Now, onto other goodies! Because I have broken my schedule, I think you all deserve a story that I am entering into our county fair this year. It's a short story, only a couple pages, but it plays a role in one of my possible NaNovel projects (Till Death Do Us Part). It's entitled My Angel, My Son. I wrote it actually two years ago, and it's still one of my favorite pieces. I only ask that you read this if you are capable of doing so without taking a red-pen to it. It's still a wip, and I am not looking for outside sources to edit. So please, leave any red pens, pencils or markets at the figurative door, and enjoy!
A cold, drizzly day marked the beginning of autumn for a sleepy little town nestled on a small island, supporting legions of residents. It was surrounded by other islands, too numerous to count, although this isle was the only one inhabited. If one listened closely, you could hear the wind itself speak the name of this tiny isle. Waelhan. Everything spoke it, if your ear was tuned to hear it. Looking out towards the harbor, waves could be seen breaking upon the beaches with gentle splashing, and boats with their sails furled swaying in the gentle breeze that allowed flocks of birds to gracefully ride the sky's waves above, touching the heavens. This island was glowing with daily beauty; most of the year it was sunny, cheery, and warm. There was an abundance of rolling green hills dotted by farm houses and small patches of forests.
Among the brightly colored buildings of the town, was a cold and forbidding castle-esque place. It was three stories tall, made from gray stone, now fading with age, with only one window on the lowest level. It was framed in a dark mahogany wood panel, with sun-bleached streaks running along the grain of the wood, revealing the buildings age just like the stone it was built with. On the glass, little remnants of a long forgotten sign still clung, like the frothy bubbles left on the side of a mug of a freshly devoured root-beer float. That window gave passersby a view of an unnaturally clean room. Wooden chairs upholstered with white cotton, spotless white carpet, and fresh white and gray striped wallpaper.
Behind a white marble countertop sat a pretty young girl, nearing twenty-four. Her long brunette curls were tucked up into a ponytail with freshly straightened bangs sweeping over the right side of her face, and back behind her ear. She wore a nurses uniform: a white knee-length dress buttoned top to bottom, with a red stripe on the ends of the short sleeves. She was the only real friendly face, and she sat behind that counter from the moment visitors were allowed in until the moment the last person left.
Although someone peering through the window wouldn't be able to see, a middle-aged gray haired woman sat in the corner on one of the chairs, staring at the wallpaper ahead of her. Her hazel eyes zoned off into the distance, seeing nothing, while her wrinkled hands clutched her bright red purse that was nestled on her lap. She didn't enjoy this part of her visit. Waiting for the "okay" to walk past all of the lonely people inside, what she thought to be, cages, with nothing but a chamber pot and a mattress on the floor. Those were the longest hallways she had ever walked down, and yet, it was something she did every month, on the same day, no matter what.
Finally, a doctor garbed in all white, poked his eagle nose through the door frame. The last straggly remnants of his thin white hair refusing to leave or lay flat against his scalp, paired with his beady black eyes, made for a foreboding tower of a man.
"Mrs. Hedgeworth?" He said, breaking her out of her trance, his beady eyes squinting in pain from the dull light that shown through the dusty window. She stood up slowly, as if it hurt her to do this again. It seemed like years had gone by since she last saw him. And yet she knew it had only been a single month. She followed the lanky doctor down the long corridors, past the poor not-so-innocent souls that shouted rude and obnoxious things. As she walked, she noticed for perhaps the thousandth time that time seemed to melt away the farther she walked into the gloomy building. Perhaps it was the absence of windows that kept both sun and time from warming the cold stones around her. Finally, as they reached the third floor, they came to a stop in front of a bolted metal door. The vulture-doctor shoved a key into the lock underneath the doors handle, but before turning it, he turned his beady eyes upon Mrs. Hedgeworth. She took a deep breath, and then nodded her readiness at the doctor. He twisted the key and opened the door to reveal a small, skinny man, who looked hardly a day older than twelve, although he was thirty-seven. His dull blue eyes opened wide as the bright light of the fluorescent bulbs scattered around him. He shook his shaggy mousy-brown hair out from his eyes as he stared up at the fluorescent light edged silloutte of Mrs. Hedgworth.
"A... An... Angel?" he whispered in the voice of a frightened child.
Mrs. Hedgeworth smiled compassionately. It was always the same.
"Yes, my child. Angel."
She stepped into the white padded room and embraced the man in the white leather straightjacket that used to be her son.
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