blogwithvalor

Back when I was in community college, I took a creative writing class. It was a great class that had everyone writing and reading everyone else’s work. We all gave comments, criticisms, and compliments to each other. Our instructor was great at letting us know what we did good and what we should focus on improving. This one, written on May 13th of 2011, was an attempt to work on a previous criticism I got from him. He told me that I needed to work on building scenes better. My previous story was a lot of telling and not as much showing he said. So this tries to show a lot more.

But I don’t like my ending. It was rushed because I needed to turn it in on time, but honestly, at least I finished it. Still not sure what better way to end this. So maybe that’s a good thing. I just needed to end it and let it go.

One more thing, this character curses a lot. Not sure that matters to most anyone reading this, but I’m just saying, he’s not great.

Enjoy.

…

A Tainted Soul

I see inside my mind a million things I could have done to avoid the situation. A million different things I could have done to save one life.

There I am, driving my pick-up, turning the volume up just to annoy some of the neighborhood. It was a clear day, the type of day you use for the beach or for a nice day outdoors. I had just ditched school with my girlfriend in order to start the day early. She sat in the passenger seat, looking out at the world like they all do. Do something exciting like ditch school and they think it’s fucking carpe diem. They think you’re their savior from this bland and dull society that we’re all being shoved into, but in truth, you’re just another one of probably hundreds of guys attempting to get into their pants.

She opens the window and lets some wind blow through her hair. She tells me something about going out to experience the world, but I’m not listening. I only grin and nod slowly in agreement. They don’t care if you actually respond, just that you pretend to listen. The sun shines brightly onto her smiling face as she turns back to the window to enjoy the small rush of leaving school for what she calls “real life”.

I want to give her what she wants, the wind, the world, the rush, and life. So I begin accelerating. She turns to me and smiles, letting out a burst of excitement as the needle of my speedometer continues to climb. Her soft fragile figure leans towards my side of the car, wanting me, just how it always happens. She wants to be with the man who is helping her experience the world, but he could care less about what she wants. It’s all about him and when his next fling is. So what else could I do? I leaned in for a kiss.

Then I catch something in the corner of my eye, a small red spot dancing across the street, a tiny little bit of childhood risking life and death, a fucking red bouncy ball. A fucking red bouncy ball that wasn’t happy enough in the arms of a child to stay put and keep out of the street.   Instead it wanted more, it wanted to experience the world, it wanted to leave, but it left the one person that really loved it, Jacob Turner age 7. He wanted to become a doctor. He wanted to save lives.

That fucking red ball led him into the street, a street full of cars keeping to themselves inside their own little boundaries. These were boundaries the red ball didn’t know of or couldn’t care for, the world was just a big playground and Jacob only followed the ball, trusting in the it’s judgment.

I immediately sat up straight and grabbed the wheel and didn’t hit the brake, after all, it was only a ball, but then Jacob comes running into the middle of the road, unaware of my existence. As soon as I see him I can hear Jacob’s father screaming through the open window. Mr. Turner is running as fast as he can holding out his arms, in his mind praying for his son, praying for safety. My girlfriend sitting next to me screams loud enough to make all of heaven aware of what’s about to happen. She screamed loud enough for Jacob to know. Jacob looked right into my eyes with the type of look you get from a newborn that’s unaware of what the world is around it. His look lingers inside my dreams. And there I am, behind the wheel of a Ford pick-up, going roughly around 50 mph in a 25 mph neighborhood. I try to hit the brakes but it’s too late, Jacob’s only hope is his father who is racing towards him, but we all know he will never make it.

I hit Jacob Turner fast enough to break almost every bone in his small structure, fast enough to kill him on impact. Jacob flew back about 20 feet back, but my Ford wouldn’t stop until it was almost on top of Jacob’s dead body. My pick-up stood over Jacob’s body the way you’d see a lion stand over its prey after bringing it down, waiting to take a bite.

Mr. Turner pulled Jacob out from under the truck and wept right there in front of everyone. He wept with Jacob’s body clenched tightly in his protective arms that were just not strong enough to save his little boy. My girlfriend began crying shortly after Mr. Turner and even people who had already begun to form a crowd around the incident began to weep. All I could do was sit there in the driver seat staring in horror at the scene that had just taken place. As I sat there the entire scene replayed inside of my mind over and over again; my girlfriend, the acceleration, the lean for the kiss, the fucking red ball, and finally little Jacob, who’s body lied lifeless in his father’s arms and all I could do was sit there and say, “I’m sorry.”

Mr. Turner looked at me with enough hatred to scare even the devil. It was enough to turn my skin pale and make my hair stand on end. He yelled at me, telling me that sorry wasn’t enough and that I had killed his little boy, but I wasn’t listening, I was watching the entire scene replay itself inside my mind. I was trying to figure out what went wrong and I kept coming to the same conclusion, everything.

Later in court I was found guilty of involuntary manslaughter and sentenced to only 6 months behind bars. Even I didn’t consider it a long enough sentence. It was as if keeping put in a certain area long enough would fix the damage I had done to the world, but no amount of time I spend in here will bring back Jacob’s life.

The guard calls my name, I stand, his voice demanding. He stares at me with a look that tells me I’m shit and that’s all I’ll ever amount to anything. He’s right. For 6 months I’ve sat in this god forsaken hell hole replaying that day in my mind. Taking notice of everything about that day that went wrong; ditching school, speeding, treating my girlfriend like an item to be had, and finally taking Jacob’s life. Nothing about that day was right and nothing I could do would ever reverse what I had done.

The guard grabs my attention with a quick slap across the face. He’s telling me that it’s time for my sorry ass to leave. He right again. They pull out an envelope holding my belongings; my entire life kept sealed away in a file cabinet for 6 months was finally mine again. Little bits and pieces of who I was were being handed back to me. I picked everything up one by one and shoved it all into my pockets.

The guard walked me to the exiting gate and I could see how nice of a day it was outside. It never seemed to be this bright any other day except the day of Jacob’s death. It was a clear day, the type of day you use for the beach or for a nice day outdoors. The gate was opened and for the first time in 6 months I stood in the open basking in the sun.

Suddenly, a familiar voice called to me, a voice I hadn’t heard in 6 months. I opened my eyes to find Mr. Turner standing there just as I remembered that day. His eyes swelled with tears and his face held so much hate that I froze in my place, just like I did that evening. It was as if I had killed his son yesterday, everything the same, except rather than holding Jacob’s dead body he was holding a pistol aimed straight for my chest. I fell to my knees almost immediately, not begging for mercy, but instead in prayer. I didn’t bother praying for my own tainted soul, but for Mr. Turner and all those whom I had hurt throughout my lifetime. I closed my eyes for a moment and prayed that someday all of my wrongs would be fixed. Mr. Turner fired the gun at point blank into my chest and, in his mind, righting the wrong I had done to his son. All I could do was gasp for one last moment and force out a final “I’m sorry.”