15 comments

Fiction Drama Sad

The air smelled heavily of rain, but the clouds have yet to release their torment. Lightning crackled across the sky as the trees bent with the wind. She sat on the plastic chair on the covered porch and watched the clouds roll on top of each other. The house was finally quiet after the tornados that were her kids were fast asleep. 

She sat there with the one glass of wine she allowed herself. The trees moaning as the wind lashed at them, ripping off leaves and thrashing them in its macabre dance was the only sound. A sigh started in her toes, crept up her legs, gathering broken dreams and despair as it rose until it escaped her lips. 

She was a snack giver, meal preparer, first responder, laundry service, taxi, and referee to the endless UFC battles her kids partook in. 

Yes, she was many things, except the one she always longed for most. 

Her dream first took seed when she was twelve. She had spent most of her free time creating worlds in her notebook, falling in love with the characters she imagined. But somewhere along the way, she had put her notebooks away as life has a way of demanding to be put first. Real-life drama overtook her imaginary ones. Life became busy and hectic. But the seed was sown, withered over the years of neglect, but had never died. It festered in the dark recess of her mind, waiting impatiently for her to pull the weeds around it and help it flourish once again.

When the dark clouds could no longer hold back its tears, they were big fat drops that chilled your skin even though the temperature was still warm. Lightning flashed across the dark sky. Thunder rumbled low and long, vibrating deep within her. 

What did she contribute to this world? She no longer held a job, focusing instead on trying to steer her little whirlwinds of energy and destruction to be kind and helpful people. At times, this seemed an impossible task. How does one tame a storm? Every day the flurry of madness threatened to engulf her and drag her down into a dark abyss. 

Her husband tells her it won't always be this way. One day, sooner than she thinks they'll be grown and gone. She'll miss the calms before the storms. The random hugs, the sweetness of their faces as they beg for just one more story before bed. She knew this to be true. Yet, there are many days when she feels she'll drown in the rain. 

The wind shifted slightly, enough so that the tears from the sky splattered across her as if the storm knew she wouldn't let her own tears fall. It was a risk she couldn't take. For once they start, there'd be no end until she was submerged in the puddle, gasping for air that was no longer there. 

What would her legacy be? She once thought it would be to have her name on the covers of books, helping others escape whatever torment they might face. But now, there was nothing. Not long ago, she had found her notebooks from her carefree days. She had felt a drop of hope. She picked up a pen, but no words would flow onto the paper. But did she expect them to when her house sounded as if she were at a heavy metal concert? She tried a few more times, but no one talked to her like they once did. Her characters were silent, refusing to tell her their stories. So once again, the notebooks were put away. She had nothing left to give, nothing left to offer the world to let them know that yes, she did once exist. 

It was mainly her who ran the house ever since her husband received a promotion causing him to travel. She spent her days taking care of everyone else, making sure they had what they needed. Days blended on top of each other. Every one pretty much the same, occasionally broken up with baseball games, doctor appointments, and playdates. And of course the endless battles. 

The rain chilled her, yet she stayed seated sipping her wine. What did any of it matter? She could catch her death out here but would anyone notice or even care? She was inconsequential. No, they would notice when they were hungry or had to be driven to a baseball game, or one of the other million reasons they called for her. 

But when was the last time anyone did something for her? When her husband was home, he was exhausted from being on the road, never being able to sleep well in hotels. He slept then joined the wrestling matches, creating even more noise she wished she could turn off like a tv. She longed for silence, not forever, simply for an hour. 

She couldn't remember the last time she met a friend out for lunch. She surely wasn't going to with three hurricanes in tow. Her friends no longer asked for she had made excuses for too long. They go about their days, with their meaningful careers, without a thought of her here, alone, yet not alone. 

When, if ever, would it be her turn? Will anyone support her dream as she had supported theirs? She always stood on the sidelines, cheering everyone else on, and pushing them to succeed. But here she sat, cold and wet, her dream unlived. 

She contributed nothing, left no legacy. She wore many hats as a mother, but not the one she yearned for most. That hat was held out of reach, teasing, tormenting, occasionally flying by and as she stretches to grab it, the storm whips it away, tossing it even further away. 

From inside she heard her youngest cry out. The thump, thump as he thrashed about, caught in another night terror. 

"Break time's over." She stood, a single tear sliding down her face, as she walked to her son's room.

Yes, she had a dream, but for now, she was simply a mom trying to survive the rage of the storm that threatened to consume her. 

July 14, 2022 21:36

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15 comments

Yves. ♙
09:12 Aug 07, 2022

Aw, this one was really hard to read... It's strange, even as a published author, I'm still terrified of feeling like I've missed my chance! Everyone wants to leave their mark on the world, don't they? Wonderful choice of topic; thanks for sharing.

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22:56 Jul 20, 2022

Very sad, real story. That theme of abandoned dreams is a strong connector. I liked how you incorporated her journaling from her carefree days because this read to me like a journal entry too, very introspective, searching. I was hoping in the end it was therapeutic for her to unravel these thoughts, but maybe not, the darkness not ready to relent. Nice read.

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Ba Eubank
01:04 Jul 21, 2022

Thank you. And you're right, she wasn't ready to let in the light. I really wanted her to though.

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Michał Przywara
20:33 Jul 18, 2022

Certainly a sad story, especially with the moody weather. As others have pointed out, it's a painful realization that we've abandoned our dreams, and will likely not return to them. But, this story goes a step further. There's a passage, "What did any of it matter? She could catch her death out here." This, coupled with the mother's almost resentful attitude towards her family, makes me suspect that she's in a seriously dark place, mentally. She doesn't even consider her children as a legacy, for example. Perhaps she does what she does out...

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Ba Eubank
22:08 Jul 18, 2022

She definitely is in a mentally dark place and doesn't feel like she'll ever get to make her dream come true. She does love her kids and knows she'll miss this stage someday, but she's feeling overwhelmed which I think many moms (and some dads) can relate, especially stay at home moms who seem to lose some of their identity.

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Chandler Wilson
17:37 Jul 18, 2022

A beautiful, and simple story. Loved the opening line. You did a fantastic job of touching the reader. Pulling us into recalling those unfulfilled dreams we all have. The ones that only surface when we're truly alone. I look forward to reading more of your work. Thanks for sharing.

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Ba Eubank
19:47 Jul 18, 2022

Thank you so much. Glad you enjoyed it.

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Graham Kinross
14:21 Jul 17, 2022

I think I was a tornado as a kid, that’s why I’m an only child. I can feel the frustration in this of having a dream that is dying inside you. I get depressed if I don’t keep up my writing. I have a baby daughter now so not as much time to read but I am trying to keep going and I hope that whatever is going on in your life you keep writing as well. There’s something brilliantly therapeutic about writing, we’re finally in full control of something.

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Ba Eubank
01:36 Jul 19, 2022

Hmm, my reply disappeared. Congrats on your baby. I pray she sleeps well for you. I agree writing can help you get through so much. I've been actually writing more this summer--I think partly to avoid online training I need to do :) (My youngest is a F5 tornado. Praying he deescalates as he grows older)

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Graham Kinross
03:22 Jul 19, 2022

He’ll grow more responsible. Eventually he’ll realise how much he challenged you and be grateful for your love and patience. I don’t know how my mum put up with me.

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Ba Eubank
23:34 Jul 19, 2022

He better, he owes me big time :D going on 3 years of challenging behavoir. I even wrote an essay a couple years ago about it for a website. He's lucky he's cute.

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Graham Kinross
04:12 Jul 20, 2022

At least if he’s so active he’s probably very healthy. He sounds like an interesting character. Cheeky?

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Ba Eubank
16:08 Jul 21, 2022

Not so much cheeky (that'd be one of his sisters) he likes to torment, not listen, and has a switch of a temper. But at least he's well behaved at school.

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F.O. Morier
07:23 Jul 17, 2022

The air smelled heavily of rain, but the clouds have yet to release their torment. What a great (perfect!) opening line! I love the story! Fati

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Ba Eubank
01:36 Jul 19, 2022

Thank you so much!

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