The Room

Written for Creative Writing class.

I stand hesitantly at the end of the hallway, staring into its depths, unlit so often as of late. The door, a pale shade of pink, stands just visible at the end of the hall, as if waiting for its master to return. Drawing a shaky breath, I begin to walk towards the door that beckons me, my footsteps echoing in the empty hall.
I remember flashes of light and the splash of rain, the sight of my headlights reflected off of the road. A little girl's laughter. The sound of quiet music.
The door before me is unimaginably familiar- I've stood before it so many times before, hearing the sounds of life behind the door. Quiet giggles. The sound effects of a video game. Music. Even just quiet breathing as she slept.
But now I hear only silence.
The steering wheel is smooth in my hands, the heated air from the vents warming my face. I smile at her, her and her wide eyes and bright clothes and hopeful expression. She's excited, and maybe a little nervous. "You'll do great," I tell her. "You'll be the best dancer there." She rolled her eyes. "I'm not nervous." I knew better.
I open the door at last, taking in the small room, already a little dusty, though it seems so little time has passed. The walls are a deep shade of blue, and the ceiling covered in tiny lights. She always had an affinity for the stars, and I still remember when she first saw her new room when she came home from camp last summer. She had squealed like the little girl she was and raced around the room, examining the new furniture and the new paint. Hugging me hard, she tried to thank me, but was incoherent with joy. I ruffled her hair. "Happy birthday, sis."
The light before us suddenly turns yellow, and I slide to a stop, the rain making the road a little slick. I see her start to fidget- we were already running a bit late, and red lights did not factor into her plans. I chuckle quietly under my breath and flick on my left turn signal, waiting for the light.
I slowly walk around the room. Over in the corner is the little pair of cowboy boots my dad bought her for Christmas, the pink ones with the black buckles. On the wall, a poster for her favorite band, and another for the Black Cat fireworks she always loves on the Fourth of July. A pair of roller-skates leaning against the wall. A tiny photograph on her dresser of her on a tricycle, the frame overwhelmed by necklaces and scarves and other miscellaneous clothing. Little pieces of stuff that mark everything she is.
Or was.
The light is green. I slowly ease forward on the gas, not noticing the headlights approaching on the right. About half-way across the intersection, I hear a screech. A crash. Feel a devastating impact and an agonizing pain. And above it all, a shrill scream.
They told me the man was drunk, that the rain had confused him and he didn't see my car. I'll never forget the impact, and never stop waking up from nightmares, screaming for him to stop. I'll never stop feeling the world spinning, and I'll never stop hearing her scream. She was dead before the paramedics even arrived. Jane never had a chance to even cry. That one scream was the last sound she ever made.
My wanderings around her bedroom stop in front of her desk. There's a framed photograph of the two of us hugging in front of the sign to Disney Land, where we'd gone two summers ago. I pick up the photo, unable to tear my eyes from her face. She looks so happy. And now she'll never smile again. The world blurs as tears form in my eyes, and I release the choked sound in my throat that is supposed to be some semblance of her name. I fall to my knees, clutching the photo, and start sobbing in earnest. It took this photo, in a room filled with who she was, to finally allow me to grieve.

Author's Note

Maybe it's horror. If anyone has any better genre ideas, let me know.

Reviews

[Amanda Buscemi]

The structure is very effective; slipping from past to present. This strikes me as a horrific tragedy (in terms of literature and life).

[Cosmic Dreamer]

I read this and thought OMG (sorry if that's offensive to you). I cried at the end, actually. Extremely well written, the flash backs are very effective. Well done