Short Stories from the Teenage Mind

Girl

The uneven, cobblestone path hit a man's feet harshly, causing aches as a bag rattled against his thigh. He walked alone in the night, the moon glowing a bit too brightly for its crescent shape. Otherwise, it was dark.

Phantom footsteps echoed behind him to the side. The man's grip tightened on the bag. He waited for the cause of the sound to reveal itself. It soon did. Through the corner of his eye, he saw what looked to be a young girl, feet ghosting the ground as she skipped beside him.

"I know what you are, girl," the man growled without a second thought.

A wide smile. "I'd be astonished if you didn't."

He cleared his throat and looked at the ground, watching his feet catch on the stones and the girl's float by, unhindered. "Your strides are too long."

"I'll keep that in mind next time."

"Do what you want, you won't convince me."

The girl shook her head, the splitting grin never wavering. "Convincing you is of no use; we're already past the point of no return," she insisted, voice deep.

There was a moment of quiet. Or perhaps there wasn't. Perhaps it was the man's own imagination that prolonged the moment, savoring the exhausted resource that was time. Perhaps his perceived reality wasn't continuous with the true moment in which he existed, as he came to terms with his fate. Or perhaps, there really was a pause.

"I'm only going to ask once," the man said after that moment. "You are going to stay silent and hear me, although I can only hope you listen."

The girl stayed silent. Not even her limp made a sound.

"Leave me be," the man said boldly. He would not let his voice shake. "Save your plans for another day. What you're doing does not need to be done."

With the too-wide smile, the girl hummed a response. "If not you, it's someone else. Never save what can be done today for tomorrow."

The man grunted, pulling his bag to his chest. "You may wish you had."

Ahead, the man could see it, the cobblestone path that veered from the main and to his front door. He closed his eyes and willed the distance to widen, knowing inside it wouldn't. His eyes opened. He glanced at the girl's feet and prayed her lead-heavy legs would drag and slow their advancement. But the lurching gait was quieter than the night itself. The man stopped. They had reached the divergence.

He stared forward, seeing nothing and everything. On the horizon, there was light, almost as if a white star was rising from the abyss, but he knew better. It bled too quickly into the night, its lines were too harsh. A false hope.

He could keep walking. He could soldier on. But the walking would quickly turn to running, and the running would never stop. His bones were already too brittle, his ligaments too far stretched. The girl hauled herself in front of the man, yet he kept staring. He avoided her gaze. He avoided her smile.

"This is the end, you know," the jarringly deep voice said.

"I know." The man turned on the horizon, pivoting to face the door. He clenched his jaw searching for the right words, before taking a deep breath. "I've never been a begging man. I'd hate for that to change."

"As would I. Not when we're so close."

There it was again. The moment that wasn't a moment. Or the moment that was.

The man clutched his bag, stinging tears welling in his eyes. His stoic expression was interrupted by a quivering lip.

"Please."

There was no response. Only an unsettling series of sounds. The man shut his eyes, a tear rolling down his cheek as he heard the faint tugging of flesh. Slowly it got louder, as the rubbing and pulling became rougher, and the sound was soon accompanied by the creaking of bones and snapping of muscles. The noise then grew fainter, and fainter. Then it stopped. The man opened his eyes, and for the first time, looked directly at the being that had walked beside him.

It was no longer a young girl. It never was.