Original Drama >> General
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The door slammed and rattled the windows, jangled the knickknacks. He heard the engine scream to
life and his whole world sped down the street, squealing tires and all. With a shout of fury
strangled off somewhere in his throat, he threw his fists to his sides and closed his eyes so
tightly they hurt. He didn't want to look at it, at the home around him. He'd made this life for
her, for him. They were supposed to be together forever. They'd promised each other. The band
that was cutting into the palm of his left hand from his third finger screamed that at him. He let
his lids crack open and the first thing that caught his sight were the half a dozen clear bottles in
front of him on the oak coffee table, all empty. They called it the “truth serum,” the
alcohol. It would make even the best of liars tell the truth, but he hadn't meant it. He hadn't
meant any of it. She was like a drug to him, a drug he'd made sure he'd have for the rest of his
life six years previous. This was supposed to be their anniversary and it was ruined.
He growled hoarsely, drew his leg back, and then threw his foot forward, cracking it against the
wooden table so the bottles skidded where they sat, trying to balance for a moment and then clanged
to the floor, shattering loudly. The table scraped across the oak floor, carving shallow
indentations into the wood. The glass tinkled around it, splattering everything near with
sweet-smelling liquid. This isn't what he wanted. He didn't want to be standing here, feeling so
alone. She'd always been there, even if she wasn't THERE. It felt like his entire world was
collapsing in on him, choking off his air, suffocating him. Her words rang in his ears, haunting
him like a demon.
“If this is how it's going to be, then I quit.”
He ground his teeth, closing his eyes tightly again. The release of screaming mean things at her
hadn't been satisfying enough to mask the agony he was feeling as her pain-filled eyes swam in front
of him. He'd let his screwed-up side take over and lost a never-ending battle with the woman he
He fell backward onto the arm of the couch and then let his body slide off it violently until he was
in the sitting position beside it on the floor, he knees to his chest. He rested his forehead in
his palms, licking his lips. She was his world. The reason for his entire existence. How could he
let her leave when everything he was living for was in her? He threw himself roughly out of the
sitting position and stumbled to his feet, running hard into a side table with his outer thigh. He
didn't stop to catch the lamp as it tumbled to the ground, cutting off the source of his light. He
turned the corner through the archway to the kitchen quickly, and slammed his hand down on the keys
that were waiting for him. He didn't lock the house. He didn't even turn to close the door. He
was off the steps and into his SUV in eight seconds, throwing on his seatbelt and jolting the
vehicle out of the driveway. He wasn't letting her walk away. If it took the rest of his life, he
would make her see how much he needed her.
The speedometer creped its way toward eighty-five as he rounded a corner to six wooden road blocks
and red flashing lights. He punched the steering wheel. He had to get to her. He didn't need this
kind of complication. A traffic directing police officer waved him forward, rain pounding the top
of his hair. He rolled down the window and looked at the cop.
“What's going on?” he asked, “Is it going to be long?” The man shook his
“There was an accident,” he let him know, “We're trying to work it out but with
all this rain, it might be a bit before you're able to get through. You might want to turn around
and head back the other way.” He shook his head at the cop. No. No, he wasn't going to turn
around. He needed to see her again. He couldn't let it end like this. He rolled up the window,
shutting out the sound of the falling rain again, and waited. His SUV inched forward ever-so
slowly. It seemed like the longest few minutes of his life as he waited. Every centimeter of his
body ached, wondering what she would say to him, wondering if she would push him away. He moved
forward another few feet. He caught sight of one of the mangled cars from the accident and sighed.
The world was going to Hell that night. He gripped the steering wheel, waiting for the cars to move
again. They edged forward and he followed. He glanced out his window again, and squinted. He let
his window roll down a bit, ignoring his wind-shield wipers as they threw water onto his face. The
white metal was twisted, so he couldn't be sure that it was it. But the license plate he zeroed in
on told him the truth and a scream of horror started somewhere in his stomach and fought its way up
to his chest, his throat, and then out his mouth. He smacked the window with the seatbelt, and the
door flew open as he tossed himself from the vehicle. He spun himself toward where he needed to
run, grabbed the window frame for support. He stumbled and then slid in the rain water, but ran as
fast as his legs would carry him. She was there. He could see her unmoving body lying haphazardly
on its side in the rain, in the middle of a grass knoll, forty feet from her white Prius. He
gasped, his throat closing off and splashed into the flooded, shallow ditch, screaming her name.
“Anna!” his voice cracked from the strain and he tripped over a piece of shrapnel from
the two cars. He groaned, shoving himself back to his feet and ran forward. Everything stopped
around him as he neared her. The sound in his ears closed off, his hands starting to shake.
Everything moved in slow-motion. His heart beat loudly in his ears, only drawn out every so often
when he drew in a deep breath. He felt like he was having an out-of-body experience. He was so
close to her. He could hold her and steal her pain, make sure she would be all right. It wasn't
too late. It was never too late.
Without warning, he was thrown to the ground by a force so hard it knocked the wind from his lungs.
He fought against the body of what looked like a fireman, who had forced him to the ground.
“No!” he screamed, looking up at his wife, kicking as hard as his could in the
water-logged land. He breathed in mud, trying with all his might to shove the man off him.
“Calm down! Stop!” the man screamed. He punched at the man's shoulder.
“No! Please, I have to be with her!” he screamed, “Please! Anna, I'm so
sorry!” He gasped loudly, sobbing into the wet earth.
“I'm so sorry for the way I am! I never meant to be so cold! I love you!” he shrieked,
“Please don't leave me! God, please, no!” The man pushed him farther into the earth,
holding his arms at his sides. A man with a white sheet walked toward the scene and brought the
garment to Anna's body. Her husband gasped.
“NO!” he shouted, “PLEASE NO! DON'T! SHE ISN'T GONE! SHE'S STILL ALIVE! YOU JUST
HAVE TO LET ME—NO!” The fireman grunted against the man's frantic struggle. The EMT
covered Anna's body completely with the sheet and watched the struggle as the man was overcome,
burying his face into the mud. He didn't want to live. He didn't want to be a part of his body.
He wanted to leave. He wanted it all to be over. He couldn't live if she wasn't alive. He moaned
into the earth and felt the weight lift from his body and the fireman walked away to help the rest
of the victims. The man lay where he was, his eyes getting heavy with loss and despair. He closed
his eyes a black nothingness engulfed him.
He jumped awake with a start, feeling a warm blanket over his bare torso. He blinked heavily at the
sunlight that was pouring through the window of what he knew to be his bedroom. His chest burned.
He was breathing heavily. He felt movement next to him and he turned his head quickly. The hand on
his chest folded into a fist and he heard a girlish groan as the woman next to him rolled over. He
“Anna,” he whispered. She opened her eyes and smiled up at him.
“Morning,” she smirked sweetly and then leaned up to give him a soft kiss. He didn't
return it out of confusion. She looked at him, concerned.
“Mike?” she asked. He swallowed again.
“Dream,” he shook his head, “It was just a dream.” She smiled widely at him
and kissed him again, feeling him return it this time. She snuggled into his bare chest and let out
a contented sigh.
“Happy Anniversary,” she smiled.
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The preceeding was a work of fiction. Any statements regarding any person, place, or other entity (real or imaginary) is the sole responibility of the author of this work of fiction. Fan Works Inc. takes no responsibility for the content of user submitted stories. All stories based on real people are works of fiction and do not necessarily reflect on the nature of the individuals featured. All stories based on other copyrighted works are written with authors knowing that these works violate copyright laws.
Please see the Terms of Service for more information.