A Short Story : A Story?

It was difficult and uneasy to see family members in such a grief and pain and you don’t know what to say.

"I love you too," I cried. The thoughts of my son on a battlefield fighting for his life haunted me.

I ran downstairs and found my father on the floor. My mom just stood there and did nothing. I... I killed them. I wasn't able to save them." My voice cracks and I start crying. Aaron moves closer slowly, he puts an arm around me and brings me in for a hug. I would never let someone do that, but right now I need a shoulder to cry on. He's warm and welcoming. "It's ok. Just let it out." "Honestly, how can I be ok. I'm alone now..." His response angers me. How can he say it's ok! He's not going through my pain. "You won't be alone. I promise. I'll help you." I'm startled by his words. I look up at him wide

I remember the dark clouds looming heavy above, filled with potential moisture ready to be released to the ground. I remember sitting on the soft chair of the funeral home next to my family. But mostly I remember my little brother lying so still, so peaceful, in the small white box meant to preserve him from the cold grasps of deterioration. Bouquets of colorful flowers surrounded him and how out of place they looked with the gloomy atmosphere. He was dressed in the sharpest little white suit, his hair done as the Great Gatsby himself. He looked so angelic lying there, unmoving, painless. He looked as though he was finally free, free of the pain from the terrible convulsions that racked his tiny

His grief was private and I had to shield him from the crowd. That was all I could do, because I couldn't do the one thing I really wished I

He nodded his head and had this surprised look on his face. I waited for him to answer or say anything, but all he did was walk away from me. I sat there in disbelief. How could he not say anything? Not even a “good job Allison” or “I’m proud of you”. I walked upstairs getting ready for bed, not even talking to the rest of my family. I felt like a big, fat disappointment that didn’t deserve to be apart of this family. I cried myself to sleep, muffling the whimpers. What did I deserve?

It was a cold and foggy wednesday morning on june 10th. Hunter was sleeping on his bed when he heard his mom call him.

"When I realized it's right here, it's someone maybe a mile away from my own home I thought this is tragic, this is horrible, but I also thought we need to come together and show our love for this family," he said.

“I thought I would never see you again” I said, tears forming in my eyes. Soon everyone in my family did a group hug. We soon made it back home safe and sound.

My eyes ascend up into the branches of an oak that has past its prime,

Standing in the way back with my head down and eyes closed, I am the only one not crying. The sobs from everyone around me flooded my ears. I raise my head to a painful sight I wish I hadn't seen. A casket, inside of it lays a body, cold and lifeless. A person that once felt emotions and laughed and cried. It was Zach's body. Even though I haven’t met Zach in person, I bet I knew him more than anyone else. Some people can walk by others and assume they know them by the clothes they wear, the way the look, their choice of makeup, but they are wrong. I never thought i could know Zach like I once did. I never could have imagined the hurt i would go through when Zach passed away. I rarely cry when people I have met died, but Zach was a oart of

After passing the couple in front of us I subtly hear my cousin whisper, “How do you think he died”? I think back to what my mom had told me on the long way up to Tama, “I don’t know, my mom said he just didn’t want to be here anymore”, and that’s the best way I could describe it to her without scaring her.

I asked her what was wrong and pulled her into a hug. It was when she said those five words, that my whole world started to spin around and around. “Aaron’s wife killed herself yesterday.” I, honestly, didn’t know what to think. I gave her another hug and went to the bathroom. I called my parents and told them the news. They told me to hang tight and wait for them to come to the restaurant, which was a forty-five minute drive.

It was a normal day at the Williams house at 7:30 a.m. on a Saturday morning. Tim Williams was a small, muscular little boy who had brown hair that spiked up in the front. Tim was like any other twelve year old boy in the little town of Watermill he loved playing sports. ( 1. ) Tim had so much sports equipment in his room along with shoes and clothes all over the floor, he didn't know what to do with it all. Tim was just watching cartoons eating waffles when his mother walked in with a furious look on her face. She told Tim that it was about time he go upstairs and clean his room. Tim started up upstairs with a slow walk as if he wouldn't have to do it if he walked slowly. As he made his way upstairs he already knew what he was about to get into.

It was a nice summer day, my 5-year-old son Sam was playing outside in the backyard of our suburban home. Sam has always been a quiet boy, he plays by himself mostly, he never had many friends, but he has always had a wild imagination. I was in the kitchen feeding our dog Dakota, when I heard what sounded like Sam talking to someone in the backyard. I’m not sure who it was he could be talking to, could he have finally made a friend? Being a single mom it’s hard for me to always keep an eye on my son, so I decided to go outside and check on him. When I went into the backyard I was a bit confused, because Sam was the only person back there. Was he talking to himself? I could have sworn I heard another voice. “Sam! It’s time to come inside.” I called out to him. He came inside and sat down at the kitchen table, it was about lunchtime so I decided to make him a sandwich. “Sam. Who were you talking to out there?” I asked. Sam looked up for a moment, “I was playing with my new friend,” he said smiling. I poured him some milk and continued to pry, as any good mother would. “Does your friend have a name? Why didn’t you ask him to have lunch with us?” I asked. Sam stared at me for a moment before replying, “His name is Funny Man.” I was a bit taken back by what he had said. “Oh? That’s a strange name. What does your friend look like?” I asked a bit confused. “He’s a clown. He has long hair and a big swirly cone nose. He’s got long arms, with stripy socks, and he always smiles.” I