My Short Stories by Makayla Hernandez at Inkitt

Summary

Here are some of my most hidden short stories. Some of them talk about dark times in my life, so please be careful. Enjoy! The cool metal ran along their hand like a blanket of snow; cold, light, blank. To think that such a blade could end something so precious - so beautiful, within seconds. How could someone do so with no hesitation? Perhaps it is the thought of relief that drives people to forget the simplicity that lies before them. Or, they could be so caught up in drowning that they can't feel the weapon's point along their palm. To feel it slip between their fingers and hear the screams of the people whom have driven them to such madness must be a burden worth bearing. But do they ever hear the silent whisper in the night that pleads for them to live? Do they recall the times they've laughed, cried, shouted, or smiled? Can someone be so defeated that to see the light can be impossible? The darkness in this world is a mixture between hate and sadness. It overwhelms the mind and clouds the heart. In some cases, to survive either is a challenge no one is willing to face.

Genre: Other

Author: Makayla Hernandez

Status: Ongoing

Chapters: 1

Rating: n/a

Age Rating: 13+

Miss You

She waited along the plank of wood that was the end of her porch. Tears fell from her eyes as she held what used to be one of the most precious things she owned. The soft metal felt cool in her palm as she cupped it gently and tried to stop herself from crying. A soft, gentle breeze blew by and kissed her tears dry as they fell delicately from her eyes. Her face remained its normal color as she was slowly breaking apart. No matter how many times she told herself that she was going to get through this, she knew deep down that she was lying. If it were true, she wouldn’t be holding back her tears. If it were true, she wouldn’t be sitting here, slowly breaking and withering away.

Her mind, her greatest enemy. How it can be so dark. So evil. So. . .demented. The voices in her head scream for release. They scream for her to follow them. Calling out her name and beckoning her nearer. Until. . .one step, two steps, three. . .and four. Each step she takes leads her into an even darker place. A place of loneliness and sorrow. No matter how many times she tries to ignore the voices and turn around, she can’t. They beg and whimper as she tries to leave. Some grasp her heels and manage to drag her back even further.

Every scream she screams. Every word she whispers. Every step she takes. She feels alone. Abandoned. Forgotten. Unloved. Unwanted. She wants to feel something. She longs to be something. The light at the end of the tunnel is gone. All there is is darkness. She’s a prisoner in her own mind. A girl whose sentence is for life. But what is a life if not lived? What is a voice if not heard?

As she lays her head against the strong form of a pillar near her, she finally allows the tears to fall. They slowly cascade down her face and into her palms where the metal laid. Feeling the cool surface, she looks down at the object sadly. A small tin soldier lies in her palm. It intricate design curves along the side of her thumb and lies on its side, hiding its carefully carved face from view.

A tear streams down her face as she chokes back a sob and strokes the soldier gently with the top of her thumb. “I miss you dad,” she whimpers out as she feels the wave of sadness hit her once more. No longer able to hold back the depressing emotion, she allows her face to become wet with tears as she cried on the side of her porch.