ABOUT
THE AUTHOR
...[B]eneath US the earth is trembling. Where can we place our fulcrum, even assuming that we possess the lever?... The thing we all lack is not style, nor the dexterity of finger and bow known as talent... Now, what we lack is the intrinsic principle, the soul of the thing, the very idea of the subject... Where is the heart, the verve, the sap?
-Gustave Flaubert to Louis Bouilhet, February 6, 1850 [December 2001]
AUTHOR'S OTHER TITLES (1) Sunday Drive (Short Stories) A family’s last trip together. [736 words] [Drama]
Losing Life Antony Berrios
It started again, she thought to herself. The sound, that awful hollow and lonely sound."NOT ME, YOU CAN'T SCARE ME!" She screamed the veins in her neck protruding out. She looked at the clock on the nightstand, 3:15am. The bright moon out her window projected long fingers of branches from the tree outside her window. Each branch with its leaves turning into dappling moon light around her like a Pollack painting. She could not move, she pulled the sheets up to her nose. She watched the shadows on her ceiling shift and move. The sound stopped just as suddenly as it began. Don't just lay there you need to get out of the house. The voice in head started up again. "Leave me alone, go away." Don't be foolish, run, get out of the house before HE comes back. She new she couldn't leave. She had nowhere to go nowhere to hide. She new the door to the room was locked. She had no idea where she was. All she knew was she felt like she was in hell. She can't remember the last time she ate. Go through the window. The voice chimed in again. She pulled down the sheets and sat up in bed looking over at the window. The floor was dirty, small paper plates with dried food cluttered the floor. Cockroaches run along the floor plate to plate. Her face is bruised, her hair is long, blond and dirty. She steps off the bed, her bare feet touching the floor. Her clothes look tattered and dirty. She walks over to the window. Do it. The voice exclaims again. She pushes back the curtains revealing metal bars across the window. THEN. The sound starts again. That awful sound pounding on the walls. Suddenly a light turns on in the next room. Light slides in from the gap under the door. She jumps back into bed. The sound seems to get closer and closer. The shadow of someone's feet standing at the door cuts into the light under the door. The sound is deafening to her ears. She screams. STOP IT!! LET ME GO! LET ME GO! Her face turns red with strain. Suddenly. BLACK. She passes out.
Birds sing with the new day. Soft morning light illuminates the room. Her eyes open and dart around left and right. The covers still pulled up to her face. She looks over by the door and sees a plate of food. She begins to cry. She sobs one of those awful sobs that shake you like an earthquake. She hopes for a siren or someone to come busting through the door screaming, "You're safe, everything is going to be okay." She closes her eyes and thinks of her family. The thought of another night with that awful sound terrifies her. Suddenly a large sharp electronic beep fills the room. The sound so strong it shakes the bed. "STOP IT!" You're going to be okay Sara. BEEP! The sound cracks the floor. Splinters of wood break apart. "I MISS MY BABIES!" She screams out. BEEP! The windows all shatter. Glass rains down onto the floor. The door to the room splits apart with a loud CRACK still hanging on its hinges. It's going to be okay. She drowns in a flash of the most intense white light. She suddenly starts to hear voices all around her. " I have a heart rate." A male voice calls out.
"Steady.” A woman's voice says. Her eyes open slightly. Everything is
a blur to her. "Lady, can you hear me." She tries to talk but its faint. "Yes." She says. She can feel a tube of some kind down her throat. The blurring starts to clear up and she sees the face of a woman in a white coat long curly reddish hair. "You remember anything?" The woman asks. "No." "You were in a car accident, your going to be okay, your family is outside." Her eyes close as a tear runs down her face. "Thank-you." She
cries softly.
READER'S REVIEWS (2) DISCLAIMER: STORYMANIA DOES NOT PROVIDE AND IS NOT RESPONSIBLE FOR REVIEWS. ALL REVIEWS ARE PROVIDED BY NON-ASSOCIATED VISITORS, REGARDLESS OF THE WAY THEY CALL THEMSELVES.
"Very, Very visual style. Need a good editor to go through it but over all good short story. A fun read." -- Steve Shermen, Los Angeles, CA, USA.
"I loved this story. I had not idea it was going to end like that. Some grammer problems but never the less good job. Hope to see more." -- Susan Warren, Hollywood, CA, USA.
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