Creative Book of 10 Best Short Stories Read online

  He smiled, as if he could hear, “Ah, Gabri, I had some unfinished work left.” He pushed back the dark hair that had fallen over his eyes, and Gabriela’s heart beat much faster. But what was her heart doing thumping? She had to prove to Eduardo that she didn’t care.

  “What or who could be that important?” Gabriela inquired icily, with a well-placed toss of her head.

  Eduardo carelessly answered, “With María Alvarez.”

  She was Gabriela’s fiercest rival. The color rushed to Gabriela’s cheeks and Eduardo struggled to control his laughter, so that others would not find them a source of entertainment.

  “Isn’t she here?” Gabriela struggled to keep a neutral tone and found her rival’s steady gaze. Gabriela smiled smugly, thinking she detected jealousy in María’s haughty features. María faced Gabriela’s stare unflinchingly. María was dressed in a gown like Gabriela’s though María’s was blue. The low cut of the neckline accentuated María’s best assets. Fit to be on a platter, all on display. She looked beautiful, the way a puta would look of course, with her black hair swept into a loose chignon, her violet eyes fringed with her long black lashes. She had always been much taller and full figured compared to Gabriela. As Gabriela glared at María, she couldn’t help but noticing that she looked like a Greek statue come to life. For a moment, Gabriela felt a biting sting of envy and something more, as she coolly glanced at her sharp heel. The servants often talked about how a sharp heel could be used to kill- injure, she hastily, reluctantly corrected herself. Then, with a start, she realized Eduardo had been joking, and took care to tread on his toes, though her small feet held hardly any threat.

  Finally, conceding defeat, she threw back her head and laughed. Her laughter released any tension remaining. The night passed away quickly with the aid of plentiful food, mellifluous music, and lively dancing. When the darkness began giving way to light, guests regretfully began gathering their belongings, sampling favorite snacks one last time, congratulating the Flores, and finally, retiring to their homes. The Flores family themselves sat in their sitting room and relived the highlights of the night together.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  Gabriela waited to board a bus to visit her Aunt Lourdes some kilometers away. She still glowed from the memory of her quinceañera, now a memory of two years. Eduardo had even been courting her seriously, and a marriage proposal seemed imminent. Luckily, both sets of parents had happily approved the match.

  The bus pulled up with its roaring engines, stirring Gabriela’s skirts. Dust clouds rose up as she paid her fare and took a seat on the bus. Leaning her head against the window, she let her thoughts wander, until she suddenly saw another woman who looked like María Alvarez aged about three decades. Her thoughts turned towards María. María was not as beautiful as her, or as intelligent, but surely wealthier than herself. Although the two had grown up together, as their teen years had set on, they had grown apart: both had coveted Eduardo. Yet, she worried- Eduardo had been close friends with María until he realized that Gabriela was worthy of his attention. She consoled herself as it seemed that Eduardo had chosen Gabriela. Raising a slender finger, Gabriela reached up to touch her gold necklace, she mused that as she had Eduardo, perhaps she could be kinder to María. Perhaps. With this thought, she allowed her mind to turn back to Eduardo, happily envisioning how he would ask for her hand. A bus was approaching from the opposite direction. She smiled at the expression on the driver’s face: he looked terrified of something. Probably his passengers, she chuckled. But her eyes widened as the bus came closer, veering off its side of the road. A scream died in her throat as the glass of her window exploded.

  Angels came and lifted her onto floating beds. Anguish filled the air around her as wails for the dead arose. Everyone she loved was on the other side of a mirror. The glass shattered again as pain filled her limbs and mind. She knew not how long she slept, how long their rough twisted hands tried to pull her into the underworld. Darkness seeped into her soul. She was burning for her sins forever. She cried for her mother and father. For Eduardo. For her priest. For her faith and hope. For anything. But no one came. Nothing came.

  Gabriela struggled to open her eyes. Her left eye opened, but her right eye could not. Blurry images greeted her, and her eye involuntarily squinted against the harsh light. Finally, she managed to see the wan face of her mother. A raspy voice emitted “Mama, where am I?”

  Without warning, her normally contained mother threw herself at Gabriela and cried “Gabri! We thought we had lost you!” She smothered Gabriela in kisses and hugs. Gabriela, much embarrassed, tried to squirm away as much as the hospital bed and various bandages would allow her.

  A nurse entered abruptly, carrying a tray of food, speaking to Gabriela’s mother as if Gabriela was not there. “Señora Flores, we have made counseling appointments for the family. Señorita Flores should consider herself lucky. Many others in the accident have died.”

  Gabriela made an attempt to talk, but her attempt to croak out anything bubbled into spit against her lips. The nurse briskly placed the tray on the bedside table and left.

  She struggled to prop herself against her pillow, but her mother gently pressed her onto the bed again.

  “Mija, go to sleep.”

  Something was wrong. Gabriela felt it. She pushed aside her mother’s administrations and attempted now to leave her bed. She frowned. Her right foot seemed to not obey her mind. She looked down. There was no foot. Darkness descended over her mind, a black cloud covering the bright sun, as Gabriela hit the floor. Her mother screamed, and Gabriela was placed in her bed once more.

  She cried for her namesake, the angel Gabriel. It was a nightmare, she told herself. Clutching her gold necklace, she tried to walk. She tried to run. She stumbled and fell into a black hole that never seemed to end. She tried to scream, but again, no one heard. But she heard. She heard the cruel, mocking, never-ending laughter.

  Her eyelids fluttered once more. Her right eye could still not open. Her voice was harsh as she croaked “I want a mirror. Now.” The nurse on duty looked up from her magazine, startled, and began to refuse. But something in Gabriela’s one-eyed glare silenced her, and she scurried to get one. Panting slightly, the plump nurse hurried to give it to her.

  Gabriela nonchalantly took the mirror and looked at her reflection, smiling thinly at the nurse. She imperiously angled the mirror towards her, sure that her face had been preserved, except for the one bandage. She closed her eyes and told herself that it was only a mere bandage, arranging her lips in a smile.

  Her mouth opened in a silent scream.

  Her right eye was swathed in bandages. A long, bright red scar stretched from her left eye to her twisted mouth. Her eyebrows were singed. And she remembered that the mirror could not show her all she had lost. She looked along the bed, and a leg ended at the knee. She attempted to smile flirtatiously, but the reflection grimaced mockingly.

  Gabriela, screamed- a primal scream of unspeakable rage- and threw the mirror angrily at the floor. Her eyes burned. Fate had snatched everything away from her. She would not cry, she promised herself. Still, she cried bitterly, passionately into her pillow. For a family of her class, beauty was all she could offer in marriage besides wealth.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  She refused food and became infatuated with her marred beauty. The doctors employed psychiatrists to come “look” at her. And they all filed in one after the other, and said that she must only get well by herself. Her parents became desperate, and her mother wept daily. It seemed that her daughter had died while she was still alive: where was Gabri’s laughter and haughtiness? Her parents visited her every day. They talked to her, and read to her. But one thought filled her mind, and her heart: What else did she have left? She damned all of them because they could never help her. She began to wish she had died: for Death was better than languishing in this body of ugliness. She wept because she was so ugly. But sh
e waited. She waited until the psychiatrists said she was fine and was ready to talk. She waited until she talked, and saw the tears of joy in her parents’ eyes. She waited for Eduardo to come and see her and still stand by her. He would come. Be patient. Their love was perfect! Suddenly, her skin tingled with a thought: perhaps he would propose while she was still in the hospital. But he did not come.

  She waited until her pride permitted it, and then she asked her mother. Her mother’s smile wavered, and she averted her eyes, and answered that Eduardo was fine. When Gabriela insisted, her mother left, saying that she must oversee lunch. Mulling over how she could get news of Eduardo, confined to her bed, she asked the nurse to read her the newspaper daily. Eduardo and his family were often in the local paper, and she could know what sort of depression he was going through. But she became frustrated after several weeks of fruitless listening. One morning though, the nurse read the paper, and all of the hopes harbored in Gabriela’s heart fell out and shattered. The local paper’s front page discussed the engagement of Eduardo Gonzales to María Alvarez. Gabriela gave no sign that she had heard of the engagement, hoping that Eduardo would die a painful death and burn in hell forever. The nurse chattered on, thinking her patient was excited about the wedding as she was. After all, it would be the coupling of the wealthiest families in their town! The happy couple beamed from the front page as the nurse enthusiastically shook the paper in front of Gabriela, hoping to see a smile.

  That night, Gabriela reached to the bedside table, and picked up the newspaper. She traced Eduardo’s face with sadness. His betrayal stung her. Holding the paper to her heart, she let tears snake down her fleshless cheeks. Patting María’s cheek with a finger, she wished María wedded bliss, and hoped that Eduardo would be kind to her. Yet, she couldn’t. Damn Eduardo! And María! How could they do this to her? Gabriela closed her eyes, feeling fury overtake her, and ripped the paper to shreds. She propped herself up, and placed her left leg on the ground. The other leg dangled uselessly. There was no crutch, but a mirror was on her bedside table, and she took it. She dragged herself and crawled over to the windowsill. Reaching a trembling hand to pull herself up to the ledge, she looked down at the silvery pool of moonlight on the ground that seemed so far away from her room. Her emaciated frame shivered in her thin white nightgown and Gabriela breathed in the eerie night air. The night had never seemed darker, the moon had never seemed brighter. Her last decision faced her, and the stars twinkled at her, encouraging her. The ground, illuminated by only a sliver of moonlight seemed so far off. She imagined her crumpled body folded in a heap of broken bones on the hard ground, and smiled with satisfaction. She stared out into the night sky, perhaps the last time she would ever do so. She closed her eyes, feeling a chilly breeze rush into her room, asking her to make haste. She was only doing this so that Eduardo and María felt guilt. So they were condemned to hell for their sins, their guilty marriage. Opening her eyes, she reasoned through her decision once more. She had nothing, or anyone to live for anymore. Looking back to her room again, she saw the torn scraps of paper all over the room, and steeled herself. She clutched her necklace, and whispered “Adíos, adíos” to the world. She said her last prayer there, standing up on the ledge, teetering. She stretched her arms to the night sky like a bird in flight. She listened to the eerie silence for a moment, and thought about what she had to do. Lurching backward, she stepped down, and glanced in the mirror for her last time. She wanted to find herself, before they found her. She saw the scar and the still-bandaged eye and the hairless eyebrows and looked down to see only one leg. But- she saw something else- she saw her intact nose, her eye that could see. Her mouth could now move, and the scar had begun fading. She saw Gabriela Flores, wholly herself, her heart reflected in the mirror. A tear shone on her cheek, a tear from the pit of hopelessness she had confined herself to for so long. The mirror shattered once more. She wouldn’t need it any longer.

  The next morning, the nurse wrote, “Patient smiled for first time since accident.”

  Notes:

  Adíos: good-bye.

  Padre: priest, father

  Quinceañera: a girl’s fifteenth birthday, an extremely important cultural and social occasion.

  Señorita: the address for a young, unmarried woman.

  Mija: a contraction of the words mi hija (“my daughter”). The contraction means the same.

  Fiesta: party

  Tango: a dance that is popular in South America and Mexico, the melody is usually smooth with bursts of rhythm.

  Señor: the address for a man of any age.

  Señora: the address for a married woman.

  Empanadas: stuffed bread or pastry that is baked

  Corte de honor: court of honor; these are the girls and boys that dance along with the main couple. It is an honor to be selected as the selection proves that the birthday girl values the friendship.

  Puta: cheap woman, prostitute

  The Cruel Hero

  Kevin Allen

  The Cruel Hero

  I find irony in the fact that I became paraplegic at the fault of an irresponsible handicapped driver. I recall staring at the wheelchair symbol on the license plate dangling from the front of the Ford Focus as it rifled into oncoming traffic. Everything occurred in slow motion as the car flipped over the median, harpooning the passenger side of my BMW. Now, I’m sitting in my own wheelchair, staring at the roadside memorial constructed on the small bridge where a drunk driver took away my wife, my ability to walk, and my career as an Olympic diver.

  Pain gnaws away at my spirit each time I think about the drunk driver’s punishment. In the eyes of the judicial system, the loss of my legs combined with vehicular homicide is only equivalent to a five-year license suspension and ninety days in an alcohol rehabilitation facility. Justice must be blind in order to see any fairness in that decision. I believe the judge displayed leniency with his sentence because the drunk driver is a disabled war veteran. When the inebriated woman seized an opportunity to speak in court, she pleaded for mercy, but failed to offer an apology or show any sign of remorse for my situation. I get to suffer for the rest of my life while she feels the brief sting of a slap on the wrist.

  Tonight, I return to this small bridge to search for answers. After retrieving a piece of paper from my pocket that I ripped up and taped back together, I review the name and address of the woman who changed my life not so long ago. It’s been one-year since the accident, and my old diving coach thinks I should forgive the drunk driver so that I can move forward with my life, but it’s not that simple. I cannot shake the memory of that disaster from my mind, and if I cannot forget, then how can I forgive?

  My soul feels empty now that the love is gone from my life. I miss my wife of five blissful years. I miss the use of my legs, and most of all, I yearn for the adrenaline rush of performing a fluid, reverse, three and one-half somersault before pushing through the calm surface of the water with a minimal amount of splash. The misery of a ruined future haunts me. Bitterness and anger replace my former competitive spirit as I wrestle with thoughts of suicide. I contemplate attaching a weighted belt to my waist to hold me underwater after executing one final dive off this bridge. While my tears spill into the murky water of the swift moving river below, a single sentence dominates my thoughts.

  “Another perfect score for Jason Wyttenbach,” echoed the voices of numerous announcers from past diving competitions.

  I ranked among the best divers in the world for 2011. I was favored to bring home a gold medal in the 2012 Summer Olympics taking place in London this year. I trained hard for twelve hours a day and dominated every competition I entered. After a long day of studying films to help locate and polish my flaws, my wife and I headed to an expensive restaurant to celebrate my nomination for the United States Olympic Diving Team. Our joyous occasion quickly turned into a horrific tragedy before we could make it to the opposite side of the bridge.

  As I roll my wheelchair onto the exact spot where the drun
k driver balled my car up like a piece of tin foil, I receive the same eerie feeling I encountered as we crossed this river on the night of the accident. After closing my eyes, my mind spins out of control much like the drunk driver’s car that night. The memory is so vivid and clear that I can still hear the tires screeching as the brakes fail to stop the car in enough time to keep the drunk driver from ruining my life. Suddenly, I receive the urge to open my eyes as a car appears out of nowhere. The screaming tires that I believed existed in my past were actually heading straight for me in the present. A giant gust of hot air rushes past my face as the car scrapes the side of my wheelchair and crashes through the guardrail of the bridge, plunging into the river below.

  “If you had better aim, then you could‘ve saved me the trouble of killing myself,” I yell while rolling my chair toward the gaping hole in the guardrail to look down at the sinking car.

  I hurl several colorful expletives over the side of the bridge as the river rapidly consumes the compact car. Once I grew tired of shaking my fist at the unseen driver who nearly ended my life in the exact spot that I lost the use of my legs, I realize that no one is swimming out of the river. As I scrutinize the rear of the sinking car, I notice a baby’s car seat. I listen intently as the muffled cry of a young child disturbs the silence of the night.