Chisom's Story

Chisom Oraedu:

The Unforgiving Brother

I lay in bed, waiting for the pain to ebb away enough for me to gain a couple hours of restless sleep. Adam could see that I was starting to relax, and he couldn’t have that. Immediately he began to chime in my ear, “It’s all your fault. I’m dead because of you. How can you even live with yourself knowing that?” This immediately jolted me from any semblance of sleep I had gained. Don’t let his bitterness make you think that he didn’t love me. He did; and I loved him, too. What I did not love was the fact that he had made it his mission in the afterlife to make me miserable. To him, apparently, suffering is better felt in pairs.

I awoke the next morning drained and weary. During my one measly hour of rest last night, I dreamt the same dream that had haunted me for the past six months: the screech of the tires, the blinding headlights, the crushing force of the impact. I had considered leaving Denver for a while after Adam died. I needed a fresh start, something new to take my mind off the pain. But Adam constantly reminded me of the guilt and despair that I should be feeling. After all, he was dead and I wasn’t. What made me more deserving of life than him? Nothing did in Adam’s mind. Which is why he’d decided from the start to make me just as miserable as I would feel if I were dead; I would rather experience the latter to be honest. At least then I would be free of the guilt that Adam had sentenced me to an eternity of experiencing.

I remember that day with perfect clarity. How couldn’t I when Adam constantly reminded me of every minute detail? It started out just like any other. I rolled out of bed at noon, threw on the first clothes I saw, and headed out the door towards work. I waited impatiently as the seconds of the clock ticked by until, finally, it was seven. I jumped in my car and headed towards Adam’s house. I told him that I’d take him out to celebrate his birthday, but he had no idea where. I’m sure he assumed that it’d just be a late movie or something. Little did he know that I had gotten front-row tickets to his favorite band. When I got to his house and sprung the news on him, he couldn’t believe it. We drove to the venue in a rush, not wanting to miss a thing. As we got closer and closer to the venue, the dial on the speedometer slowly began to creep up. By the time that I realized that it was at ninety, it was too late. The last thing I remembered was the glare of oncoming headlights as we sped through a stop sign.

When I awakened the next day in the hospital, the first thing I saw was Adam. But his visage looked different, changed. It wasn’t the usual warm, congenial face I remembered. It was frozen into a mask of bitter resentment and fury. Before I could ask any questions, he spat at me, “My blood is on your hands. Can you live with that? Because I’ll make sure that you won’t.” Pain sliced through me with the precision of a razor blade. I eventually realized that this apparition was only in my imagination and that my brother was actually gone. But this did not ebb the severity of each vitriolic reminder Adam issued. Everywhere I went, his ghost followed. Never once was I free to be alone. I never actually had the opportunity to grieve for the loss of Adam because it never really seemed like he was gone.

Fatigued from my lack of sleep the night before, I headed out the door towards my car. Adam mirrored my motion perfectly as we slid into the seats. I was used to this routine: endure a long monotonous ride to work with Adam incessantly chiming in my ear how guilty and remorseful I should feel. Didn’t he understand that I felt that way every second of every day? I guess not, because he didn’t stop even as we were nearing the stop sign the stop sign where the crash occurred. I thought he’d realize the solemnity of this spot. As Adam spat his acid, I decided that I couldn’t live like this anymore. I yelled, “You don’t think I feel guilty? You don’t think I replay that one stupid moment over and over in my head every second of every day? Why can’t you just forgive me and move on?” At that point, I accelerated to an immeasurable speed. Adam was shocked into silence by my moment of boldness. For six months, I had tolerated his unwarranted comments and accusations. But not anymore. As I sped through the stop sign, I looked over and said solemnly, “Do you forgive me now?” The deafening screech of the eighteen-wheeler smashing through the car resonated through Adam’s head with earsplitting clarity. He got what he wanted.

Deidre's Story

Deidre staples

I do not believe that anyone could have a better life than I did. My life with my twin sister and my parents was, in my opinion, perfect. Nothing bad had ever happened to us. We weren’t the family that bad things happen to; those sorts of things just didn’t happen to us. At least that’s what we thought. We thought that we were invincible, my sister and I were good in school and we were both considered “popular” in our school. Unfortunately we didn’t know that this untouchable feeling was soon coming to an end. It was only a few days after Christmas. The lights were still hanging on the roof and the scent of cookies and newly cut Douglas Fir lingered in the house. My parents were going to spend a night with family friends at a fancy restaurant. This was not out of the ordinary my parents would constantly visit their friends, so like always my sister and I stayed at the house with the babysitter waiting in excitement for our parents to get home. hours passed, we ate dinner, and were ready for bed and our parents were still not home. although no one said anything we were all slightly curious as to where my parents had gone. This small thought of curiosity eventually turned into a large one when I was 11:30 and my parents were still not home. the babysitter called them many times but no one answered. She even called the restaurant they ate at but they said that they had already left. Our only option was to call the police. This however did not fix the problem. The officers said that they were not allowed to put out a missing persons report unless our parents were missing for more than 24 hours. My sister had already begun to cry because she had convinced herself that our parents had died. I, on the other hand, was not convinced. I knew that there was hope and that they were still alive. But I was wrong, because that next day the police went looking for them and they found their car on the side of the road. They had lost control of the car by the snow and the car flipped twice killing them instantly. My sister cried herself to sleep for many days and everyone’s number one priority was to make sure that she was okay. I didn’t cry because I didn’t think that they were dead, they couldn’t be. We were the family that only good things happened to and they were gone. I wasn’t convinced and showed no emotion when it came to their death. This made people cling to my sister and leave me in her shadows. They gave her everything she needed to comfort her. She got clothes, toys, everything she wanted. But I got nothing. They looked at me as if I were the cause of their death. As if I were a plague and if they were to get anywhere near me that they would catch what I had. Why did they push me away? Were they afraid of the emotions that I was holding in? or did they really want to only comfort my sister and not me? I don’t know what the reason was but I do know that I wanted what my sister had. I wanted for people to make me feel better. I wanted for people to hug me when I needed it and to whisper words of encouragement to me. At the time the only things that inhibited me from getting that feeling was my sister. I envied what she had, which made me make the worst decision of my life.

Every Sunday our grandmother would take us to her house for Sunday dinner. Just through the woods was a railroad that went over a lake. And so that day, while eating, I cautiously though of my plan. With only hatred rotting my heart I went out with it. We both walked to the railroad and looked over. While she was staring into the crystal clear waters I slowly placed myself behind her and started to forcefully thrust myself toward her. Hearing me behind her she turned wondering what I was doing. Her stepping out of my way made me have nothing to stop myself. And just like I looked up to find my sister standing on the railroad staring as I fell. As I was falling all I could think of was how I became this monster. How did I envy my sister so badly that I would attempt to kill her? I looked up at my sister standing on the railroad and only wished that the jealously, greed, and resentment would have never invaded my body, turning me into nothing but a body containing a disintegrating soul.

Jack's Story

The Tale of Two Friends

                He and I have been close friends for some number of years now.  And, as most good friendships go, we never once felt a distance between ourselves.  We always met on the weekends to discuss the week’s events.  But, as most good friendships go, we soon began to distance ourselves.  Rather, he began to distance himself from me.  Every week, he had different plans, even though we agreed that our normal lunches were always more important than other events, with the exception of weddings and funerals, things such as that. 

                Now, I still missed the man I once believed was the same as a brother to me.  Every week I would call and say I was looking forward to the weekend, and that I had a lot to talk to him about.  But, even when I did meat him, it was not with the same happiness and youthfulness we always had.  We talked of depressing things, dark things, death even.  In fact, I soon began to think my friend had become depressed, to the point where I did not want to be around him.  So, we parted ways, seeing each other very little every year.  As we said goodbye every time, it was as if my heart got heavier as I watched my once great friend fall into a depression.

                So big a hole he left in my heart that I actually felt my breathing become harder, I found that I had a harder time moving around, my pulse even slowed down to a crawl.  I even thought at one point that I too had fallen into a deep depression.  So, I went into my doctor and asked him about the things I felt.  I told him of my friend who had fallen into a depression and how it had affected me, and how I could barely find the energy to rise myself out of bed every day.

                I was diagnosed with depression and given a group of medications I was supposed to take.  At first, I did as my doctor told me, but it had no effect on me.  I was infuriated!  I began to become angry, yelling at people didn’t even know.  I threw things, broke things, and cursed my doctor.  But, gradually, an idea began to creep into my head.  My friend was the reason for my depression!  What a villain was he for giving me this terrible disease!  He is the single reason my life is ruined; the single reason there is a hole in my heart!

                So, the only thing I could do was get rid of this evil man.  So, over the next few days, I gradually made my plan.  I even called my old friend and asked him if he wanted to come over to talk, which he agreed to.  So, my plan was in place.

                As I answered the door to my friend, I looked dead in his eyes.  Shivers went up and down my spine as his dead, dark eyes stared me directly in the face.  I almost felt as if I would just skip my plan and attack him right now.  But, I knew how well my plan would work, so I suppressed my anger.  I brought him into my house; let him sit on my couch.  I went to prepare the drinks.  Oh, it was so exciting!  As I mixed the tea, I slipped in the potion.  Oh, how powerful one liquid could be!  I laughed as I slipped the potion into his drink.  I made sure I did not swap the drinks by accident.  I came into the room and giggled as I saw the oblivious man sitting on the couch.  I gave him his drink and took a sip of mine.  I watched as he took a sip of his drink.  It was obvious that the drink had some effect on him because he cringed after drinking.  But, I felt a strange feeling in my heart.  It began to beat faster, began to hurt a little.  And, as we talked, it began to hurt more and more as my friend’s life began to wither away.

                My friend became very pale.  He became to twitch, move around uncomfortably.  He asked if it was hot, and I agreed that it was, even though I was comfortable.  But, my heart began to hurt more and more.  And, as my old friend began to have trouble breathing, my heart was hurting past the point that I could pretend it’s not.  I grabbed it; felt it beat through my chest.  And, as my old friend fell to the ground, I felt the strangest thing.  For my heart stopped hurting.  In fact, it had completely disappeared.  And as I fell to the ground next to my friend, I felt happier than I ever did before.

 

-Jack

Week of October 18th--The Cask of Amontillado

Level 2 Question: What makes Fortunato so willing to follow Montresor through the nitre-encrusted catacombs?

Level 3 Question: Is man's pride his final downfall?

Week of October 11th--The Black Cat

Discuss who could be the protagonist and antagonist in The Black Cat; explain your logic and reasoning for why? Please remember to use details and specifics from the story to support your response.

What Gothic Literature that we've read so far is your favorite, explain why? (The Raven, The Masque of the Red Death, The Tell-Tale Heart, The Minister's Black Veil, or The Black Cat)

What are some similarities between all the Gothic Literature stories we've read so far? Again, be specific and use details in your response.