Short Story - Waiting
The thunder rolled like the bass drum of a marching band, steadily, continuously. The rain pounded relentlessly against the bare windows and lightning illuminated the dark grey sky. The eerie sound of the wind as it shrieked and howled alone was enough to awaken the dead and yet, all that she could hear was the deafening, monotonous 'tick, tock', of the grandfather clock in the corner. Here she had sat for the past two hours and here she would remain...waiting.She glanced over to the baby asleep in her cradle. The baby, who was oblivious to his surroundings, completely oblivious to the silent torture of his mother. She arose from her chair and walked over to where the infant lay. As she watched him sleep, she noticed that the tiny hands were clenched, as if clutching something, anything. She gazed forlornly at the child as he slept, he moved suddenly, whimpering softly in his state of slumber bringing his mother out of her trance like condition. Once more the child moved and then he lay, quietly, motionless, still.The mother retreated back to her chair again to continue her ongoing vigil, her mind drifted, until once more all that she could hear was the never-ending, clamorous 'tick, tock', of the gran
Everything became clear in her mind - the broken windscreen, the wrecked car, but most vividly she remembered the seemingly endless red river of blood. She could hear the high-pitched screams in her mind similar to that of a banshee. Gripped in emotional torment, she began to remember. As her baby awoke from her deep sleep, she carried her over to the window. Cautiously she began to recite the 'Our Father', something she hadn't done since her childhood but even these words pierced and bruised her as if every word she offered up to God came cascading back down on top of her like an avalanche. The future for her family - it didn't matter how hard it would be, no longer would she persist in waiting. She stood in the doorway clutching onto each architrave, swaying with the strength of the wind. "I follow straight without complaints or grief,Since if my sent be good, I care not ifIt be as short as yours". As the bitter night gradually drifted nearer to a dismal dawn she was still running, frantically searching for something. For the first time since the accident she found herself being thrust into agonising torrents of tears, tears of self-pity, tears of grief, panic. The screaming sirens of the ambulance vans and police cars as they propelled down the road. Picking it up discreetly, she withdrew back to the security of her chair.
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Acceptance Essays
