9/11 Short Stories

Night shrouded the boulders from view; only their jagged tips visible over the pounding waves. Lucas huddled against the wind, gazing out over the dark waters—wild, uncontrollable, all-consuming. He massaged his temples, his thoughts spiralling out of control. Would it be painful? He wondered, to jump, to feel your skull cracking against the rocks? Surely no more painful, than to not jump.

The sky was dark velvet overhead, sequinned with stars. Lucas saw no beauty in its everlasting patchwork. The wind smothered him head on, his coat hood flickering out behind him. He fumbled for the jacket fastenings; hands trembling violently. After a couple of attempts, it hung open. He flung it off and reached to unbuckle his belt, throwing it to the ground with a clatter. Through his thin t-shirt, the cold stabbed uncomfortably at his skin—like being pricked repeatedly by the thorn of a rose. Though soon, the cold wouldn’t matter anymore. Nothing would matter anymore.
“Lucas!” May screamed. Her heart thudded against her chest as she repeated herself—over and over. Trying to repress the sobs that racked her slight frame, she ran. Her flashlight sent spiralling shadows over the rocks. She wanted to scream, but she needed to keep going. She had to find him. Rain hammered against the rocks, giving them a

treacherous, glossy sheen. Droplets clouded May’s vision. She blinked them away, her eyes red-rimmed. She leaned towards the wind, her skin dull and sore. A storm was coming. She had to get to Lucas before it broke, or she’d never see him again.

Lucas stood now in only his shirt and trousers. Sharp rocks underfoot tore at his skin, drawing blood. He didn’t care. The wind whipped the waves into a wild, roaring frenzy—baying for his soul. A half-laugh, half-sob escaped from his lips. Soon, there would be nothing left. No more white rooms, doctors with sympathetic looks as if they understood the pain. No more people eating away at him with their words, “you’re not depressed. You’re just sad,” while looking at him in disgust at the scars, plastering his arms. Lucas was tired of being strong, tired of waiting, tired of the storm overtaking his mind. He shifted forwards, his feet brushing the void. Another shuffle and the pain would be gone, forever.

May ran faster, the cold wind biting her until all she could feel was pain.

Her lungs burnt and her breath caught in her throat. Every second she wasted was a second closer to losing him. Then she saw him, a distorted shadow in the moonlight. She cried out his name again through chapped lips. Tears pooled in her eyes, like a gentle ocean resembling her bleeding heart. Mascara smudged around her cheeks like charcoal. She stumbled forwards, her legs threatening to give way. Rough edged rocks tore at her clothes, slashing her trousers like something in a horror movie. But she had to keep going. After all they had been through, she couldn’t lose him now. Not

ever.
Lucas raised his arms and closed his eyes.

“Wait!” May’s voice tore through the night like a tornado, raw and echoed.

Lucas turned in shock and stepped backwards, turning his gaze towards May. His features twisted in sorrow before returning to an expression as blank as a white canvas. “I’m sorry, May.” His voice tore through her body, like shards of glass.

She moved towards him, tears leaking from her eyes. Lucas threw his arms up in front of him, creating a barrier in between them.

“Come on Lu, you were getting better. The ten steps to recovery, remember?” she took a deep breath, “We’ll work it all out, I promise. Come on, it’s dangerous out here. You’re not safe, not in your situation,” desperation laced her voice, “we can go home.”

Lucas stared out to sea. He laughed bitterly, “May. Innocent little May. You recovered, because you wanted to. Don’t you see? This storm, this storm is going to take me away. I don’t want to recover. I want to be free.”