the Unending Journey of the Wandering Author

A chronicle of the unending journey of the Wandering Author through life, with notes and observations made along the way. My readers should be aware I will not censor comments that disagree with me, but I do refuse to display comment spam or pointless, obscene rants. Humans may contact me at thewanderingauthor at yahoo dot com - I'll reply as I am able.

Name:
Location: New England, United States

I have always known I was meant to write, even when I was too young to know the word 'author'. When I learned that books were printed, I developed an interest in that as well. And I have always been a wanderer, at least in my mind. It's not the worst trait in an author. For more, read my writing; every author illuminates their heart and soul on the pages they write upon.

Wednesday, April 25, 2007

A Long, Long Time

Helen stood before her sink, staring. She remembered stacking the dishes there, of course, but she'd always kept her kitchen clean and tidy. The dirt, the decay, the fallen curtain, all warned her it had been a long, long time since she was taken to the hospital. She rubbed her finger over a can of soup suddenly rough with rust.

She remembered the hospital well enough. All bright lights, sterile smells, and pushy nurses. After that, an endless succession of monotonous, meaningless days. They told her she could go home if she learned to walk again, but who could find the energy in such a place? The blandly awful food, the indifference, the dull walls all drained you. And the loneliness was worst of all.

Returning here was better, but birdsong and squirrel chatter couldn't quench the hunger those empty days had filled her with. She heard voices and turned toward them. She took a few steps, and saw a pair of teenage boys blinking in the dim light, shuffling their feet among her scattered papers. They stared at her, eyes wide.

"Hello, boys..." She broke off, startled.

Outside, panting, they huddled behind a wall, speaking in hushed tones of the strange woman who just walked through a wall of the deserted old cabin and spoke.

Helen stood where they left her, tears soaking her cheeks. Every now and then she moaned. "Come back! Please, come back!"

Despite her plea, it was a long, long time before anyone dared.

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4 Comments:

Anonymous wolfbaby said...

how you pack so much into such a short story is amazing to me.. i need to learn this trick!!

April 25, 2007 12:35 PM  
Blogger DBA Lehane said...

You know what, the best compliment I can pay here is...I so wish I had written this one!!!!

April 26, 2007 2:18 AM  
Blogger suzanabrams said...

Again an intriguing read.
Both the stories I've read so far are just as good actually.
Here, even ugliness is made soothing & easy to the eye.

April 26, 2007 9:49 PM  
Blogger The Wandering Author said...

wolfbaby, the trick lies in learning to edit what you write as tightly as possible. It does take some work and practice, but the hardest part is simply learning to let go of words you've written.

Lehane - thank you. Coming from you, that is quite a compliment.

Susan, thank you as well. I know if you'd chosen to enter, you could have done better than any of my stories.

April 27, 2007 3:48 PM  

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