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Cold Light
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Cold Light |
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Wendy Flora Member
since 2000-01-11
Posts 182Virginia |
My feeble attempts at prose #1. ==================================================== Cold Light There was a noise. An insistent, blaring noise. A fire truck? Ali rolled over, spreading her legs away from the warm rolls she had made in the sheets. She lifted her arm out of the covers to rub her face, and instantly felt the sharp stinging cold on her bare skin. She tucked her arm back under the covers. That noise. It won't stop. Fighting the sleep sand, one eye creaked open and blinked at the blazing red numbers of the alarm clock. 5:30 a.m. "Aw, ****," Ali breathed. She threw back the covers and was almost knocked off her feet at the biting cold. "Goddamn!" she chattered between quivering teeth, "It's cold!" She had no idea why her aunt and uncle never kept the thermostat above fifty-eight degrees, even in November when the cold weather outside made the temperature inside plunge another ten degrees. She stumbled down the narrow stairs to the guest bathroom. It was warmer downstairs, although that still wasn't saying much. The main reason her aunt hardly every put anyone in the guest room was because it was over the garage and thus separate from the heat of the rest of the house. Still, Ali liked it up there better; she didn't feel she was disturbing anyone. Ali turned on the shower and waited for it to warm up. She stripped out of her PJs, and shook her hair out of its customary sleeping braid, letting the brassy strands fall to her shoulders. She studied herself in the mirror, with steam from the shower already beginning to fog the edges. She had a nicely shaped body, perhaps the round-apple breasts were a bit small, but she noticed that they had swelled and hardened in the early morning chill, looking quite nice, actually. She leaned over the sink to gaze critically at her face. She had a nicely shaped face: almond-shaped gray eyes, fine nose and lips . . . except for the occasional spattering of acne that came with that time of the month, she was good looking. It really was too bad that she scarred so easily; she probably could have been quite pretty. She exhaled sharply, a sigh of resignation that always ended a session between her and a mirror. Her eyebrows needed attention, but she really didn't feel like it. Scott would just have to deal with bushy eyebrows today. Stepping into the shower gingerly, Ali let the water course over her. She loved scalding hot showers. Usually when she emerged, there would be red rivers on her pale skin where the water had run down. Her aunt and uncle's house got nice hot water, but next to no water pressure. Well-water never had any pressure, she was told. She soaped her body, her hair, rinsed as well as the pressure would allow, and shut off the water. As she toweled herself off, her ears strained to hear any other sounds of life in the house. It seemed she was the only one up, as she expected to be at 5:45 on a Saturday morning. She pulled on her panties, form-fitting jeans, slipped on her favorite bra, and a nice comfortable sweater. Passing the brush through her hair a few times to rid it of the shower tangles, she twisted the still-wet hair into a claw clip. She spread some base on her face to cover what she could of the small purplish scars, taking care not to have a line where her chin met her neck. After washing her hands, she shoved her feet into her battered sneakers while simultaneously brushing her teeth. She tiptoed out of the bathroom, which by this time had become toasty warm with the shower's heat. The hallway was dark and frigid, so Ali hurried to grab her jacket and bag, unconsciously checking her jacket pocket for her car keys and wallet. She scribbled a note on a piece of paper telling her aunt she'd be back by four that afternoon, and slipped out the back door. Once outside, she paused, waiting for her vision to adjust. As soon as she could make out the dark shapes of the furniture on the deck, she inched forward, looking for the edge of the stairs. There's a motion-light somewhere out here . . . I think . . . She kept waiting for the motion-light to turn on. Nothing was coming on. There was a small burst of panic in her stomach. "It's okay," she breathed, "The car's just about ten feet from here." She took a breath, listened to the crickets chirping in the woods surrounding the house. She opened her eyes as wide as they would go in order to catch any possible light. It was more touch than sight that got her down the stairs. The gravel path from the back door to the driveway was uneven, and she envisioned herself falling hard on the sharp stones, bleeding all the way to her baby-sitting job. Oh, that'd look great on the first day, she mused. Scott was an adorable 10-month-old, and Ali was thinking she'd have a good time baby-sitting him. The extra $30 a week was nice too, which made her not mind getting up so early on Saturdays. Her feet finally made it to the smooth driveway, and she headed for the dark shape that was her car. She pushed the button on her remote key ring that opened the driver's door and the light went on inside. She breathed a sigh of relief at finally having some source of light. As she got in the car, she looked back at the house just to see if someone was awake, but all the windows were dark. She started the car and turned the temperature dial to the warmest setting, closing the vents against the cold blast of air that would take at least five to six minutes to warm up. She pulled out of the driveway with her teeth chattering in time to the right blinker. The road from her aunt and uncle's house to town took about ten minutes to drive, mostly through a large wooded area that stretched for miles around her aunt and uncle's property. It snaked around sharp curves that people took as fast as 50 mph. Ali liked to go about 40 herself, but sometimes people would come barreling around a corner trying so hard not to fly off the road that they came close to taking off her car's driver-side mirror. She started down the winding road hoping she wouldn't meet any traffic this early in the morning. The heater was just beginning to warm up, so Ali opened up the vents and let the velvet heat envelop each hand, her fingers almost frozen. She noticed that her favorite tape had been left in the car, and popped it in. As Toad the Wet Sprocket came blaring through the speakers, Ali started to relax. She hadn't met any on-coming traffic yet, and she figured she probably wouldn't have to deal with any after all. This made the strange bundle of nerves that had settled in her stomach since leaving her aunt's house loosen just a bit. She couldn't figure out why she was so uptight this morning. Maybe she was just nervous about this first day of baby-sitting for a family she didn't really know. Always before she had baby-sat for people from her church that she had grown up knowing, and this was her first time baby-sitting since coming to college out of state. Still, she had nothing to be nervous about. As she rounded the next corner, she noticed a car waiting to pull out of a driveway - a black sedan with shiny chrome hubcaps. Poor soul, she thought. Having to go to work this early on a Saturday. Well, she thought second, I'm heading to work this early on a Saturday. Okay then, poor us. The car pulled in behind her, and she noticed the person had forgotten to turn on their headlights. Ah, so what, she thought as she reached the top of a hill and noticed the first pink fingers of the sun curling over the horizon. She speeded down the hill and was again plunged into the darkness of the woods. The Toad the Wet Sprocket tape had reached the string of more dark, menacing songs, and Ali felt that bundle of panic in her stomach grip her hard. What was going on with her? she thought. This just isn't making any sense. Thoughts started flashing in her head of what might happen if she were to have a flat out here, or if she were to run out of gas. The needle was perched precariously over the E, bouncing next to, but not quite touching, it. Damn, I knew I should have gotten gas yesterday on the way out to my aunt and uncle's from school. Suddenly, the car behind her started flashing its lights. Not the orange hazard lights, but the cold, bright headlights. Ali squinted at the car in the rear view mirror, trying to see the driver through the strobes of flashing lights. What if there's something wrong with my car? she thought. No, there can't be, she said, trying to reason her doubts away. I would have noticed it yesterday on the drive out. But what if she hadn't noticed something? Or what if whatever was fine yesterday isn't fine today? The car behind her kept flashing its lights - once, twice, three times, then a break. Then once, twice, three times, and a break. She looked back at the car over her shoulder and saw the driver waving wildly at her. She didn't recognize the driver, or the car. The car then put on its left turn signal, let it blink twice, then turned it off. Then it blinked twice, then off. Ali was staring intently at the road ahead, trying to ignore the flashing behind her. When the headlights started blinking again, Ali began nervously glancing from the mirror to the road and back. This was the most hazardous part of the road, and if she imagined being too busy looking in the mirror and missing a car coming around a corner at her. When the driver of the other car started flashing the left turn signal again, it dawned on Ali that he wanted her to pull over. At the top of the next hill, she saw the slip of the sun peeking over the horizon, and some of the fear melted in its warmth. She thought, maybe he just wants me to pull over because I'm going too slowly and I'll make him late to work. That actually made the most sense of anything, so at the bottom of the hill she pulled over into a gravel shoulder, not even noticing the trees swallowing all light from the newborn sun. The car swung in behind her, and she noticed that it wasn't a nice sedan, as she originally thought. It was an old dark blue clunker, with the hubcaps painted white so that they just looked like they were shiny in the morning darkness. The fingers of panic started to grip her again, and she scrambled for the door lock, but to her surprise, an extremely handsome, nicely dressed young man stepped out of the car and strolled toward her. He had striking blue eyes, All-American features, sandy blonde hair, and a nice build. He was wearing a blue jacket the same color as his eyes, a white sweater, and khaki pants with brown loafers. He was gorgeous. Ali's mind was suddenly filled with images of her and this young man in front of an alter, decorating a Christmas tree together, eating dinner at a nice table with two beautiful children . . . Ali's eyes widened at the meltingly sweet smile he flashed her as he approached, his hands casually in his jacket pockets. She rolled down the window and smiled back. "Is everything okay, sir? Is there something wrong with my car?" she toned sweetly. As he neared the car - he wasn't even three feet from the window actually - he pulled his right hand out of his pocket. To shake her hand and introduce himself, Ali thought. She couldn't keep her eyes off his gorgeous smile. She didn't even notice as the gun was pointed and fired, the bullet ripping into her skull and embedding itself into the passenger seat shoulder. The stranger sauntered back to his car, got in, and drove away, leaving Toad the Wet Sprocket to wail Amnesia to the early morning twilight. |
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merlynh Member
since 1999-09-26
Posts 411deer park, wa |
About a quarter of the way threw this I felt that something ought to happen to move it alone better. Your descriptive writing is great and just right. You have a lot of promise as a writer. I'll keep reading and see where it goes. |
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Skyfyre Senior Member
since 1999-08-15
Posts 1906Sitting in Michael's Lap |
Very descriptive -- liked the way the character's seemingly unfounded anxiety built up to the ending. You made the character very three-dimensional in this. Good job.  --Kess Full fathom five thy father lies, Of his bones are coral made, Those are pearls that were his eyes; Nothing of him that doth fade But doth suffer a sea-change Into something rich and strange... --William Shakespeare, from The Tempest |
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Wendy Flora Member
since 2000-01-11
Posts 182Virginia |
As strange as this may sound, this is based on something that really happened to me. I was at my aunt's house going to babysit that early on a Saturday with a strange feeling... luckily nothing happened to me, but I did come up with this story idea. (The product of not enough sleep, I'm sure.  ) -wen |
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Dusk Treader
Moderator
Senior Member
since 1999-06-18
Posts 1187St. Paul, MN |
Great job in writing this, I could feel the anxiety building, and I knew that man had trouble on his mind, but I was still surprised by his senseless killing. Good writing. In flames I shall not be consumed, but reborn. -- Abrahm Simons |
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Christopher
Moderator
Member Rara Avis
since 1999-08-02
Posts 8296Purgatorial Incarceration |
Hardly feeble! Welcome to Prose! And... I thought this a great telling, (especially now that I know it was based on real life.) However, as I often am heard saying, I think a few more paragraph breaks would have aided in ease of reading! |
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