Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction

Memory and Reunion, p. 1

Tap. Tap. By the second tap, I had lit the candle by my bed, allowing it to flicker dimly. I stayed where I was, leaning on one hand, hoping to God to hear a third tap. One tap meant someone was there. Two meant that Lara was there, and three meant that she was okay. All it meant was that she just needed a place to stay for the night while her parents quarreled, quite loudly, in their chamber. After waiting another few seconds, I sprang to my feet and pulled on a pair of pants and a shirt, and flung the window open.

The summer night air was hot and sticky, making my forehead damp in a matter of seconds. It was oddly quiet, besides the crickets. I stuck my head out of the window, looking about.

"Lara?" My voice echoed for a minute, then died completely. As I opened my mouth to call out again, her voice rang through the night, coming from a tree across from my window.

"Move away from the window, Charles, or I land on you." Doing as she asked, I stood behind the curtain, waiting.

She landed perfectly in my room, her feet touching gently on the floor. As the moonlight fell across her face, I became shocked at her condition.

Lara's tall, slender frame slumped against the wall across from me, all angles. She looked so fragile, I hardly knew whether to hold her, fearing she might break. Her brown bun was a mess, strands of hair poking out around her face. Her brother's glasses that she always wore, (despite her mother's hatred of them and claims that it made her seem boyish and uncaring) were about to fall off her nose. Beads of sweat rolled down her nose and her pale cheeks were flamed red. I noticed that some of the sweat were tears. My fiery-tempered best friend had been reduced to this? A spark of anger started in me, but I shoved it down and reached for her hands, lowering both of us to the ground.

Her skin was cool, and at first I thought she was asleep, but then she moved closer to me and locked her arms around my neck, laying her head on my chest. This was what I had always longed for. To have my arms around Lara, like this, was one of the greatest joys I could have. Yet, for some reason, I didn't want it now, when she seemed so upset. We sat like this for some time, with myself completely silent, and Lara crying softly into my chest. Finally, I believe after an hour or so, Lara sat up and wiped her eyes, obviously embarrassed to be crying. She folded her hands in her lap, waiting, I hoped, for me to say something. I did, at length.

"Lara? Are you all right?" I knew this was a stupid question, but I couldn't help but ask it. Slowly, she shook her head, picking at the loose threads on her dress. What used to be a fine silk was now reduced to a mud-covered, tear stained, and torn mess. I waited patiently for her, as I knew she would begin.

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