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This is another chunk of the same story that I posted from last night. I'm not done with it yet, but I'm almost done. I feel good about it, though. Hopefully the message that I mean for it to carry will come through at the end. Once again, skipped a bunch between the last piece and this one. Hopefully it's comprehensible on its own.

- Lena

Most of the places in the area had closed down by this time of night. It was almost midnight, but the diner was still running a booming business. Mike kept the place open till one most nights, but if it was slow he’d close at midnight. The bright light was like a beacon in the dingy darkness of the surrounding street. And the bell rang as she shoved the door open and plopped down at the counter that ran most of the way through the restaurant.

“You looking to pick up extra hours?”

Mike grinned at her from the grill behind the bar as he handed off a cheeseburger and fries to one of the waitresses.

“Nope,” she said, trying to grin back, although she could barely find the energy to sit up straight. The adrenaline rush she’d felt in the subway was gone now and exhaustion had hit her like a brick. “I’m here as a paying customer. Can I get a plate of fries and some ranch?”

Mike looked at her warily. She never came in if she didn’t have to work and he knew it. She knew it too and tried for a cheerful smile as he set the plate in front of her. She didn’t meet his gaze, shoving the fries around the plate as he went back to work.

“Is Lisa here tonight?” she asked, looking at him for a moment.

“I knew there was a reason you were here,” he said, nodding at her as he flipped another burger. “She’s over there. Got tables 15 to 20 tonight.”

Wearily, she pushed herself off of the stool and made her feet walk over to the opposite side of the restaurant. Lisa had just taken somebody’s order and was sticking the pencil back in her long blonde pony tail as she headed back to the kitchen. But she stopped dead in her tracks when she saw Rachel.

“It happened again, didn’t it?” she asked.

Rachel nodded.

“And you left him?”

More nodding.

“Oh, my God!”

The ear-shattering squeal that followed was accompanied by a bone-crushing hug, surprising in someone as petite as Lisa.

“Lees, let me go. I can’t breathe.”

From a safe distance, Rachel smiled at her friend, genuinely this time.

“I need a place to stay,” she said, watching in dismay as her friend behind to fidget, no longer meeting her eyes.

“Tonight?”

“Yes, tonight,” she answered. “Of course tonight. Where else am I going to stay?”

Lisa still wouldn’t quite meet Rachel’s eyes, but when she did look up, there were tears in them.

“I can’t tonight,” she said, swiping at her eyes. “Max has a fever. My mom won’t let anybody stay tonight.”

The clattering of plates and silverware filled the silence between them.

“You told me,” Rachel said, tears forming in her own eyes. “You said that any time I needed someplace to stay, I could come to you. You told me I should leave. You said, whenever I needed, your door was open.”

“Anytime,” Lisa said. “But not tonight.” She looked up again. “Tomorrow. You can stay for a while. I promise.”

She brushed a blonde strand back behind her ear and edged around her friend on her way to the kitchen.

Rachel stood there for a moment, trying to keep the tears in, before she forced her legs to move, to carry her back to the counter and pull herself back in front of the greasy plate of fries. And she pushed them around again as she contemplated her dilemma. Really, she didn’t have anyone else to go to. Nobody else knew about her dad or the way he treated her. And she didn’t want anybody else to know.

She was trying to remember where the nearest homeless shelter was, staring down at her fries, which were swiftly growing cold, when a hand crossed into her field of vision, picking up a fry. She looked up just in time to see Mike pop the fry into his mouth.

“I heard about your little problem,” he told her, chewing thoughtfully.

“Yeah?”

Her eyebrow quirked up. Mike had always been nice to her, but it had never been anything personal.

“Yeah,” he said, his bushy caterpillar eyebrows looked as though they were trying to touch each other. “And I think I might have a solution.”

“I am NOT staying at your place.” Her eyes flared a little in alarm. “I barely even know you.”

“You’re not staying at my place,” he said. “As though I would let you. But you can stay here.”

“Here?” she asked, looking around at the grungy diner. “Thanks for the offer, but booths don’t exactly make good mattresses.”

“I’ve got a cot set up in the back,” he told her. When both of her eyes brows rose into her dark hairline, he continued. “Sometimes the food vendors make really early deliveries and it’s easier to just spend the night here than to hike back from my apartment at three in the morning. The sheets are clean and everything.”

“Ok,” she nodded. “Thank you.”

She blushed a little, looking back down at her plate. Of all the sources that help could have come from, she hadn’t been expecting this one.

“I’m not just going to let you stay for free,” he said.

She cast a disgruntled look in his direction as he threw an apron at her.

“Dishwasher duty for the rest of the night,” he said, grinning.

Shoving her bags behind the counter, she rolled up her sleeves and prepared to plunge her arms in the soapy water. It was a small price to pay.

It was almost two in the morning before all of the dishes were washed and all of the tables had been wiped down. Mike waved at her through the glass of the door as he locked up and walked away. She had the place to herself, sitting on the cot in the back. It was eerily quiet, compared to what she was used to.

With a sigh, she remembered that she still had work to do. She pulled on an old t-shirt and a pair of cotton shorts to sleep in and sat on the bed, focusing a tiny book light on her old enemy, the biochem book.

She must have fallen asleep. The battery from her book light had burned out and her book was sprawled across her chest. The air was still murky-dark and the night was black except for what little light streetlights through the windows. But it wasn’t light that had woken her. It was noise. And she heard it again.

Someone was banging on the door to the diner.

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Hey,

This is something that I started working on a while ago and have since then dropped and picked back up. It's a story that I hesitated to take on, just because it's something of a heavier topic and not the sort of thing I usually do. That's also why I'm not posting the whole thing on here. I'm just going to post the beginning (which is relatively uncontroversial as far as short story beginnings go) and maybe when I finish writing it, I'll post more of it.

- Lena

She was tired. She felt exhaustion in the marrow of her bones, weighing her down until her limbs were lead. She felt it in the pit of her stomach like a stone. It was only six o’clock and already she could feel her eyes beginning to slide closed, her head veering dangerously towards the window.

The little girl who sat across the bus aisle watched in fascination as the breath from Sara’s open, slightly snoring mouth began to fog up the window. It was cold outside, that Friday night in November, and the breath formed tiny crystals against the glass. It was still early but the sun was nothing more than a rosy glimmer on the horizon. The sky overhead was a deep, thunder-gray shot through with silver. There was snow in the forecast. The city would be coated in downy whiteness by morning and everyone was rushing home to spend the night tucked into blankets, ready to watch the tiny white flakes melt into darkness.

Sara didn’t care about any of that. She was just trying to get home. There were another four chapters of biochem to read before the exam next Wednesday and a paper due on Tuesday that she desperately needed to start researching.

And she had to get up early for work tomorrow. She was still in her waitressing uniform and the dark cotton was heavy with the scent of grease. She’d been serving up burgers and fries since class let out at ten, and she could smell the French fries in her hair.

Hopefully she could get some work done before her father got home. Hopefully, she thought, allowing her eyes to slide shut, he wouldn’t come home at all.

The bus jolted to a heavy stop, throwing all of the passengers forwards as the doors squeezed open. Mournfully, she dragged her eyes open, scooped up her things and pulled herself off of the bus, trudging three blocks to their apartment building.

The cold bit her face, turning her cheeks a fierce red and making her eyes water. She was grateful that it woke her up enough to get her home, but a jaw-cracking yawn hit her as soon as the keys were in the door.

She shed her coat as the warmth of the apartment hit her, dropping it on the couch. She wandered through the messy living room to the kitchen. There were clothes everywhere, scattered across the couch and piled on the floor. Empty food containers lined the coffee table and most of the counters in the kitchen, punctuated by empty bottles and water stains where other bottles had been. The dishes in the sink were stacked haphazardly, as though they were abandoned by a careless child.

She would wash the dishes later, she decided, as she slid a lean cuisine out of the freezer and into the microwave.

No other part of the mess belonged to her. She had promised herself that she wouldn’t clean up after him anymore, but she needed the dishes to eat off of, so she would wash them.

Sitting at the sticky dining room table, she picked through the edible parts of the microwaveable meal and drank a glass of water. She left the carton from the food on the table. He wouldn’t notice it anyway.

Shifting back into the living room, she dragged her heavy backpack with her onto the couch and pulled the biochem book onto her lap. It sat there like a stone for several moments before she opened it, trying to force her tired eyes to concentrate on the chemical makeup of the digestive tract, but it was no good. The colors wavered before her eyes, the words blurring and becoming incomprehensible.

Maybe, she thought, as she closed the book and put it back into her bag, if she just closed her eyes for fifteen or twenty minutes, she would be able to concentrate. Maybe, she thought as she yawned and lay back against the pillows of the smelly old couch. Her eyes focused on the clock on the VCR. It was 6:40. If she just slept till 7, she’d still be able to get everything done just fine.

She woke up the sound of breaking glass. Jumping up in the darkness, her bleary eyes could just make out a beer bottle smashed against the far wall of the living room, right next to the kitchen.

Sisters

Hello,

This is part of a continuing story that I hope to turn into something like a novel. I'm not sure if this piece can stand on its own, but I do like the dialogue that goes on here. I've skipped a bit between the last portion I posted and this piece. If you've read anything from this piece before, then you'll recognize the characters. I've never been particularly good at making believable dialogue, so I can use all of the practice I can get. Hope you like it.

- Lena

I left Tia standing by the doorway and started putting away the breakfast things again.

But the silence didn’t last long.

“Just tell me why,” she said, turning around to glare at me.

“Why what?”

“Why don’t you like him?” she asked.

“I like him plenty,” I told her, beginning to rinse the breakfast plates in one of the buckets of well-water.

“Then why are you so mean to him?” She plopped back into her seat. I could feel her eyes boring into my back. “You could do a lot worse than Jorie, you know.”

“I know.” I answered through gritted teeth. “I just don’t want him to get the wrong idea.”

“Which idea would that be?”

I stayed silent, scrubbing the dishes extra hard. She took this as an opportunity.

“He’s good-looking, you know,” she said. “I know you’ve seen how the other girls look at him. And he’s only a year away from becoming a journeyman. You know that old Mr. Smithers is going to sell him the shop.”

“I know.”

She heard the anger building in my voice, but that didn’t stop her.

“Don’t you want someone to spend your life with? Someone to take care of you? Father’s not going to be around forever.” She brushed her hair back with one hand and words continued to rush out of her mouth. “Obviously, you can stay with Thomas and me. Is that the life you want?”

“I want to be free.”

The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. I wasn’t looking at her, but I could hear her cheeks turning bright red as her voice rose another octave.

“You want to be free?” She snorted. “Who’s going to take care of you while you’re being free? Who’s going to feed you?”

I didn’t want her to see the tears that were streaming down my face. And I couldn’t think of anything to say to her. I couldn’t stop from stomping a little as I crossed the kitchen, grabbing the large woven basket that sat by the door. Balancing it on one hip, I practically ran out the doorway and into what was now bright sunshine.

I could hear her calling and shouting behind me, but I didn’t turn around. The laundry needed to be done, I told myself. I could face her later.

I crossed the field, going in the direction opposite the one the men had gone. The woods had always been welcoming when I was a little girl. Now the cool green light between the trees felt like coming home. I stopped just inside the line of trees and took a deep breath, feeling the cool air on my burning cheeks.

I set the basket on the ground and stopped to strip off my shoes before going on. Walking through the light-dappled darkness, with the cool dirt under my feet, I let myself release the thoughts that I had pushed into the corners of my mind.

Beginnings

This is actually planned as a prologue to what I hope will be a novel (I know that's not really grammatically correct, but hopefully it makes sense). I only just wrote it, but I still think it's cute and hopefully you will too. The themes in it very obviously lead to something I've written/posted in the past. Again, just wrote it, so it's still very unedited and quite raw. I hope you like it.

- Lena

She burst out of the forest, running with all of her might, to crash-land on the long, soft grass of the field. Right on her tracks, he sprinted out of the trees, almost tripping over her, but managing instead to land next to her.

“I won,” she huffed, still not quite having caught her breath.

She tucked her skirts in around her and wiggled her toes in the cool green grass. It wouldn’t be green much longer. The August days were still hot, but the sun was setting behind the trees and the two children were aware of the Autumn coming soon, in the same way you can hear a fly buzzing around your head. You know it’s there, but you can’t catch it. And you can’t stop the seasons from changing.

He glared at her.

“That’s not fair. You cheated.”

“I did not.” She glared back at him. “It’s not my fault you tripped.”

He wisely chose to remain silent on this count.

“Father told me that the carpenter is looking for an apprentice,” he said coolly.

She looked at him, but stayed silent.

“I'm going to see him tomorrow,” he continued. “I’m fairly certain I’ll get it. Father’s good friends with him. And I’ve always been good at mending things.”

“That’s nice.” Her voice was quiet and he could barely hear it, even in the silence.

“Maybe in a few years, I’ll be ready to start my own shop,” he said.

“That’s wonderful,” she told him. “I wish I could do that.”

“But you’re a girl.”

She stayed quiet, angrily ignoring his words.

“It’s going to be dark soon,” he said. “You want me to walk you home?”

“I want to stay out here a while,” she said, staring up into the sky above the forest. “I like watching the sun set over there. It’s like the sky is melting.”

“I don’t know,” he said quietly. “I don’t think you should be out this late.”

She puffed up a little at the tone of his voice.

“Why shouldn’t I stay out this late? You do it all the time!”

“I’m a boy!”

He didn’t elaborate, feeling that this explanation should be sufficient.

“So what? I’m a girl.”

“No,” he said, blushing a little as he looked at her. “You’re a lady.”

“Am not.” She punched him in the arm. “Take that back.”

“You will be soon,” he muttered, nursing his bruised arm. “And it’s not right for a lady to be out late on her own.”

“Lady or not,” she told him. “I’ll do what I want. And you can’t stop me.”

They sat in silence as the sun finished its journey across the sky in a flaming display of purple, red and gold. Velvety darkness swiftly replaced the dying light.

Grudgingly, she pushed herself up off the ground and brushed the stray bits of dirt and grass from her skirt. She offered a hand to help pull him up and against his better judgment he accepted it.

He brushed himself off and looked up at her, suddenly aware of her appraising gaze.

He was trying to think of something to say, but we will never know what that was going to be, because at that moment she darted forward to plant a quick kiss on his lips.

His cheeks burned bright red in the darkness.

“What did you do that for?”

“Because I can.”

She smiled at him. Before he could think of what to say to that, she was already halfway across the field that led to her home. The farmhouse’s lights were burning bright and warm. She was through the door before he could convince his feet to move.

He stood in the darkness, breathing in the cool scents of pine that drifted from the woods and gazing up at the lights of her house.

“Someday, I’m going to marry that girl,” he whispered.

Dia de los Muertos

She knew something was wrong as soon as she walked in the door. Sara could hear music and noise as she walked up to the house, but only when she opened the door and stepped inside did she realize what was going on.

If the music hadn’t given it away, the table would have. The bright red patterned table cloth screamed its presence in the otherwise sedate décor and the sugar skulls caught the light from the many taper candles surround them. It was November 2^nd, she remembered belatedly, as she dropped her bag on the floor next to the door and crossed the living room to the dining room.

Dropping into a chair, she ran a hand along the table cloth, feeling its’ rough weave against her fingers and popped a brightly colored piece of candy into her mouth. Bowls of it sat along the table.

“Don’t eat those,” her mother called. “They’re not for you.”

She was mixing something in the kitchen, baking something, Sara thought, as she saw the smudges of flour on her mother’s face. She’d even managed to get some in her hair and it was stark against the dark brown.

“I can’t believe you’re doing this again, Ma,” she said, discreetly taking another piece of candy. “What’s the point?”

“The point is, Mija, to honor those who have passed,” her mother told her, yet again, as she swayed to the music streaming from the boombox in the corner. “It’s the Dia de los Muertos, honey.”

“I know, I know. It just seems like such a silly tradition.”

“What’s silly about it?” Her mother swatted her lightly on the head as she passed by. “Your grandmother passed away this year. You don’t want to honor her memory?”

“That’s not fair.” She looked angrily up at her mother. “You know I loved Grandma. You know I miss her.”

Images of Grandmother flashed through her mind. She always so dignified. Sara couldn’t remember a time when her grandmother hadn’t stood tall at the head of the table. And when Sara needed advice, she had always been there with a kind word. Photographs of Grandmother sat on the table. Sara took one in her hand and touched her grandmother’s face through the cold glass. She couldn’t imagine how her beautiful, strong Grandmother had produced the short, loud, disorganized woman who had grown up to be her mother.

“Then I don’t see why you wouldn’t want to do this for her,” she said, spooning batter into a pan.

Sara sat quiet for a minute.

“You don’t really think that the souls of the dead walk the earth on the Day of the Dead, do you?” she asked her mother.

“I don’t know, Mija,” she answered, with more honesty than Sara had hope for. “Maybe they do and maybe they don’t. But if they do, I’m sure they appreciate our efforts. I know what it’s like to come home to an empty house.”

Sara went to bed early that night. She could still hear laughter and the clinking of glasses as she brushed her teeth and pulled on her pajamas. She had told them it was because she had to be in school early tomorrow, but really it was because she couldn’t stand the sight of it anymore. It was garish, she thought. It was gaudy. It wouldn’t bring honor to anybody, much less her beautiful grandmother.

Closing her eyes tight, she tried to sleep, but the din from downstairs banged in her ears and it was a long time before sleep found her.

When she woke up, the first thing she noticed was that clearly, it was not morning. The moonlight still poured through the window. She blinked through her sleepiness as she became aware of what had awoken her. The crunching sound seemed to fill her room. Pushing back the covers, she sat up in bed and rubbed her eyes, still listening to that mysterious crunching noise.

“Well, it’s about time.”

The voice came from across the room… and it was a familiar one. But it couldn’t be, she told herself, as she rubbed her eyes again and focused on the person seated at the chair by her desk.

But it was…

“Grandmother?” she whispered.

“Yes, sweetheart.” The old woman’s white teeth shone in the darkness. “I’m here.”

She popped another chip in her mouth from the bowl that was sitting in her lap.

“By the way, you sleep like a log. It took forever to wake you up.”

“But you’re…. you’re…”

“Dead? Of course I am.”

She sat up and pulled the covers up to her chest.

“How is this possible?” she whispered.

“You’ve forgotten that it’s the Day of the Dead, haven’t you?” Grandmother shook her head. “Your mother certainly didn’t. I’m so glad she left me all of those snacks and sweets. It’s a long trip you know.”

“Yeah,” she said. “I guess Mom was right for once.”

“That’s exactly what I’ve come to talk to you about,” her grandmother told her, waving a chip for emphasis.

“What? Chips?”

“No.” She could feel her Grandmother’s dark eyes bore into her, even in the darkness. “About your mother. And you know it.”

“What about my mother? She’s fine.” She crossed her arms over her chest.

“She’s fine, but you’re not. You need to start respecting her, Mija.”

Sara’s face scrunched up.

“I respect her plenty.”

“No, you don’t.” Another chip flew into the old woman’s mouth. “She is your mother, Mija. She does everything for you. She deserves respect.”

“She’s just so… different.”

This elicited a laugh and Sara got another glimpse of those white teeth, like tiny pearls.

“She’s not as different as you think,” she said. “She’s not as different from me as you think and certainly not as much as she thinks.”

Sara scoffed, with a quiet humph.

“She loves you. And you’re not so different from her. You love her too, sweetheart,” her Grandmother told her. “You just need to remember it more often.”

“So you came here, all the way from the Great Beyond, just to tell me to be nicer to my mother?”

“Something like that.”

Her grandmother set aside the bowl of chips and rose from her seat by the door. Step by step, she came towards the bed and that familiar old face became clearer in the moonlight.

“I also came to tell you that I love you,” she said. “And that I miss you and your mother.”

“I miss you too, Grandmother.”

Tears sprang from Sara’s eyes, rolling slowly down her cheeks.

“I love you so much,” she said, looking up into her grandmother’s face for the last time.

The old woman wiped away her granddaughter’s tears for the last time, tucking a strand of hair back behind her granddaughter’s ear and touching her cheek.

“I have to go now,” she said solemnly and Sara could see the tears running down her Grandmother’s cheek. “It’s almost midnight and it’s a long journey.”

Sara wanted to say goodbye and the word was on her lips, but she blinked and found herself all alone in the darkness of her bedroom. She stared into the darkness for a long time, hearing her grandmother’s voice echo in her head. Soon, however, the darkness turned grey and as her eyes slid shut there was a smile on her face.