Mmkay, this is an assignment that I was asked to do, with no more direction then to write a fantastic realism story in a real town with a moral. Okay, so some instruction. But how do you really shape a character? Are there always bases? I had someone one in mind for EVERY character in this short story. I was in a creative writing class this first semester. I have been told to write speeches and poems. Occasionally the random free write. But a short story? And I had no preperation. I had 3 hours, a notebook, a pencil, and my imagination. Please enjoy...and let me know what you think...



Journal # 1 January 12, 1998

My name is LouAnne Morgan Shep. But my grandmother calls me Morgan. Sometimes Morgy…I have short blonde hair with red and blue highlights. Today’s my birthday. I’m 23. My grandmother thought I should start keeping a diary. I believe I’m 19 years late. But I always listen to my grandma. So, just in case, let me tell you a little about my history…My mother Megan LouAnne Shep died while giving me life. My father said she always looked beautiful, even after life. But my father passed away 15 years ago. My grandmother said it was a heart attack. Which in a sense is true. But someone stabbed him in his heart. My grandmother raised me. I work in reptilian therapy. Mostly for the pay. I enjoy reptiles, but it hurts me to know society can be so cruel.

* ~ *

My nose wakes me to the smell of coffee. My new alarm clock since my caffeine addiction. So I roll out of bed, unwillingly, and throw on a robe. I go to the kitchen, wash a cup and a plate, then pour the coffee into my cup and inhale the hazelnut aroma that is my motivation. I check my cat-clock on the wall. It says 8:34 am. I have 26 minutes to get to my grandmother’s. Just enough time for me to get dressed and shower with my new rose-scented shampoo. In to the shower I go. I let steam fill the room before getting undressed. In the mirror, I examine my scar. It is right under my belly button. The swollen-forever, pink shaded, shaped like a 7, scar. It’s from trying to save my grandmother from her rose bush back in 2002. I was clawed by a bird, I believe it was a yellow canary.

I step into the shower. My home-sweet-therapy of rose begins. 1,2,3, breathe.

As I’m getting dressed I come across a letter from the dry-cleaners.
“You leave us dry-clean
We leave you clean-dry”
I throw on a pair of brown khaki’s a dark red shirt, and pull my hair up I’m all ready to go.

When I get next door, my grandmother already has her wallet and sun hat on. “I’m making a roast tonight, Morgy. I want you and Simmet to come over for dinner. She looks in the mood for some home cooked veggies.”

“Yes, that seems as so. Maybe it will cheer her up.”

Journal # 3,769 April 7, 2009

My pet chimp, Simmet, is 3 years old. She loves my grandmother’s cooking. I leave her at home a lot because she isn’t supposed to live with me. But I’ve had her so long; I know anything and everything about her. It’s been about 18 or 19 months since I’ve found her in my back yard. She wandered away from a program-parade thing they had a while back. Living in Tennessee Mountains is quite strange sometimes. Today, with my grandmother, we went to the greenhouse in Jonesborough. My grandmother is starting her annual flowerbed. She adds a 4 x 4 square space around her house every year since I was old enough to spell rose. It was my first word. Anyway, we went to her house and ate roast. Simmet enjoyed herself. Well, I’m going to lie down…

* ~ *

I hear sirens…I know I’m dreaming. They are so faint. I can hear them though. I smell smoke…or maybe baking. There’s ringing… ringing... *RING*

I rolled out of bed and hit the floor. My phone was ringing. I still smell strong smoke from my vivid dream. Sirens seem to be fading.
“Hello?” I whisper through closed lungs.
“Mrs. Shep? This is officer Ben. Ben Brady, from the head of Washington County Sheriff’s Department. I think you should step outside.” He hung up the phone.

What choice do I have? I can smell smoke more heavily now that I’m awake. Blue lights and fire trucks alarm me when I step outside. Horror washes over me; more vivid then my shower only hours ago. My phone says 10:07 pm.

Journal # 3,770 April 8, 2009
It seems only hours ago she told me she loved me for the last time. In fact, it was only hours ago. I can still taste roast and carrots on my evening breath.

The day my grandmother died, was the day my eyes really opened. It was an experience not for the faint of heart. She always told me “Love will always find a way.” I have a letter. It was placed in her will for me. Mostly saying how proud she was of me. How proud she was of her son producing something so beautiful. I wish now that I would have been able to give her great-grand children. She loved Simmet very much though.

* ~ *

Arranging a funeral for my only family isn’t what I had in mind for my week. Sleeping isn’t working out. I wonder what time it is. 3:24 am. I’m going to go watch T.V. I walk into the living room. I grab a little notebook and a pen. I start writing down ideas for her funeral. Music…Well..Maybe some Marley. “Don’t worry, bout’ a thing. Cause every little thing, is gonna be all right.” Yes. That was her outlook on life. Flowers…Roses, no doubt. But what about clothes?
*Knock Knock*
There’s a knock at the door, probably someone from the paper. This is the first death in a while. I decide not to get the door. My luck, they’ll leave a note.
*Knock Knock*
This time, a voice. “Morgan? I know you’re in there. It’s me. But, you might not remember me.. Hey! Open up!”
My curiosity gets the best of me. I get up and close Simmet’s door. She’s fast asleep. I walk over to the door and peep through the hole. There’s a face I can’t quite make out. Residue of the fog smears the glass circle. So, I open the door.

Journal 3,771 April 10, 2009

I can’t believe it! It was my old boyfriend from 2 years ago! He left to join the Army. I’m so excited. He came back for me.. My dear Raymond.. Oh! He came back! With him he brought a dozen roses and a card about being away. He’s asleep right now.. But he saw on the news what happened. He’d only been back a week and he didn’t want to interrupt a relationship I might have had. But he came back. I’m so happy. My grandmother’s letter was right!

* ~ *

“Morgan baby, are you awake?” My eyes flutter open. I walk to the kitchen. Raymond wraps his arms around me for the first time since he’s been awake. Or since I’ve been awake, anyway.
We’ve talked and talked. He fell asleep though. But so did I. We are back together. As if he never left. He’s 37. 4 years older than I am. When I see him, I am reminded of my grandmother’s letter. I keep it tucked away in my first journal.
“Babydoll, are you going to talk to the press today?”
“Oh yea, I guess I have no choice.. It’s time to let my grandmother’s case rest in peace.”

Journal 3,774 April 13, 2009

I gave my speech and dedication to my grandmother today.
I’ll write it on the next page. Raymond hasn’t changed a bit. I had thought about him often, ever since he left. I had forgotten what it was like to kiss someone. I’d forgotten what it was like to not be alone. We’re going to get married! He proposed to me. He led a trail of Hershey’s kisses into the bathroom and in the shower, a dozen roses. His note said…
Now that I’ve kissed the ground you walked on,
and showered you with roses…
Would you take my hand forever, and except my proposal?

I turned around and he was standing with a ring. I cried and laughed.
I said yes.

* ~ *



Dear Morgy,

If you’re getting this letter, then I’m sorry I’m gone. I hope it was peaceful. I love you. I’ve always loved you. But, now it’s someone else’s turn.

I promise, someone will always love you.

And love will always find a way.
With love,
Grandma


By: Bethany Ballet