Use Your Words: November 14th, 2014

Happy Friday and welcome to another wonderful writing challenge!

This is the scoop: participating bloggers picked 4 – 6 words or short phrases for someone else to craft into a post. All words must be used at least once and all the posts will be unique as each writer has received their own set of words. That’s the challenge, here’s a fun twist; no one who’s participating knows who got their words and in what direction the writer will take them.

Until now.


At the end of this post you’ll find links to the other blogs featuring this challenge. Check them all out, see what words they got and how they used them.
I’m using:

My words are:

cinnamon ~ sledge hammer ~ camera ~ yarn ~ pajamas ~ bulletin board

They were submitted by: Spatulas On Parade ~ Thanks Dawn!


This is the third and last installment of my work of fiction about Marge and Grady. If this is your first time reading it, please read THIS FIRST then this ONE so you can catch up to where we are at. Happy Reading!

He could sense her before he could see her.

After being with someone for so long, you could feel their energy searching out for your own and Grady could feel Marge approaching, searching and worrying for him. Anxiety and anticipation seeped into the room announcing her arrival before the squeaking wheels on her gurney actually got her there.

Grady watched the transporter wheel Marge into his room and it was the first time that he actually felt something besides shock. Seeing her covered in bruises, her limbs in casts, and the panic etched on her face was like a sledge hammer to his heart. He wanted to soothe her, to take away her worries and concerns, but he could not even get a word out and truly doubted his feeble attempts would soothe her. A chill came over him, causing an involuntary shudder, and seemingly simultaneously Marge reacted and winced, he knew she was wondering if he was in pain, if he was suffering, but he felt nothing. Nothing but relief the moment she was wheeled in his room.

His eyes were riveted to her face, which was nothing new. However, her beautiful face that had only brought him happiness and joy was now ripping his soul to shreds as his eyes took in the long line stitches on her forehead going deep into her hairline. His gaze dropped to the blue and purple that colored her face, her chin and jawline and noticed it matched the hideous smock that they were both wearing. The thin smocks they wore were less like pajamas and more like sand paper, grating and uncomfortable against the skin.

It seemed like long ago, but he knew it was only hours since he arrived. Since they pulled him out of the ambulance and rushed him through the hospital halls, past the bulletin boards and nurses stations and to an open room. He watched in awe as the frenzied nurses cut away his blood-soaked jeans and tee-shirt with amazing precision and in record time just to shuck them to the side. He distinctly remembered hearing a muffled thud, knowing and not caring that it was his brand new camera tossed to the floor with his soiled clothing.

Shame came over him. He should have been able to stop this from happening. He believed it was his job to protect her and he failed miserably. When Marge started to slip, he grasped and grabbed at her. Their hands playing a terrifying version of tug of war, his will and determination not to let her fall on one side and gravity and fate was pulling them down on the other. They fell, together, not gracefully, not poetically, but painfully, smashing into hard surfaces, breaking their skin and bones, scaring and scarring them and shattering their future. When they landed at the bottom he damned himself for not being able to get up and help her, but he could not move. Before help arrived, they laid there calling out to each other, their weakened voices somehow calming and reassuring one another. He saw her bravely raise her arm so he could see it, and remembered the day she bought that bright yellow yarn for that sweater she knitted.

She was always resilient, a hard-worker, a quiet woman but a fighter. Marge always surprised him by never giving up. When she told him she wanted to open a shoppe, he was dubious, he was not sure how they could make it work, but with her planning, saving and scrimping they made it and changed their lives. They both still worked hard but were able to afford what they needed for them and their daughters, they were able to send them through school, and travel the world. He remembered when days were lean for them before the girls, before they started their lives really.

Memories of no presents under the Christmas tree but the sweet smell of vanilla and cinnamon throughout the house was a gift in itself as he knew she was baking up a treat for them. Days of being exhausted due to working doubles so they could save money popped into his head. Walking everywhere together because they did not have a car yet was rough but they did it. But the winter she got frostbite was when he decided he would do anything to keep her safe so he worked hard, they saved and they made it. They were tough. They were still tough.

When he saw that sweet arm of hers raised in the air, he knew the fight was not over. He knew that they had to keep going, he had to dig in deep for that determination and perseverance but he would do it.

Words failed him and though he only wanted her in his arms he could not feel them, let alone raise them and beckon her to come lie beside him. His eyes tried to meet hers but he felt discouraged when she looked right through him. The transporter kept pushing her cart until they were passed him and he felt angry and upset. He could no longer see her. He had to crane his neck, he had to reposition himself and found that he had no pain, no aches and it was quite easy…but not like anything he had ever done before. The experience was surreal. He should have been in pain, crying and screaming, but here he was rolling over and not feeling a thing.

That was when he noticed his wife grieving over his body, her outstretched hand grasping his hand, shaking it calling his name begging him to come back to her. He wanted to; he wanted to do anything to save her from this pain. He did not think he was done here yet, he wanted to travel more, to live more, spend more mornings waking up to her sweet kisses.

Her small but fierce frame wracked with vicious sobs as he looked on confused why he was still around, wondering how he was able to spy on her and his lifeless body. One last time he needed to tell her he loved her, that she was his world, and let her know that the strength and determination she had for every other aspect of her life would get her through this. She was too strong to be defeated.
Appalled and intrigued, he glided over to her, it was not quite a walk but it was not quite floating. He made his way in between his former self and the love of his life and wondered what to do. The room was beginning to blur and lines began to soften. It was the realization that he was gone that was taking him away from this world and preparing him for his next adventure. He worried that he was going to fail, that he would mess up this opportunity, that she would not know how much he loved her.

Quickly, too quickly, he felt himself losing his senses and he attempted to fight the desire to leave. The scene in front of him began to disappear, until a light, her light called out to him. Hazy, vibrating, red lines pulsated from what he assumed was her hands into the atmosphere, he grabbed the pulses and with all his might pushed them back into her hands, screaming as loudly as he could, ripping open his lips that felt like they were sewn shut, that he loved her, that she was his world. Marge's breath caught in mid-sob. She felt a pressure, a familiar energy mingling with her own and for reasons only her heart and soul knew, she quickly and loudly declared that she knew that she was loved, she never wanted for anything a day that they were together and that she wanted him to go in peace.

Grady left her that day on towards a new adventure knowing that his Marge would be fine. She had too much strength within her to be anything else.


Links to the other “Use Your Words” posts:

Baking In A Tornado

Spatulas on Parade


Stacy Sews and Schools

Follow me home

Battered Hope

Someone Else’s Genius

The Bergham’s Life Chronicles
Eileen’s Perpetually Busy

Confessions of a part-time working mom
Evil Joy Speaks

Crumpets and Bollocks

Sparkly Poetic Weirdo

Comments

  1. You broke my heart with this story. Beautifully written, I have chills.

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  2. Crying my eyes out; but you knew that. I loved this story. I want to go back in time and watch their lives all over again. That makes you an amazing writer. Thank you.

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    Replies
    1. I like the backstory too Michele! Any story of love, I love, it's just neat to see/hear the process of loving people falling in love with one another-no matter how the ending.

      Delete
  3. You did a great job with that. Here I was thinking, "He's going to survive," and then I realized... wait... and then awwww... what a beautiful ending.

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    Replies
    1. Michelle, I wasn't sure if it was going to come out okay I debated killing Grady off but in the end it felt right...if that makes any sense ;-)

      I think I might go back through and edit and add a little more in. Thank you ❤

      Delete
  4. And this, my friend, is why writing is an art… the art of creating vivid images in the minds of your readers just by using your words. Literally even ;-)

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    Replies
    1. Literally indeed ;-)

      It is a great feeling when you can get a little creative and get some feedback!

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  5. Even if you are a strong person, the pain is still very real. You did a beautiful job of showing that

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    Replies
    1. I truly believe that no matter how prepared we think we are we can never be prepared to lose a loved one. Strength can get you through your days but losing a piece of your heart will forever change you.

      Thank you Carol :-)

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  6. WOW WOW WOW So moving! You have such an amazing way of pulling people in with your words. Bravo!!!!

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  7. I'll just be over here... crying. By myself. My worst fear put into words.

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