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The story so far:

"Flatline" -> "Flatline, continued" -> "Flatline, continued, again" -> "Broken"

Grasping for Hope (draft)  by livelaughloveshop

Days pass. People question me, and attempt to feed me food my stomach refuses to take. They tell me this is bad for me. They tell me it's killing me slowly. I only smile, wondering if they know how badly I wished for death to suck me in and not to let me out.

Sometimes I see Maggie. She visits me, and we have long talks. She tells me she would have married me. She would have loved me every day of our lives together. I don't think the people that placed me here like it when Maggie visits. They come in my room and try to interrupt. I don't like it. They try to tell me she's not there, but she is. I can see her, and hear her. When she's there, I can feel again. I can be happy.

Maggie told me she would be coming to visit me again today, so here I sit waiting for her. I feel excitement rarely, and Maggie visits rarely. A distant part of me whispers to me, telling me that the two occurrences are related. Sometimes, I believe it.

 Suddenly, Maggie was there, breaking my cycle of thought. Her pine green eyes sparkled and her long brown hair shined. She was just how I remembered her before... before... I couldn't remember. No, that was a lie. I refused to allow myself to remember. It might bring pain, useless, pointless pain. When she began talking though, her voice was different. Urgent. It alarmed me, made me listen like I had refused to listen before.

"Matt, don't do this! Don't let yourself go. Demand to talk to Kiera, talk to your lawyer, anything! You can't die. I love you too much to just sit back and let you kill yourself," she whimpered. Her pain triggered my protective side. Maybe, if I hadn't been so protective, so, so, so... Power-needy, then this wouldn't have happened... Behind her strong voice, I could hear the desperation in her. I could hear her grasping for hope, and sometimes, I wondered if I often did the very same thing.

"It's my fault," I whisper. Suddenly, she's gone. The white door has been thrust open, and a strong man is standing there. Behind him stands Kiera. Her eyes are red and puffy, and she appears to have let herself go. Given up, on me, on everything. A lot like me. I wonder why she's even here.

"Hey, sis..." I say, hesitantly. Whatever she says, I know that I have to block the feeling. Pain won't solve anything. She nods at the man, and he reluctantly allows her inside, shutting the door behind her. She walks toward me, zombie-like.

"You didn't kill her, did you?" she asked. I tried to ignore the stab of pain, but for the first time in a long time, it wouldn't go away. A lump formed in my throat. I stared in her steel blue eyes, forcing me to remember my being condemned to foreverness in here, her crying pleas in the background. Staring in her eyes makes me wonder what made her come back again. Though she had always been the overprotective, caring big sister, there was really no reason for her to have come back. I was simply hopeless, and I had accepted it.

My wind wandered back to her question. I hadn't killed her, had I? There had been a gun, there had been screaming. Maggie had been unhappy. She was crying. I strained, for my sisters sake, to remember the details. Without warning, all the details spilled into my brain, clear as day. We had been walking down the neighborhood, back to the house. She had been crying because of a health crisis. She said she didn't want to put me in pain, or waste a bunch of medical money on her. In the corner of my eye, I had seen the butt of the gun sticking out of her plaid purse.

"Maggie, sweetie," I had objected. "I love you too much to simply let you go. I won't allow you to leave, unless you just don't love me anymore. But I won't let you leave for money purposes." She had shook her head and sighed.

"I don't want to cause you pain, and the pain inside me is more than you can imagine," she said, her voice breaking. I had looked straight into her brilliant green eyes, and could almost see memories of her mother, who had recently passed away. In an instant, she had the gun at her head. I began to panick, and my heart raced.

"No," I whispered, my voice wavering violently. She nodded slightly, once, before the sobs ripped through me. I shook until she had her arms wrapped around me, crying with me. She didn't say anything, but her eyes said it all: She hadn't given up on me. She was going to keep fighting for me.

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  'Grasping for Hope' statistics: (click to read)
Date created: April 29, 2008
Date modified: 3 weeks, 5 days ago
Comments: 0
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Word Count: 1282
Times Read: 343
Story Length: 1