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Chipping Away The Truth
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Chipping Away The Truth
I wrote this short story when I was supposed to be writing an essay for english. I would really love to tell you that it was fiction. But I went through this torment of breaking up with my girlfriend just before school started this year and it was the source of my writers block. Thankfully it was also a source of insparation.
I sat down and wrote what was on my mind (killing two birds with one stone) and when I was finished I saw myself staring at some of my best work as an author (in my opinion). I've polished it much and this would be my first submission anywhere. I really hope you like it and I would very much like some feed back.
Myself? I'm and 18 year old just starting college this year at South suburban Community College. After getting some pre reqs out of the way I'm transferring over to Purdue and am majoring in English Education. I live at home with five brothers and sisters, my father and stepmother. I hope to one day become a professor in the field of literature or a writer (or both).
AUTHOR'S E-MAIL ADDRESS
Chipping Away The Truth
When I got home from school I felt determined to get the essay that was due over and done with. "I can do this. I can get it out of the way, and tonight I wonít be up until two starting my final draft." I may as well have said, "Tonight, I will not breathe." I tried desperately to think of something that would flow off my fingertips easily; the only thing I could think of though, me being a teenage boy, was the girl I just broke up with.
It was supposed to be a narrative, but what I had planned subliminally was the usual lack of a good creative story involuntarily shortened and fluffed up with some superfluous words that might make me sound smart. I smiled at my own thought as I started keying away at my masterpiece assignment.
As I clicked out sentence after sentence though, the feeling came back to me. It was the same every time, I had no flare for what I was writing, and I could feel it deteriorate my concentration. Some music, I needed some music to help motivate me, Iíd decided. And then, for as much as Iíd tried to put it out of my mind it was right there again. I opened the CD case and knew what it was instantly, a folded up napkin with some lettering visible through the not so resilient paper. It was a note from her.
We broke up about a month ago and I donít think I've thought of anyone or anything for that matter so much since even while we were dating. I can honestly say that I hadnít stopped thinking about what went wrong since that dreadful moment. Why had we come to this?
I immediately stopped writing so I could start something fresh. I knew what I wanted to pour out onto that paper with words. I felt the flame flicker and ignite inside of me; I had to write and the ideas were racing through my mind on what I could say to tell my story. I needed for someone else to know how I felt and relate. The flashing cursor was waiting to obey my commands.
It was the same every morning; I woke up and imagined her there. This feeling of relief swept over me as I was accustomed to; thinking I could call her andÖ "Oh," now I remember. We broke up; and the hurt was there again. I felt it stab me all over with the pangs of despair and there was nothing I could do to hide as I trembled beneath the weight of my depression.
My heart ached with a pain I couldnít feel as the memories came rushing back to me. What did I ever do but love her? I had been lying awake thinking for about five minutes then. Time felt more like a dream immediately after the release that sleep brought me. Who was I that I deserved to feel this way? Our relationship flashed before my eyes and I watched the whole magnificence of it in awe. The unmitigated jargon that only lovers share made me think myself foolish now that I dwelled on it; and while this passed through my thoughts, I began to wonder if I was simply a fool to begin with.
Had I been blinded by my emotions as to what was happening around me? Did those emotions that had thrown me so deeply into love set me on a course that ended Ďusí? I immediately thought of the worst. "Itís all my fault," I said aloud. "If only I let her closer." Snapping back into reality, I considered myself in a similar situation only with more agony because of the injection of intimacy that I added. Maybe I did make the right choice in trying to protect myself though; anything else I tried would have just given her more ammunition.
Everything I didnít want to happen was being carried out like clockwork toward the end. The most frustrating part of it all, it seemed, was the horror of trying harder only to end up pushing her further away; she was a closed book to me. I know that now; and the horrible rhythm of things that were going wrong was overwhelming.
We were arguing and had been for months. I didnít want to talk to her. I didnít want to argue anymore. I dusted off my thoughts now and then to look back at the way we were. Arguing about who loved who more; and now it made me laugh at my hindsight. I hated myself for ever not speaking my mind; but now I hated her more for not letting me want to.
Why do fools fall in love? Sadly, my story is a bit one sided, being that I havenít found someone to rest my hat with as of yet,. From my own experience though, I can break down chapters of a would-be great connection.
Someone like me falls under a sirenís spell, as it would seem. Iím hopeless at this point, being the old romantic that I am. Immediately the two people start to click as they point out strange similarities in their personalities that arenít obvious as they begin to get to know one another. The word Ďsoul-mateí gets tossed around too loosely and before either one of them knows it "This must be it." Time goes by quickly until it happens for the first time; thereís something you donít like about who you are with. Itís more than just a quirk or a fluke though. It is something that really stands out. "Itís easy to fix," you think to yourself. I know thatís what I thought.
What I did not understand, though, was unfathomable to me then. Changing a person is easier said than done; and then the arguing started. It began with a slight feeling of trepidation and a constant fear of what would happen next. Tip-toeing around mood swings, I hoped, prayed, that things would work out.
Sometime soon after, though, I reached a point where I realized that I wanted to be myself. I knew that a relationship built on anxiety wasnít right, and, more importantly, it wasnít what I wanted.
Then, just as I feared, I found the more honesty I threw in, the more we argued. Worst of all, I started to realize that she wasnít the one for me. I began to feel utterly and amazingly alone. The one person I felt I could talk to was the only one I couldnít talk to; not about this. The reason for that, I didnít want it to end. I still feel like if there was anything I could do to make things the way they were, I would. A part of me feels that what I did was right in breaking it off. My only question that needs to be answered is if what I did was right, then why do I feel so terrible?
I let it all soak in while I thought. I was ready to start my essay, and I felt the need to relay my feelings being lifted even after typing my first sentence.
"When I got home from school that day I felt determined to get the essay that was due over and done withÖ"
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© 2002 Jonathan McCullough
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