Each week we will focus on one ( two maximum) one-shot stories written by you! Please show some love and support for these wonderful writers whose works of art are being showcased. If you want an opportunity to have a chance to be given recognition, then contact me via Twitter @hersch24 All credit is given to the writers. We let the writing speak for itself here but don’t forget to let these writers, who pour their sweat and effort into their writing, know how you feel about their one-shots.
The Bitterest Pill Never Happened Written by wants2bdegrassi. You can also follow her @wants2bDEGRASSI
His short brown hair rustled in the wind. We knew he had to take it easy for the rest of his life. Mia couldn’t deal with it, so she left him high and dry. I always knew she was just using him. JT’s green eyes were glistening in the moon light as we watched the Pacific Ocean’s tide move in and out. The slight breeze licked at our feet which were barely in the water. I always knew JT wanted to look for his mom. I never thought he’d actually save up as much money as he could and start moving across Canada. It’s been a year since we graduated, almost two years since Drake Lempke stabbed JT in the back. All the doctors said it was a miracle he made it. If somebody told me that two years after Drake almost killed JT, we’d be standing by the Pacific Ocean in Tofino, BC; I’d tell you that you were a liar.
Here we were, JT and Liberty Yorke, newlyweds, standing in the Pacific Ocean. I looked over my shoulder at our rented shack. “Are you ever going to tell her you’re her son?” We used fake names, and paid in cash. To Tristleen Yorke and her daughter Kessandra, we were Joseph and Alanna Johnson.
“Not for a while. I want to get to know her first. I want to figure out if she wants to know it’s me first. If she forgot she had a son named James Tiberius, I don’t want her to feel bad. I wish someone would have told me I had a sister.” His voice was mono tone. There were so many thoughts running through his mind.
“Let’s go to bed. You’ve had a long day.”
Once we got back into our shack, JT changed in silence. When he took him shirt off, the scar glared at me straight in the face, taunting me, “You almost lost him! You almost lost him! I almost took him! He could have died!” I went through that taunt every night with myself. I numerously asked JT to change in the bathroom because his scar makes me remember the night he was almost taken from me. Unfortunately the bathroom in this shack is a little too small to change in, so I was forced to watch JT change his shirt nightly. We lay our heads down to sleep, kissing one last time good night. I quickly drift off into the land of in-between, where dreams are made.
The next morning when I woke up, I found it was all a dream. I was in my own room, in my parents’ house. I made the whole thing up in the in-between. JT was really gone. And all I had left was my memories.