This Sarah of Mine
Posted by Frank, Mar 15, 2010. 896 views. ID = 3327
This post was written in 5 minutes.
|Happy Birthday to the Ground|
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I always thought but I never knew.
There was something about Sarah that morning, she ate and looked, and she studied, like always but there was something very different. Something about Sarah, she had indeed changed.
Now Sarah, she was blonde, had a knack for getting in trouble, she did, and I knew that she would take me down with her each time.
But today when the headmaster scolded her for unfinished homework; she smiled and agreed that it was her fault.
Sarah! Agreeing with another human?
This happened never and I was perplexed.
For a few years now she and I were best friends. The people of the school, the demented ones, always had seen us as odd, and I knew they were right.
We, of course, being the only sane ones in the facility was odd to the insane. They were, Sarah said, nice people to speak with, but sometimes not even nice people can be let into the real world. And through all this we were happy, happy as hippos.
Times were sometimes hard in the school, certain factors and conditions made it so. Like when the School teacher shot herself. Oh no, Im afraid I put that out there too soon. Did I? Did I scare you away?
Oh Sarah I'm so sorry.
There was nothing that could be done about that though. It was her decision, like how Sarah decided to take the blame.
Okay now you know about us.
One of the other ones saw her do it too. The other one said the teacher had been talking with a woman named Tracy, when, and ever so abruptly, she stuck a .38 snub nose service revolver inside her mouth until it wouldn't fit anymore and pulled the trigger.
She had done it abruptly.
It was as if the woman, Tracy by name, had made her do it.
A little word about the other ones, ones who spoke the white noise. The ones who always talked but never said anything. They spoke about meaningless things, why ice and fire were the same, why a sea horse could talk, why men could and someday would fly. Thats what bothered me about these people the most, in their wild dreams and imaginations things "would" happen. They didn't listen to sense. See, Im all for imagination as long as one listens to sense. The school teacher always said, and Sarah agreed, that it was fine to be crazy, and Sarah added, as long as one listens to sense. Sarah, she did, added that.
But she agreed, again, with another human.
A man said to me once, this man being a demented one, "Don't speak to Sarah, she's poison."
Now, I thought to myself, why would he say a thing like that (other then the fact that he, like the rest of us, is crazy). Sarah is a good girl, she gets into trouble alot and has her "Bad spells" where she tries to cut other people and herself, but all in all she is ever so polite.
The truth is I loved her.
A month before they let me out, of the nut house I mean, Sarah stopped having bad spells, she ate all her food at meal times, she did her school work and she knew when she was wrong. It was like... like she was sane again. I was all the crazier. Little things bothered me, I did no homework, and I forewent eating. Which was weird when no one noticed. No one at all. They said things to me I wouldn't forget, things like "Im happy for you," "Im ever so glad" "You're doing excellent".
This made me want... well I wanted to cut them to be honest.
But I didn't, I refrained because I knew I was wrong, and they were nice people, and the owners didn't allow us to have knives.
And through all this Sarah glowed- she did.
Then they let me out. I was sad for friends at the school, I was sad for the teachers who would miss me, and I would always remeber them, but I was saddest of all for Sarah.
On my last night at the school she snuck to my room, see how I told she was always doing naughty things. She snuck to my room dressed in her attrocious off white gown, and after she had awoken me, with no doubt the gentlest touche on earth, she said she had a present for me.
"What is it?" I said, I like gifts, especially those from Sarah.
"First I have to tell you something." she took my hand, "All those nice things Ive been doing, all those kind and sane things, I've done them for you. I take blame, I write those boring essays, I eat that awful food, all this and more for you."
I love you, Sarah.
"And you, best friend, have done nothing, no, nothing to deserve the praise, or to deserve getting out of this nut house. But I have, and I want you to know one more thing..."
"I, Sarah Thompson, do not exist."
This came as quite as a shock to me.
"What madness is this?"
"You're still mad, best friend, but when you leave here, I will stay. The reason why is because all the nice things I have done, you have really done. You were the one whom did those things..."
"But how come I can see you."
"Your mind sees me. You have really deserved to leaved, you are the sweetist most wonderful thing, which brings me back to my gift."
She leaned closer, Sarah did, and presented a box. I removed the lid and beheld a gun. It was the same gun that the teacher had shot herself with. The same gun that had made this school sad.
"It must make this school sad again," she read my mind, "For you can't live without me."
I knew this. I knew this. I had always known, but I loved Sarah so much I wanted this to be a dream, and tommorow I would wake up and we would have breakfast together, holding hands, and eating eggs. People would say I was beutiful and ignore her...
"Don't speak to Sarah," I was told.
But I loved her so much. She was a part of me, if only a part of me, and she liked me like I liked her. We loved and laughed, if only in my mind.
I know you want me to stick the gun in my mouth as far as it will go. But I don't know if I can. But then again, can I live without you Sarah. I love you, see. And things will go on being as they are, though I would "would" being the case with crazy people, love to see what the real world is like. I know you say that, I know you want me to meet you in the clouds.
In the clouds Sarah. Copyright 2010 Frank. All rights reserved. FifteenMinutesOfFiction.com has been granted non-exclusive rights to display this work. For permission to reprint this item, please contact the author.
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