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to be titled

Posted 02-28-09 at 02:43 PM by anonone
(this is the rough draft of something that occured to me during a post. No time for polish, sry. Hope you enjoy)

Once upon a time there was this dude named Paul. He was a pretty cool guy. He had ADD. He had always struggled in life socially as a young man but last year he got lucky and found himself his one and all. Her name was Tarie Ghdgd (the last name is German I guess, the first name is plausible at least )

They fell in love exactly three Augusts ago, in a park just outside of Chicago, just out side of the good part of Chicago too, not that there’s anything wrong with Chicago, or there are many bad parts of it, I’m just telling you where the Paul and Tarie first met, and where they first fell in love; in a good park, just outside a good part of Chicago, the America’s windy city by name.
It was not a windy day, in fact it was quite tranquil. Paul was in town for an children’s book convention, and Tarie was the same, and by chance they both found themselves enjoying a peaceful lunch in an enjoyable eerie desolate park.
Love how peaceful an empty park is.

And before long they were chatted up, and three years later they would be engaged, and thinking about their families.


The tree outside their bedroom window would crack in the nights breeze, snapping at least one of them out of their waking dreams, and they would (say this better) then snuggle their partner out as well.
“This is no time for us to be off task Paul.”

One thing they liked at this time, three years to their meeting was driving to their beach. These two seemed to be the only ones in the world, in that century who know of it’s bliss; an eerily appreciable seclusion.

Off in the distance they could see some kind of a bridge, and what appeared to be a speed limit sign, but not once did they notice a passing car frequent.
“It was just us and our thoughts.”

It was a special occasion to be there when it rained. Refuging beneath a tree that would watch the water droplets strike the lake surface which would pull outward, these beautiful wavelets of water outward from the raining down originators. The trees all took on coats of rain and shined in the dampened, appealing sunlight. The dry dirt and grass beneath them took on a new


That memorable evening, would have been one of those days. It was almost raining too much for their liking, but Tarie and her husband were not going to be denied their moment of serenity. They hadn’t had the time to drive there and collect themselves, with Tarie’s new full time job, and Paul’s recent promotion. Sadly, they had both left their ambitions they once were following when they had first met, but always meant to (and promised to) fashion together a great children’s book with Paul’s illustrations, and Tarie’s skill as an author. It had been a month since a visit to serenity, and they had actually been forced to plan their trip ahead of time, weeks in advance, and this was there costly determination.

When the two finally hit the roads, it happened that it was raining too hard for ones likings. Their car glided and swung on sharp turns, ignorant of friction, it was like not being real in a pleasant sense. The rain fell on top of their windshield and splattered in thick, heavy drops. Even with wipers on max, one could not see from more than water-blurred figures outside of their car: the dim red lights glowing from cars ahead; the bright red break lights indicating a change in speed was in need; the sporadic yellow flashes of turn signals.

It was three turns left before they would make it to the laky woods they destined for before their car was struck by a semi. They sort of saw it coming, as the semi reeled out of control towards them. It’s an odd feeling when something that could kill you appears about to kill you and there’s really no precaution to take; the car’s wheel was already turned as far away from a collision as possible, the wheels just didn’t listen, they just glided peacefully across the highway-formed rain puddles.


By the time Paul wakes up in his hospital bed it’s two days after the accident. He’s been stitched up now. Paul notices the threading in various parts of his skin. He feels them with his left hand; his right hand seems failing to present sensation. There are curious stitches on his left arm.
Where is Tarie?

Paul rises from his bed after his moment of collection and finds that he is tethered to some sort of an IV. The IV is very unwieldy and happened to be tethered to something else on the bed, the cord connecting it to what ever it was attaching him to the bed was lost into a dozen other cords bending and weaving in an obfuscational web of chaos. After a short bit of struggle with the IV Paul then ripped the needle from his arm and went onward.
Paul checked the next two rooms, a simplistic logic guided him to no avail. He then found himself asking a receptionist sort behind a desk on his floor.
"Where is Tarie Ghdgd?"
The room containing Tarie was a grim room, containing four other critically ill looking people, and an empty bed.

“Tarie” the doctor informs Paul, “is on life support, and she’s brain dead.”

Paul can’t stand the idea, he won’t believe it, but the doctors are telling him that they have to pull the plug because they have other chance-having people who need the machinery she’s hooked up to. The rational thing for Paul to do would be to walk away from her, she’s like water `neath a bridge, but Paul isn’t in a rational mood. In fact, Paul’s never, ever, been in this mood before in his life.

A nurse touches his shoulder gently, and then motions Paul out of the room as two doctor assistants move, machinelike and cold, to the life supporting assemblage and begin disassembling it from his wife’s body before his eyes.

Unexpectedly, especial to Paul, the nearest of these machinelike aggressors is snatched and pulled away from Tarie; tossed into a canister of nasty looking hospital equipment, and before he knew it Paul was being dragged away from his wife and several moderately bruised and scuffled doctor’s by two stocky security guards –hauled away like a mad man, still squirming in apparent craze but this wasn’t the insanity of an unhealthy mind; Paul was writhing in pain brought on by realities cruelest madness, a pure, sensible madness of man be pulled away --peal up from-- the only woman he would ever love again --this was a manifestation of nothing other than love, we know no more supreme dictation.


For nights and nights Paul would lay awake in his bed, dreaming (the way they used to dream together), dreaming the same dreams, but this time alone. The tree would crack, the house would set, and the car would glide by, and somewhere Paul’s wife would remain in his dreams.

It was the tenth night when Paul decided he felt well enough to make himself feel better. He broke from his routine and found one, and it didn’t work at first, so he found on more and then another, and another.

(well… that’s the logical ending of a good short story {and an awesome toadies song}, and I can’t write my original intention into “what actually happened” as it’s become, it would ruin, but.. imagine that he didn’t die that last night, and instead called 911 because thoughts of his wife and her best wishes for their early on ambitions of publishing a children’s book made him regret his aforementioned findings, but he told the doctor everything about how he meant to end his life with those stimulants but changed his mind and called 911, and that was the last time he ever was prescribed stimulants ever, and he was just so frustrated at that point, and struggled so desperately to follow his dream and put together a good children book --It wasn’t even for him self at this point, he was sick of it, he just wanted it for her, we find ourselves doing so many terrible things to ourselves and to others for those hers and this was another, and so sick of it, at this point. Paul felt so nauseous of everything and he just wanted everything in the world to stop and so he went down to that same lake and stopped it all for her.)

(I’d like to cite Garrison Keeler as an influence and on that last stanza, even on the emotional premise I recall)
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