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My Heart
by Emily Luebke
I leave my heart in a my glove compartment.
Alright, don't be too literal, it isn't actually my heart. It's a little glass heart, bright red, and it hangs on a slim, silver chain. I think it used to be a Christmas ornament. My Gran gave it to me and I keep it in my glove compartment. Thankfully, along with a nicknack, I also keep my registration in there, because I tend to get pulled over.
This time it was for speeding and cops never believe you have a good reason. I went fishing in that little space while the cop shone her flashlight right in my peripheral vision, thereby ensuring that I'd look like a blind idiot fumbling around for my paperwork. I did touch the little heart, but I was a bit stressed at the time, so my fingers brushed right past the cool glass and the fragile chain.
As I handed the officer my license and registration, and tried, ineffectually, to relate why I was doing 50 in a 35 zone, I unconsciously reached over and carefully tucked the heart further into the safety of he glove box. That might have been my last thought of the heart until it was too late.
Does that ever happen to you? You don't realize you've left your heart behind until you really need it?
After the whole police fiasco, where I racked up a hefty fine, and a merciless glare from the officer, I made it to the hospital at a nail biting 35mph, like a good little citizen.
Once in the parking-lot I don't think I even locked my car, I headed for the building at a dead sprint. The nurse at the desk must have seen nothing but a blur as I passed. I knew which one was Gran's room. She'd been there for a while now.
My family was there, gathered around my grandmother. The tiny matriarch of our clan. Gran was awake, but her expression was unseeing. My mother looked at me imploringly "Tracy, thank goodness. She doesn't know any of us, but maybe you-"
I knew what she meant. Through my grandmother's Alzheimer's she slowly lost her memory of everyone around her, and even herself. But not me. For whatever reason, not me. Sure she forgot some things about me, but when she saw me she'd always say, "Hello Tracy," like she was relieved to finally see someone familiar.
I rushed to her bed-side, still gasping for breath breath. I slid my hands around hers, looking her in the eyes, waiting for my greeting. It didn't come. She looked at me as blankly as she looked at the rest of my family. My mother started sobbing. By brother slammed his fist against the wall and left. My aunts and uncles, and my cousins all reacted in their own ways. I stood there, my hands engulfing my grandmother's, and my brain didn't catch up for a long moment. I was still expecting my greeting that didn't come. She stared at me with a mixture of confusion and concern before her eyes fluttered closed.
She didn't wake up again. Gran passed away a few hours later.
I drove the speed limit home. Then I just sat in my car, staring out at the few stars I could glimpse. Why hadn't she said my name? Then my heart (the one in my chest) gave a jolt that was almost painful. My heart!
I fumbled in the glove-box for the second time that night, and freed what I should have had all along. The little glass heart. I dangled it on it's delicate chain in front of my tear-filled eyes. Gran had given it to me for Christmas when she was first getting sick. She didn't have much notion of what made a good gift then, but I told her I loved it. She hung it on my shirt pocket and smiled, gazing at my face with so much love. When she got really sick, I started wearing the heart, hanging from my shirt pocket, many of the times I went to see her. She always seemed to know me best when I wore it.
That night, in my rush and stress, I had forgotten something so precious it might have been my actual heart. I had no way of knowing whether Gran would have known me that night if I had worn my heart. Now I never would.
by Emily Luebke
I leave my heart in a my glove compartment.
Alright, don't be too literal, it isn't actually my heart. It's a little glass heart, bright red, and it hangs on a slim, silver chain. I think it used to be a Christmas ornament. My Gran gave it to me and I keep it in my glove compartment. Thankfully, along with a nicknack, I also keep my registration in there, because I tend to get pulled over.
This time it was for speeding and cops never believe you have a good reason. I went fishing in that little space while the cop shone her flashlight right in my peripheral vision, thereby ensuring that I'd look like a blind idiot fumbling around for my paperwork. I did touch the little heart, but I was a bit stressed at the time, so my fingers brushed right past the cool glass and the fragile chain.
As I handed the officer my license and registration, and tried, ineffectually, to relate why I was doing 50 in a 35 zone, I unconsciously reached over and carefully tucked the heart further into the safety of he glove box. That might have been my last thought of the heart until it was too late.
Does that ever happen to you? You don't realize you've left your heart behind until you really need it?
After the whole police fiasco, where I racked up a hefty fine, and a merciless glare from the officer, I made it to the hospital at a nail biting 35mph, like a good little citizen.
Once in the parking-lot I don't think I even locked my car, I headed for the building at a dead sprint. The nurse at the desk must have seen nothing but a blur as I passed. I knew which one was Gran's room. She'd been there for a while now.
My family was there, gathered around my grandmother. The tiny matriarch of our clan. Gran was awake, but her expression was unseeing. My mother looked at me imploringly "Tracy, thank goodness. She doesn't know any of us, but maybe you-"
I knew what she meant. Through my grandmother's Alzheimer's she slowly lost her memory of everyone around her, and even herself. But not me. For whatever reason, not me. Sure she forgot some things about me, but when she saw me she'd always say, "Hello Tracy," like she was relieved to finally see someone familiar.
I rushed to her bed-side, still gasping for breath breath. I slid my hands around hers, looking her in the eyes, waiting for my greeting. It didn't come. She looked at me as blankly as she looked at the rest of my family. My mother started sobbing. By brother slammed his fist against the wall and left. My aunts and uncles, and my cousins all reacted in their own ways. I stood there, my hands engulfing my grandmother's, and my brain didn't catch up for a long moment. I was still expecting my greeting that didn't come. She stared at me with a mixture of confusion and concern before her eyes fluttered closed.
She didn't wake up again. Gran passed away a few hours later.
I drove the speed limit home. Then I just sat in my car, staring out at the few stars I could glimpse. Why hadn't she said my name? Then my heart (the one in my chest) gave a jolt that was almost painful. My heart!
I fumbled in the glove-box for the second time that night, and freed what I should have had all along. The little glass heart. I dangled it on it's delicate chain in front of my tear-filled eyes. Gran had given it to me for Christmas when she was first getting sick. She didn't have much notion of what made a good gift then, but I told her I loved it. She hung it on my shirt pocket and smiled, gazing at my face with so much love. When she got really sick, I started wearing the heart, hanging from my shirt pocket, many of the times I went to see her. She always seemed to know me best when I wore it.
That night, in my rush and stress, I had forgotten something so precious it might have been my actual heart. I had no way of knowing whether Gran would have known me that night if I had worn my heart. Now I never would.
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What if Fenris was in Dragon Age: Inquisition (Part 1)
~~~~~~~
Varric: So, how've you been, Fenris? It's been quite a while ever since what happened in kirkwall...
Fenris: I'm fine, considering the fact that there's a hole in the sky with demons falling out of it.
Varric: Well, I see you still have your attitude, broody.
~~~~~~
Varric: So, I've been wondering...
Fenris: I can already tell this isn't going anywhere pleasent...
Varric: Relax, elf. I just want to know if you want to have a game of Wicked Grace later.
Fenris: If that was all you wanted to say, then alright.
Varric: Let's hope this time you won't need to borrow coin fro
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The bandit's arrow had found its mark.
Fenris sunk to his knees, emerald eyes fixated on the wooden shaft
buried several inches into his flesh. He felt the sensation of
downing as blood began to fill his left lung. He coughed and tasted
warm iron tinged blood.
“FENRIS!” Marion Hawke
shouted as she turned from the newly eviscerated bandit. Her daggers
fell with a loud clank that echoed through the underground tunnels of
Darktown as she raced towards the elf. “ANDERS GET OVER HERE
AND HELP!” She bellowed. The blonde mage turned from his
recently frozen target hesitated slightly, then swiftly made his way
to
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An entry for a short story contest. The prompt was: Your Character find something important in the glove compartment while looking for their registration after being pulled over for speeding.
So yeah. Enjoy
Just no stealing *glares*
So yeah. Enjoy
Just no stealing *glares*
© 2011 - 2024 JulianGreystoke
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