all her loved ones back to her. Then the glass shattered into pieces that couldn’t be connected again.

I tried to reach for her but she pushed me away. She completely crumbled on the busy New York City sidewalk and I could not stop it. Then she looked at me again, this time with eyes that possessed a fearful glint. “Who are you?” And just like that, Ella was gone again. A distant memory I could not wrap around my fingers. She was in front of me but her mind deceived her into believing I was a stranger.

The prospect of the pain I would have to deal with for an indefinite amount of time was slowly becoming my reality and it panicked me. Could I continue lurking in the shadows, simply waiting for a moment when Ella remembered and loved me once again? Would the occasional picture I was able to capture be enough? Should I put the camera down and leave the damaged memories behind?

However, these were questions I would have to ponder later in the darkness of my apartment. For now, I had to take care of the girl I loved.

To pass my time when I was younger, I used to explore my grandparents’ estate in order to see what treasures could be found. For a long time, there was nothing. I was searching in the wrong places. Treasure isn’t always buried beneath the earth. Sometimes it’s buried above it. On the seventy-fifth day of my search to nowhere, my grandfather brought me into his attic where I instantly knew my unsuccessful days of finding ‘buried treasure’ were over.

He supervised my adventures, making sure nothing was broken in the process of pursuing my fictional life as a hero. An old video game console caught my eye on the eightieth day. My grandfather seemed to have forgotten that he owned it to begin with. How insulting. I’m only twelve years old, therefore video games are my life. I went on one last grand adventure to find a game named Campbell to place in the console.

I soon became obsessed. Passionately obsessed more so than any other game I ever played. My grandfather happily sent me home with his old possessions to keep after a straight week of playing them. From morning until night my stubby fingers frolicked across the controller. You would think school was my escape, but every piece of my brain that held potential to hold any new information the world was offering me was preoccupied by my game. I started failing tests in classes I usually aced. That was the final straw for my mother. She took Campbell away.

I didn’t know what to do with myself. Should I start going back on adventures at my grandparents’ estate? Maybe my mother gave the demon back to the man who dished it out. I could find it again if I wanted. Or should I just try to forget about it? There was the key word: try to forget. I couldn’t forget. On the third night that I was left without my fairy tale friends, I shut my eyes to go to sleep and I had the most vivid dream. It was so clear that it could have been reality. I was talking to the King in his castle. He appeared the same as any other time I saw him.

“My crown has been taken by the creatures who guard the Ice Palace on the other side of the kingdom. I would retrieve my property myself, but I cannot leave. A curse has been placed upon me. If my crown is not returned, all of Campbell will end in total war.”

He offered me the chance to take the quest and become the hero I always dreamed of being. In my most impressive voice, I accepted.

—

Chelsea Cahill has participated in the Nora Roberts Young Writers Institute at Hagerstown Community College. She attends Palmyra High School in New Jersey and has been one of the editors of the yearbook at her school for the last two years. She is also a member of the Spanish National Honor Society, Student Council, and the National Honor Society. Cahill has written two young adult novels. She is currently working on her third.

My door has been locked for 3 years, 8 months, and 26 days. I have explored this 25′ x 25′ room over and over again. Waking, pacing, eating, searching, sleeping, and then starting the process again for 3 years, 8 months, and 25 days. It took less than a week for it to become my monotonous routine. Doing it over and over and over again…
Some nights, after a long day of pacing and pacing and pacing, nightmares consume me. I scream, even after I wake, with no one to console me. No mother to hold me close, no father to check under my bed for monsters. But in this room, with its broken toilet in one corner and a too-small blanket and ratty pillow in another, there  is no place for the monsters to hide. Or at least, that’s what I thought.
For 1 year, 6 months, and 19 days, I’ve been thinking about the bare door, locked from the outside. For 1 year, 4 months, and 7 days, I’ve pondered the fact that this eternal darkness I’ve been shrouded in has become comforting. That the unidentified meat that falls through a hole in the ceiling is appealing to me. That I can’t remember a day when there weren’t voices echoing through my mind.
It took me 2 years, 2 months, and 7 days to realize that the bare door was to keep something inside, not keep something out. It took me 2 years, 4 months, and 19 days to realize that the reason why there’s no one to console me, why there’s no mother to hold me close, no father to check under my bed for monsters, why there’s no one to protect me….is because they can’t save me…..from me.

Each breath bites my lungs, the smoke coursing through my battered body. I lay in burning rubble, embers drifting above me, disappearing into the hazy night sky. I gather all my strength and stagger onto my feet, suddenly noticing the presence behind me. Whipping around, I come face to face with an elderly man. His face is smeared with ash, and his eyes are distant and grey.

“You’re a lucky one, you are.” He grunts, coughing in-between words. I nod my head, flashbacks from the scene that had just unfolded flooding back into my mind. Only a few moments earlier, the crackle of flames had jolted me awake. Opening my eyes, I was immediately overwhelmed by the fiery blaze consuming my bedroom. My mind went blank; all focus shifted to getting out. As I began bolting toward the door, not a single thought about turning back crosses my mind. It’s not until now that I think back on the others who had been in the house, sleeping through the dancing flames.                                             “There’s nothin’ ya could’ve done, boy,” He says, glancing up as my face twists in horror, “The riots are gettin’ worse by the day, good luck kid.” He pats my shoulder and trudges away, sending a final sad smile before turning away. If only he knew what I had done. I could’ve saved every person in that house, but no. I hadn’t even given them a second thought. What does that make me, a killer? An orphaned killer at that, alone in the ruins of an empty town.

The streets are littered by survivors. They wander the town, mourning the dead and pitying the living. I silently tread past them, forcing my gaze from their distant expressions. All I want to do is scream; scream until there’s no one left to hear. Everything I ever knew lies in ashes, innocent bodies buried for the sake of the foolish. Nothing matters now, because now I am nothing. There’s nothing left to live for. Walking beyond the wreckage, I find myself among a street that remains untouched. The homes sit peacefully under the smoky stars, unaware how terribly close they are to tragedy. I smile to myself, somewhat calmed by the little piece of town that still remains. In the distance, the darkness begins to slowly fade away. The sky is washed orange overhead, and I patiently wait for the morning sun to appear. It never does. Eyes widening, I run toward the source of the glowing color, instantly recognizing the scene that is laid out before me. The last home on the street is a living inferno, spitting flames in every direction. I listen for an alarm, but hear only the crackle of flame. The family has no warning that this could be the end. Soon they’ll be gone, just another thing lost. Anyone left inside that house has no chance of ever leaving; this is it. Suddenly, I bolt toward the door, holding my shirt collar to my face. This is for every soul lost to the flames, every future burnt by death. I may not have anything left to live for, but at least now I have something worth dying for.

—

Alyson Grace Flora is presently a student at Oakdale Middle School. She has honors in Language Arts, and was admitted into the Highly Able Learner program for advanced learning abilities through her reading and writing. She was presented with a young author’s award for poetry, and attended the Nora Roberts Young Writers Institute during the summer of 2014.

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