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- Story Listed as: Fiction For Adults
- Theme: Survival / Success
- Subject: Death / Heartbreak / Loss
- Published: 10/06/2010
Visiting Time Is Over
Born 1982, M, from Apple Valley, CA, United StatesThom couldn’t understand it. He had not been allowed to see his mother for six months and now his precious time with her was being cut short. He held onto her hand, tears running down his hot red cheeks. The nurse tried to pull him away but he would not let go.
“Visiting time is over,” she said.
He would not let go. His eyes burned as he stared through streaking tears at the figure lying on the hospital bed. Her arms and legs were strapped to metal bedposts. Her face was pale and her eyes darted around the room. She did not know who he was. She was not his mother. But she was his mother. Her face was his mother’s beautiful face. Her smile was his mother’s beautiful smile. But she was not his mother. Still he held onto her hand.
He pulled her hand up and ran the fingers across his face, wiping the tears away. The fingers trembled but her face showed no response. He could remember all of the times she had touched his face before. He wanted her to come home, to get out of this place. She had been acting strangely ever since his father had disappeared, but she was okay. She was okay. She had stopped coming home from work after that. He didn’t know where she would go but he could forgive her for that. He was sad too. He loved his father too. He felt her hand on his face and the tears would no longer come. She was okay. He knew it. She could come home now.
“She’s okay. She can come home now,” he said to the nurse. “I know she’s okay.” But the nurse was gone. He was alone with his mother in the white room with dark shadows that smelled of untainted antiseptic. His mother looked at him and then looked away quickly. When she looked again he looked into her eyes. They were blank, expressionless. Emotionless. He had never seen her this way before, but he knew she was okay. She had to be. She had to come home. He wanted her to come home.
And then the nurse was behind him again. Strong, hairy arms grabbed him and gently pulled him away. Away. Away from his mother. His beautiful mother. He wanted her to come home.
“But she’s okay! She can come home now cos she’s okay!”
“Visiting time is over,” he heard from over his shoulder. This time it was more forceful. The strong arms were merciless, unrelenting to his frenzied struggle. They pulled him out of the room, into the white hallway with the dark shadows. He missed his mother. He could see her face through the open door. Why couldn’t he stay longer? Why couldn’t she come home? He wanted her to come home. He loved his father too. Why didn’t they put him in here with his mother? He loved his father too.
He was outside. The building was big. Huge. How did he get outside? He wasn’t sure. But he was outside. The doors were closed. He looked up at all of the windows, all of the stories. He wasn’t sure which one his mother was on. He pretended that she was in a corner room on the fifth floor and he waved to the window. The building looked as if it could collapse at any time. Vines crawled up the side like snakes and disappeared onto the roof. There must be somebody in every one of those rooms, he thought. He wondered if they disappeared too. Does everybody disappear? He looked down and was relieved that he could see his arms and his legs. They were not strapped down. He was free. The building was huge.
He started walking. Where, he did not know. He felt like walking. The air was nice. He looked around at the trees. They all looked like weeping willows. He had never seen a weeping willow before. But these looked like they were weeping willows. They must have been weeping willows. The shadows were grey. It must be getting late, he thought. The shadows looked like they were creeping. They were creeping towards him, whispering to him that his mother was crazy. He looked around. Did anybody else hear the shadows? There was a nice looking old man on a bench. He had some kind of a twitch. Maybe he heard the shadows too. He whispered back: “My mother is not crazy. She’s okay. She can come home now cos she’s okay.”
The man on the bench abruptly jerked his head in Thom’s direction and licked his lips. Thom stood motionless for a moment, too afraid to move, and then he ran towards the gates at the far side of the yard. He was crying again. “My mother is not crazy!” he screamed at the shadows. He did not look back at the old man on the bench. He wanted to disappear. People disappear. Sometimes. If they want it bad enough. He wanted to disappear. He could still feel the big arms around him, choking him. He could not breathe. He wanted his mother. He wished he still had her hand. Just her hand. That would be alright for now. The tears burned on his cheeks. Burning like fire. He could not breathe. The shadows were chasing him. They were still whispering. He ran through the gates. They were open.
“Hey! Watch out kid!” the gate guard yelled.
Thom looked up and saw a bus moving straight towards him. He dived to the side of the road and landed in a flower garden. He laid there for what seemed like days. He was breathing hard and he wasn’t sure why. His mind was racing and he found himself imagining what his father must have felt just before he disappeared. What made him want it bad enough? Thom couldn’t quite remember. He was alone. The air felt nice.
He opened his eyes. He saw the bright blue sky and the clouds. They were moving fast. Too fast. The clouds were racing. His head was spinning. The gate guard was standing over him, saying things he could not understand. He could not hear anything. Then he heard the shadows. They were still whispering, sardonically mocking him. He couldn’t see them anymore because he was outside of the wall. But he could hear them. The gate guard was still talking. What was he saying? Was he whispering like the shadows? He was. Thom grimaced and when the gate guard leaned down to help him up Thom kicked him. He was on his feet. He was running. Houses, cities, worlds flew by. Where was he? He tried to look at the street signs as they darted past but he couldn’t read them. The whole world was spinning and he was standing still. But he was running. He was in a dream. He was dreaming. He must be. He tripped once…no twice, he couldn’t tell. His knees were bleeding. His clothes were covered in potting soil. He couldn’t remember how it got there. The houses flew by. He wanted his mother’s hand to wipe the tears from his face. He loved his mother. And he loved his father too.
How did he do it? His father had disappeared. Thom knew that he had seen him. Where did he go? He ran to the front door and found it unlocked. Was he inside? All he saw was darkness. He heard his father’s voice, whispering. It was whispering things that he couldn’t understand and he could feel the world spinning but he was standing still. He closed the door so that nobody else could hear his father whispering. It was dark. The lights were off. He flipped the switch but nothing happened. He was inside one of the whispering shadows. It had eaten him. But it was his father’s voice. He knew it was. But what was he saying?
“Where are you?” Thom called out in desperation. “Why can’t I see you?”
And then he could understand. It was his father’s voice. And he could understand.
“I’m here,” the shadow said. “I’m everywhere around you.”
“But why can’t I see you?”
“Because I’ve disappeared, Thom. I’m here but I’ve disappeared.”
“I want to disappear,” said Thom. “I want to disappear.”
The shadows were silent. Nothing moved. The world stopped turning. The clouds had stopped moving. He couldn’t see the clouds, but he knew they had stopped moving. He hugged himself. It was cold.
“Why can’t I see you father? Make me disappear so I can see you,” Thom cried.
“I’m sorry son…”
The voices fell silent. All of them. Thom waited. He waited for an eternity. It wasn’t so cold anymore. He could feel heat coming from somewhere. There was a fire in the furnace. How did that get there? He looked around and saw that he was alone. It was dark but there were no shadows. They were gone. The shadows were gone.
“Father!” He cried emphatically. “Father! Where are you?”
There was no reply.
Thom gazed into the furnace. What was his father sorry about? He stared at his shoes. They were covered in mud and potting soil. His hand clutched something cold and promising. He looked behind him and could make out by the light of the furnace the marks his shoes had left on the cement floor. Then he was looking around at the room. Where was he? The furnace was in the basement. How did he get in the basement? There was a red stain on the wall near the furnace. Why would anybody splatter paint on the wall in the basement? He found the creaky stairs and slowly walked up them. The doorway at the top of the stairwell gave easily when he pushed it. He remembered that the latch was broken. The door swung open, and as it did, a strange and blinding light was uncovered. Thom left his hand on the broken door latch for a long time and stared at the blinding white light. He could see nothing but its brilliance. He could feel nothing but its sadness. He stared at the light and was entranced by its beauty and its sadness and his finger twitched and he felt the roar but did not hear it and the room was dark and the red stain on the wall was fresh and Thom had disappeared.
Visiting Time Is Over(Jeremy McCool)
Thom couldn’t understand it. He had not been allowed to see his mother for six months and now his precious time with her was being cut short. He held onto her hand, tears running down his hot red cheeks. The nurse tried to pull him away but he would not let go.
“Visiting time is over,” she said.
He would not let go. His eyes burned as he stared through streaking tears at the figure lying on the hospital bed. Her arms and legs were strapped to metal bedposts. Her face was pale and her eyes darted around the room. She did not know who he was. She was not his mother. But she was his mother. Her face was his mother’s beautiful face. Her smile was his mother’s beautiful smile. But she was not his mother. Still he held onto her hand.
He pulled her hand up and ran the fingers across his face, wiping the tears away. The fingers trembled but her face showed no response. He could remember all of the times she had touched his face before. He wanted her to come home, to get out of this place. She had been acting strangely ever since his father had disappeared, but she was okay. She was okay. She had stopped coming home from work after that. He didn’t know where she would go but he could forgive her for that. He was sad too. He loved his father too. He felt her hand on his face and the tears would no longer come. She was okay. He knew it. She could come home now.
“She’s okay. She can come home now,” he said to the nurse. “I know she’s okay.” But the nurse was gone. He was alone with his mother in the white room with dark shadows that smelled of untainted antiseptic. His mother looked at him and then looked away quickly. When she looked again he looked into her eyes. They were blank, expressionless. Emotionless. He had never seen her this way before, but he knew she was okay. She had to be. She had to come home. He wanted her to come home.
And then the nurse was behind him again. Strong, hairy arms grabbed him and gently pulled him away. Away. Away from his mother. His beautiful mother. He wanted her to come home.
“But she’s okay! She can come home now cos she’s okay!”
“Visiting time is over,” he heard from over his shoulder. This time it was more forceful. The strong arms were merciless, unrelenting to his frenzied struggle. They pulled him out of the room, into the white hallway with the dark shadows. He missed his mother. He could see her face through the open door. Why couldn’t he stay longer? Why couldn’t she come home? He wanted her to come home. He loved his father too. Why didn’t they put him in here with his mother? He loved his father too.
He was outside. The building was big. Huge. How did he get outside? He wasn’t sure. But he was outside. The doors were closed. He looked up at all of the windows, all of the stories. He wasn’t sure which one his mother was on. He pretended that she was in a corner room on the fifth floor and he waved to the window. The building looked as if it could collapse at any time. Vines crawled up the side like snakes and disappeared onto the roof. There must be somebody in every one of those rooms, he thought. He wondered if they disappeared too. Does everybody disappear? He looked down and was relieved that he could see his arms and his legs. They were not strapped down. He was free. The building was huge.
He started walking. Where, he did not know. He felt like walking. The air was nice. He looked around at the trees. They all looked like weeping willows. He had never seen a weeping willow before. But these looked like they were weeping willows. They must have been weeping willows. The shadows were grey. It must be getting late, he thought. The shadows looked like they were creeping. They were creeping towards him, whispering to him that his mother was crazy. He looked around. Did anybody else hear the shadows? There was a nice looking old man on a bench. He had some kind of a twitch. Maybe he heard the shadows too. He whispered back: “My mother is not crazy. She’s okay. She can come home now cos she’s okay.”
The man on the bench abruptly jerked his head in Thom’s direction and licked his lips. Thom stood motionless for a moment, too afraid to move, and then he ran towards the gates at the far side of the yard. He was crying again. “My mother is not crazy!” he screamed at the shadows. He did not look back at the old man on the bench. He wanted to disappear. People disappear. Sometimes. If they want it bad enough. He wanted to disappear. He could still feel the big arms around him, choking him. He could not breathe. He wanted his mother. He wished he still had her hand. Just her hand. That would be alright for now. The tears burned on his cheeks. Burning like fire. He could not breathe. The shadows were chasing him. They were still whispering. He ran through the gates. They were open.
“Hey! Watch out kid!” the gate guard yelled.
Thom looked up and saw a bus moving straight towards him. He dived to the side of the road and landed in a flower garden. He laid there for what seemed like days. He was breathing hard and he wasn’t sure why. His mind was racing and he found himself imagining what his father must have felt just before he disappeared. What made him want it bad enough? Thom couldn’t quite remember. He was alone. The air felt nice.
He opened his eyes. He saw the bright blue sky and the clouds. They were moving fast. Too fast. The clouds were racing. His head was spinning. The gate guard was standing over him, saying things he could not understand. He could not hear anything. Then he heard the shadows. They were still whispering, sardonically mocking him. He couldn’t see them anymore because he was outside of the wall. But he could hear them. The gate guard was still talking. What was he saying? Was he whispering like the shadows? He was. Thom grimaced and when the gate guard leaned down to help him up Thom kicked him. He was on his feet. He was running. Houses, cities, worlds flew by. Where was he? He tried to look at the street signs as they darted past but he couldn’t read them. The whole world was spinning and he was standing still. But he was running. He was in a dream. He was dreaming. He must be. He tripped once…no twice, he couldn’t tell. His knees were bleeding. His clothes were covered in potting soil. He couldn’t remember how it got there. The houses flew by. He wanted his mother’s hand to wipe the tears from his face. He loved his mother. And he loved his father too.
How did he do it? His father had disappeared. Thom knew that he had seen him. Where did he go? He ran to the front door and found it unlocked. Was he inside? All he saw was darkness. He heard his father’s voice, whispering. It was whispering things that he couldn’t understand and he could feel the world spinning but he was standing still. He closed the door so that nobody else could hear his father whispering. It was dark. The lights were off. He flipped the switch but nothing happened. He was inside one of the whispering shadows. It had eaten him. But it was his father’s voice. He knew it was. But what was he saying?
“Where are you?” Thom called out in desperation. “Why can’t I see you?”
And then he could understand. It was his father’s voice. And he could understand.
“I’m here,” the shadow said. “I’m everywhere around you.”
“But why can’t I see you?”
“Because I’ve disappeared, Thom. I’m here but I’ve disappeared.”
“I want to disappear,” said Thom. “I want to disappear.”
The shadows were silent. Nothing moved. The world stopped turning. The clouds had stopped moving. He couldn’t see the clouds, but he knew they had stopped moving. He hugged himself. It was cold.
“Why can’t I see you father? Make me disappear so I can see you,” Thom cried.
“I’m sorry son…”
The voices fell silent. All of them. Thom waited. He waited for an eternity. It wasn’t so cold anymore. He could feel heat coming from somewhere. There was a fire in the furnace. How did that get there? He looked around and saw that he was alone. It was dark but there were no shadows. They were gone. The shadows were gone.
“Father!” He cried emphatically. “Father! Where are you?”
There was no reply.
Thom gazed into the furnace. What was his father sorry about? He stared at his shoes. They were covered in mud and potting soil. His hand clutched something cold and promising. He looked behind him and could make out by the light of the furnace the marks his shoes had left on the cement floor. Then he was looking around at the room. Where was he? The furnace was in the basement. How did he get in the basement? There was a red stain on the wall near the furnace. Why would anybody splatter paint on the wall in the basement? He found the creaky stairs and slowly walked up them. The doorway at the top of the stairwell gave easily when he pushed it. He remembered that the latch was broken. The door swung open, and as it did, a strange and blinding light was uncovered. Thom left his hand on the broken door latch for a long time and stared at the blinding white light. He could see nothing but its brilliance. He could feel nothing but its sadness. He stared at the light and was entranced by its beauty and its sadness and his finger twitched and he felt the roar but did not hear it and the room was dark and the red stain on the wall was fresh and Thom had disappeared.
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