Graveside Remembrances (374 hits)
Category: NoneRating: -1.08 on 15 reviews (Rate this item) (V)
Submitted by myexstaintstain (View user info) at 2006-04-30 19:51:00 EDT
He has spent at least three hours everyday for the past year by her graveside, Mike thought as he kept rubbing his hands next to the heater of the running car. It was the dead of winter, snow piled high everywhere you looked, but that never dissuaded his younger brother Ryan from visiting her grave.
Mike remembered the first time Ryan disappeared for two days straight without any word to anyone. That act of mindless sorrow on Ryan's behalf left his whole family in a worried uproar. It was during beginning of his grieving period for her.
Ryan, who could never be put in a foul mood regardless of whatever or whoever may have been bothering him, died before her hand fell from his face to the cold ground during their final embrace. The smear of blood across Ryan's cheek, mingled with the tears running from his eyes, dripping onto his white cotton shirt left an image of horrific fright forever burned in my mind. Her blood, forming a pool around the two during her final seconds. So much blood, spread on and around Ryan and her, I originally thought it had to have also been Ryan's. A physician had to come and inject Ryan with a sedative into his neck for he would not relinquish hold of her ever cooling corpse, no matter who tried to pry him away.
My brother Ryan, ceased to exist from that point forward. No longer would I see the zeal for life that danced around in his eyes every time he glimpsed the one who took his breath away every time he caught sight of her, whether upfront or from afar, or just remembering her face from the day before. Those eyes always hinted at what was possible in life, now were devoid of any emotion. I could always see it in his eyes, those warm, light blue and gray flecked eyes of his, when he thought of her. My baby brother at 19 years of age found within himself what makes him complete at such an early, or rather, whom.
No longer did I see that light that shone over so brightly in his eyes. Bereft of her, those eyes were now a steal gray, without warmth, love, or happiness. The death of his soul on that horrible day was one felt by many. I sometimes become ill for hours at a time, grieved as I am that one so full of laughter and love was irrevocably damaged over such a tragic event.
I still remember the sounds of the shots that went off, felling Ryan's love forever. He had just proposed marriage to her early that night, and was leaving her favorite restaurant, hand clapsed tightly over her now wedding ringed hand. I was but a block away on the porch of my friend's house, toasting to my brother's biggest day of his life. Little did I know, it would turn out to be the saddest day he ever experienced.
The store next door to the restaurant was being robbed for the third time that month, but, unbeknown est to the robber, the store clerk had had enough of being the victim. He pulled his gun out from behind the counter, and shot at the robber blindly. Those bullets ripped through the entire store, killing the robber instantly, and tearing through the body of Ryan's betrothed. That singular act of violence ended the man Ryan once was, giving to life a man without the ability to feel anymore.
As I rushed over to the location of the shots, my trepidation ever increased as I approached. The blood curdling scream that seemed faintly familiar at the time, ran my blood frozen. Within that scream, I knew what had happened. It wasn't the scream of his beloved, oh no, very few sounds came out of her upon those bullet's impact. It was the scream of my brother. Within that terrifying scream, I heard the end of what I always admired my brother for. His attainment of a perfect mental state of harmony he found within himself, and within her. That scream, and the far reaching implications it let out, forever haunts me at night.
That day that Ryan had disappeared for so long without any word, the entire family thought the worst. His mental state was completely shattered, gone with the sound of two loud bangs. His other brother's and sister's, and I especially, scavenged every conceivable place Ryan may have went, except for the most obvious. It came to me on the second day that maybe he had went to her gravestone for longer than any other time before.
I came upon him, half buried in snow, laying flat on his stomach with head turned to the side, eyes open yet unseeing. The pitiful sight of a man who once reached the pinnacle of perfect happiness, forced me on my knees, so weak by the sight I could no longer stand. I called out to him, but he would not answer. At that moment, I knew he would never regain his will to live, and that acceptance of such a cruel fate slightly twisted my soul forever.
Today was exactly one year since my brother's end. I began driving him to the graveyard everyday for the past month, so sickly had he become that he couldn't handle driving a car anymore. That broad shouldered, strength of mind and body man that my brother once was, was now only an empty husk, devoid of any emotions. He had closed himself off more and more to everyone around him as time went on. Soon most of the family gave up hope for his recovery, as I had long before. This was the only kindness I could show him that he was able to accept and comprehend.
I had been in the car for quite sometime, so I decided to step out for a bit of fresh air. Shortly after, I heard from some distance away that same blood curdling scream the was ever so familiar, like the kiss of a lover. Once it died out, I let out my blood curdling scream of the word no. The sound of my voice was drowned out by a single, clear gunshot that rang out across the vast field of snow covered gravestones. I fell again, same as that day nearly a year ago, for I knew without question that no longer could Ryan bear his life without her. The realization that I had now lost my brother in body as I had in spirit so long ago shattered my world before the shot was nothing but a painful memory. I wept for nearly an hour, on hands and knees crawling around without any sense of purpose, before I mustard the courage to trudge on to my brother's corpse. There he lay, half on the ground, half across her tombstone, a gaping hole protruding from the left side of his back. the blood congealing across the stone, and the snow was tinted red several feet around the entire gravestone. His heart could no longer take it, so he blew it out. It was on that day that I too, was forever shaken to my very core, unable to recover completely from the loss of my brother.
I only hope that if has gone on to another plane of consciousness, that he was able to once again find happiness. The world slightly dimmed forever before her hand finished it's descent from the final touch of his face, and now for me and many of his friend's and relative, it dimmed even more, with sunshine seeming like a cruel joke in the face of such tragedy.
User Reviews
Submitted by matnotharry (user info) at 2006-08-29 19:50:59 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
This was shitttttttttttttt
Submitted by copsucker (user info) at 2006-05-02 09:42:17 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
The post of yours that impresses me the most is the recent "The Little Blowjob that Could on Brokeback Mountain."
The mark of an excellent piece of writing is that every single word counts; there is nothing extraneous. The movie "Body Heat" with Kathleen Turner was like this. Every word of dialogue helped move the story along. Nothing was said that wasn't critical to the progress of the plot. Conversely, nothing was left out that needed to be said.
When asked why his speeches and writings were so concise, Churchill referred the reader back to the story of "The Good Samaritan." "Have you ever read something written with such economy?"
Your Brokeback story was like that.
Copsucker
Submitted by myexstaintstain (user info) at 2006-05-01 08:56:43 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Thanks copsucker, I re-read it to make sure I had no spelling mistakes, but I guess I missed that one. I actually should have said "muster". Also, I've done much better? Hehe which post would you be referring to?
Submitted by copsucker (user info) at 2006-05-01 01:25:52 EDT (#)
Ranking: -1
The concept was good, but you've done much, much better. Just a note on spelling: "mustard" instead of "mustered" in the next to the last paragraph made me break out in giggles. You need to fix that.
Submitted by myexstaintstain (user info) at 2006-04-30 21:48:16 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
I disagree that I 'bomb' everyone else. Like I said before, a majority of my ratings I give a plus 2. If I don't like a particular post, I give a -2. Nothing against anyone. I think I gave retrospect a positive rating on something and he always runs his mouth on my posts.
Hmm I do like writing, but I am an amateur at it. I like your analogy of a man with cement shoes. I probably should work more on the grace and style of what I write. I put this hastily together. Wrote it in about 30 minutes or so.
As far as recycled emo shit, well I really don't consider myself emo. As for what I wrote, I like the dreary trend, but I don't cut my wrists and cry big emo tears on my blog. I don't even have a blog. If it comes off as recycled emo shit, then considering as I haven't read much emo stuff, I wouldn't know that for a fact nor could consider it in future writings. But honestly jack, that analogy alone you gave will help me to better my writing. I will focus more on grace and style. Thanks.
Submitted by ghola (user info) at 2006-04-30 21:46:45 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
No Comment
Submitted by shitfuck (user info) at 2006-04-30 21:20:44 EDT (#)
Ranking: 2
Putrid! But I dig that.
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2006-04-30 21:03:45 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
I gave you a -2 because you bomb everyone and then post utter drivel like this.
There is nothing new here, and you use words the way a man in cement shoes dances. No grace, no style.
I think what it boils down to is you think you are a better writer than I am, as evidenced by your childish -2 on my post with no reasoning behind it.
News flash, amigo. There, there is an endless list of things I cannot do, but I know I can tell a decent story when I set my mind to it, and I know recycled, tired old emo shit when I see it, and that is what this post it.
Submitted by Bubba2341 (user info) at 2006-04-30 20:44:01 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
Your opinion bears a remarkable resemblance to the stuff
that comes out of my asshole.
Submitted by myexstaintstain (user info) at 2006-04-30 20:40:15 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
Go fuck yourself bubba's bitch, if I gave him a -2 then he deserved it in my opinion. Another 14 year old kid crying about a bad rating. Gosh grow up.
Submitted by Bubba2341 (user info) at 2006-04-30 20:38:47 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
Fuck you, shitstain. You gave a -2 to a man who always writes
+2 material. You are being a fuckhead.
Submitted by myexstaintstain (user info) at 2006-04-30 20:26:43 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
And one more thing cock sucker, I -2 posts I think are shit. A majority of the ratings I give I give plus twops. When they suck I give them -2's. Retaliatory -2's are for cry baby cunts such as yourself. Good job dipshit. I hope all the blowjobs you are giving everyone here makes you feel good about yourself.
Submitted by myexstaintstain (user info) at 2006-04-30 20:24:16 EDT (#)
Ranking: 0
fuck u niggers. i post here for shits and giggles anyways.
Submitted by Bubba2341 (user info) at 2006-04-30 20:05:47 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
I won't mention the typos, missing words, wrong words, etc.
This rating is for -2ing good posts and generally being a dipshit.
Submitted by Jack_McCallum (user info) at 2006-04-30 20:05:13 EDT (#)
Ranking: -2
This is the literary equivalent of those dried and puckered old hot dogs you see slowly turning over and over on rollers at the ballpark concession stand.
Next time, try serving us something fresh.