This piece is only a prologue – something that provides some insight into the adult she becomes. The rest of the novel will be from the adult perspective. Thanks for your comments – they tell me that I was on target.
Short Story / RUN
Run for Life
Prologue
I was ready for the last class of the school day to be over, so I could go pick up the twins at day care, walk them home and get dinner started. What should I fix them tonight? I need to fix something they like but that will keep well for Daddy. What time is Daddy likely to come home? It was quite late the last few nights and he hadn’t even seen the twins before I put them to bed. How will I explain his continued absence to them tonight? They’re getting more and more resistant to bedtime without him. They just don’t get it. I realized my mind was drifting yet again and tried to focus on the teacher.
Paying attention was really hard for me some days. Today especially was one of them what with Mom being in the hospital again. I just needed to think about something other than that for awhile and I glanced out the window to see if it was still raining. Chin on my fist, I daydreamed about sunny weather, my mind drifting off towards the field where I’d once played with my friends. Life had been so much easier back then, racing around, chasing each other…
“Rachel………Rachel………Rachel Lightfoot!!!” I jumped about a foot when her grating voice came from immediately behind me. If she had any idea what my life was like, maybe the old biddy would leave me alone once in a while.
“Yes, Miss Tuttle?” I sighed.
“I’ve already asked you five times this afternoon to pay attention.” She reared back, head down, shoulders hunched like her almost-namesake. She snapped, “I’ve been trying to tell you go to Mr. Wright’s office! Now, go!”
“But, Miss…”
“You heard me! Go now! And take everything with you. You won’t be coming back to class today.” The teacher’s exasperation came through plainly in the brisk tone she adopted as well as in the sour look on her face.
I got up slowly, dreading another trip to the principal’s office. My daddy was going to kill me. He already said he wasn’t going to put up with much more and when Daddy got mad…let’s just say – not pleasant. I gathered up my homework and books. At least, Miss Tuttle always wrote all of tomorrow’s homework on the board first thing in the morning. Now, if only I had thought to write it down today. Oh, well, hopefully I could remember most of it at home later and if not, at least I had the homework for my earlier classes.
I stopped at my locker real quick to pick up my other books and my spring jacket. While I got my stuff together I anticipated the principal’s standard lecture about how even though he knows how overwhelmed I am, my parents would still want me to succeed yada, yada, yada. Yeah, like he even has a clue, I thought. He doesn’t know what I have to do just to hold things together. I have to take care of the twins, the housework, the cooking, even take care of Mom when Daddy’s not home and she’s not doing very well. And he expects me to be an honor student besides? Not likely!
Once I managed to plod down to the office, bookbag dragging behind me, Mrs. Beadle, the school secretary, was hovering, just waiting to snatch the pass from my hand. She gave me a quick, snide little smirk and told me “Well, go on in. Don’t keep him waiting.” I often thought that Mrs. Beadle’s name was spelled wrong, because when she smirked like that, the only way I could keep my mouth shut was by imagining the secretary as one, spelled the other way. Of course, the picture was only complete with me holding a fly swatter. Today, however, I was too worried about Daddy’s reaction to being called by the principal again to concern myself with Mrs. Beadle’s nasty disposition. I passed through the doorway, head hanging.
I, oh so patiently, waited for Mr. Always Wright to commence his usual speech about the “importance of paying attention in school” as I examined the scuffed toes of my despised god-awful ugly shoes – but what are you going to do when your clothes come from the local charity box. Oh well, I can find a part-time job in a couple of years and buy what I want – IF someone will watch the twins. Ha, how likely is that?! After all, I’m watching them now because there’s no one else. I came to myself with a start – don’t daydream in the principal’s office, knucklehead, I told myself. Suddenly, I realized Mr. Wright was awfully silent. I peered up through my lashes; the principal was nowhere in sight. Daddy, however, was sitting in a chair facing the principal’s desk and apparently hadn’t heard my arrival. He sat slumped in the chair, head held in his hands, tears running down his craggy face. “Daddy?” I whispered. His head came up with such a look of despair on his face. “No!”
“Honey…”
“No! I don’t believe it. I won’t believe it!” I dropped everything and ran, right out the front doors of the school, past the family pick-up, across the street, through the alley, and on up the next street. I just kept on running, tears streaming. I had trouble seeing through them, but it didn’t matter. As long as I kept on running, I didn’t have to think, didn’t have to believe. One foot after the other, I ran on, until my side started to ache, to burn, and finally, it even hurt to breathe. And still I ran – because I knew if I stopped that I would have no choice but to believe.
I lost track of time, not knowing how far I’d run, or for how long until finally, exhausted, I stumbled, falling onto a grassy surface where I lay sobbing because my mother was gone. Nothing was ever going to matter again, because she was gone and nothing could bring her back. The disease that had been killing her slowly, insidiously, had finally won.
I had been so sure that she could beat it – if only I did enough at home. I’d been caring for the twins ever since they were born, had gradually, with Mom’s guiding hand, learned to do the housework, and had recently even been doing some of the easier cooking. Maybe I should have done more of the housework sooner. Maybe I should have done all of the cooking. Maybe I should have done more to keep the twins from bothering Mom. Maybe if I’d gone to the hospital with Dad instead of going to school. Maybe if I’d quit school to stay home more with her. After all, I could have homeschooled. Oh Lord, I’d done everything wrong. I could see so clearly now everything that I should have done. Mom was dead because of my selfishness. I should have been there for her. No matter what, I should have been there. The thoughts kept running disjointedly through my head and wouldn’t stop. Over and over, they repeated themselves. It’s my fault. I should have…I should have…I should have…
Eventually the tears stopped coming and only dry heaves remained. Even they slowed and eventually ceased. I’d cried until there were no tears left. A sense of peace drifted over me and for the first time I looked around. I was surprised to see that I’d wound up in the very field my daydream was about just that afternoon, the one where I used to run and play before the twins were born. The sun was dropping below the hilltops and the light was disappearing fast. Oh no, I suddenly thought, the twins. Who would have been there to pick up the twins? I dragged myself up from the swiftly dampening grass and began the long trek back. I had to get the twins and walk them home. Daddy was going to be furious, but I couldn’t bring myself to worry about that now. The twins were more important.
I trudged towards the day care facility where they generally spent their afternoon until I got out of school. With the field being so far in the opposite direction of the day care from the school, the walk would probably take hours. The shadows grew longer and longer until finally it was fully dark. Never having wandered the streets alone at night, I was nervous – but I had to get to the twins! My steps lagged as I walked on. I was so tired!
Suddenly, I heard the purr of a well-tuned motor and saw lights shining on the road ahead of me. I turned to look and was blinded by the headlights of a car, slowing as it came up the street. I shrank back into the shadows, afraid. As the vehicle slowed to a stop beside me the lights no longer rendered me sightless, allowing me to make out the shape of a light bar attached to the roof. Sighing in relief, I realized it was a police car.
“You, there,” barked the officer who stepped out of the vehicle. “What are you doing out here so late?”
“My name is Rachel Lightfoot. I’m trying to get to Tiny Tots Day Care, sir.”
“Why?” the officer questioned suspiciously. “It’s closed.”
“I was supposed to pick up my brother and sister. They go there after morning kindergarten until I’m done with school. I didn’t remember them today and they’re probably scared spitless by now. Can you help me get there?”
The officer got a strange look on his face. “What did you say your name was?”
“Rachel, sir. Rachel Lightfoot.”
He opened the rear door of his squad car. “Get in. I’ll take you where you need to go.” The door closed solidly behind me. As I put my seatbelt on, I noticed that there were no handles on the inside of the back doors, for the doors themselves or the windows, and there was a solid looking bulletproof glass barrier between the front and back seats. I heard him speaking briefly on the radio, but the partition between us muffled the sound of his voice. He pulled away from the curb and headed away from the day care center.
“Hey, you’re going the wrong way,” I called out. “Sir…the day care is back the other way.”
“That’s not where we’re going.”
“Where are we going?” He didn’t answer me. I began to panic. Where was he taking me? Why wasn’t he doing what he said? What if he wasn’t really a cop? At that thought, I began to get really scared. Daddy always said not to trust strangers – and even if he was a cop – he was still a stranger. I began to watch where he was driving, scrutinizing the route carefully for landmarks. If I got a chance to run again, I wanted to know what direction to go.
I fell back against the seat in relief as we pulled into the police station parking lot. He opened the door and I tumbled out gracelessly, my trembling knees barely able to hold me up. Reaction was beginning to set in; the adrenaline my fear had generated was beginning to take its toll. Helping me inside, he had another nasty surprise awaiting me.
He placed me in a dismal, gray holding cell where the only light came from a single, bare bulb in the ceiling. “Runaways don’t get special treatment from us. You’ll stay right here until someone from Social Services comes down. They’ll decide whether or not to send you to juvenile detention when they arrive.”
As he disappeared down the corridor, I stripped the filthy blanket off the narrow bunk, which wasn’t much cleaner, and sank down on it, the picture of dejection. I thought about the consequences of my irresponsibility while I lay there. If I get sent to juvie, who will care for the twins? Daddy works all day and the day care closes before he gets off work, not to mention that he leaves for work before the twins start their pre-school class. How will they get from one to the other if I’m not there to walk with them during lunch? Did they even get home all right? Oh Lord, what if no one ever picked them up? The tears I’d thought gone started up again, quickly escalating to nearly hysterical sobbing, until finally I slipped into an exhausted sleep.
Martin Lightfoot was in a towering rage. “What do you mean; you put her in a cell? What on God’s green earth were you thinking?”
Officer Dickerson looked at him coolly. “It’s standard procedure with runaways, Mr. Lightfoot. We put them in a cell and let them know Social Services will be called in to decide whether or not to send them to juvenile detention. They are left to worry about the consequences of their actions for an hour or two. For most, the scare is enough to prevent a second runaway attempt.”
“You, fool!” screamed Martin, “she lost her mother today. She didn’t run away from home – she ran from her grief! So, now she’s not only dealing with her grief but she’s been traumatized by the stupidity with which you have handled things. I reported her as a MISSING child, NOT as a runaway. Did you even think to put her mind at ease about her brother and sister?”
Dickerson swallowed convulsively. “Umm…no. As I said, standard procedure…”
“Forget your ‘standard procedure’, you moron! SHE has basically raised the twins since birth with little help from me. I have been absorbed with my wife’s care since then. She must be frantic with worry about them. You’ll be lucky if I don’t sue you and this entire department for mishandling this whole situation. I want to see her RIGHT NOW!”
As Martin approached the cell, he saw the tearstains on the pillowless bedding and was glad it was a female officer who had brought him down to get Rachel. Otherwise, he’d likely be sharing the cell – after kicking Dickerson’s butt from here to the moon – and back again!
He sank down to sit on the edge of the bunk and gently laid a hand on his sleeping daughter’s shoulder. “Honey?” She jerked away from him, half-asleep, terror in her eyes. As her eyes focused, she saw who had woken her, and dived into his arms, almost knocking him off the narrow bunk.
“Daddy? I’m so sorry,” she sobbed. “I didn’t mean it. I’m so sorry.”
As he held on tight, her tears wet his shirt, even as his own dampened her hair. “It’ll be all right, Honey. It’ll be all right. Shh…It’ll be all right. Shh…” He stroked her hair and back, rocking to and fro, as he tried to calm her. Gradually, both of them managed to stop crying. “Let’s go home, baby. Let’s go home.” He could tell the apology was heartfelt, but it seemed to go much deeper than it should for this running episode. He knew that there was more going on here and they’d definitely need to discuss it later.
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candice reviewed Version 2 -
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This was a nice short read. The ways we deal with death and all the things we go through emotionally… ahhhhhh… very very nice portrayal. Characters were fleshed out well… story made all the sense in the world and the ending was not fairytale.. its was real…. I don’t normally read short stories but I read this one and enjoyed it much.
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timrees reviewed Version 2 -
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Well, it would seem to me that she is going to spend her whole life blaming herself for her mother’s death. She’s also going to become more of a mother rather than sister to the twins and that in itself is going to impact greatly on her life…
A very interesting story developing and, as a reader, my heart goes out to the main character and I am wholly, emotionally involved now.
My only slight reservation is that she seems so much older than 13 or 14, but life has insisted she grow up very fast too, so it isn’t really a problem. I probably just need to keep reading because her advanced maturity is justified.
I didn’t notice a typo, but then I wouldn’t through all those damned tears, would I?
Thanks a bunch! You’ve made me very sad and ruined my evening… ;)
squarehopper reviewed Version 2 -
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I really think that you should consider the age of your character and her situation. She speaks, thinks, and acts way out of expected parameters. She is too cold and analytical… if you are truly trying to show feelings that she is having… it fails. I only seen a girl escaping from her problems – but in such a way that locked her true self from us. If this is what you were aiming for – good job. I don’t like the voice that you choosen for her… it is way too mature and uncaring and she is obviously not an uncaring person. Also, the little attempts at humor using people’s names are not funny and actually very distracting and contradictory to her character as you previously established. How convienant that their names are pun-worthy – no? Should be – you chose them. If her last name is Lightfoot – why use the word foot again in the same sentence? It didn’t work well. Also, it implies an Native American heritage which we see none of here.
I think this prologue needs to be rethought out. If I were to read this in a book I bought, I would not like this character nor would I really care about her. She is just not real enough. I would put the book down and probably never pick it up again.
FengRuiBai reviewed Version 2 -
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This is a very heartfelt story. I know the pain she has. I have seen my mother’s struggle against her demons. It is sad to see her cry out to you when your right there next to her like your not even there. And my Dad always works late so I have to take care of everything around the house. Now let’s see…I believe there is some puntuation missing at the beginning of the story. I can see at the end the way you went from first person to third. I don’t know if it will work but I still love the story. Great job on this story. I can’t wait to see more of the story. Send me your next part of the story when you write it.
Briggs reviewed Version 1 -
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This is not a bad bit of writing. I enjoyed it quite a bit and the story seemed to flow well. You do a great job portraying the despair of a family that has just lost a loved one, especially one who had been sick for so long. I hope that you do get the attention you deserve from a publisher, as I would be interested in knowing where the rest of this story is going. Should you decide to post more of this story on Urbis, let me know. I’d very much like to read some more. Again, this is great and I think you’ve done quite well in the telling of this story.
onlywish reviewed Version 1 -
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Your story is choppy. The sentences are not complete in some places. The cop picking her up does not sound believable. With another edit you should have this down. I don’t know why but there is something that bothers me about the set up or structure of this prologue. It’s not though out is the first thing that comes to mind. Or it’s that you are writing about something you have no experience with. I don’t mean to be cruel it’s the way your story comes across to me. Sorry.
alyon reviewed Version 1 -
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Overall, this was well done. Though, I do have a few concerns.
The teachers’ names got a bit redundant. Does she really hate all the teachers? And when she ran, I got the feeling she was in some sort of rural area, in which case, I would assume that at least some of the school faculty would be aware of her situation and not be quite so mean and irritable with her. (Especially Mrs. Beadle that would know Rachel’s father was in the office.)
Also, I think that it might flow a little better if she sees her dad in the hallway or just outside the principal’s office. It is sometimes distracting to a reader to get too involved in going through doors. Plus, as she’s walking down the hall, it builds a sense of foreboding as she’s hesitant to look anywhere but her shoes. I really liked that detail, by the way.
I’m not sure if it was intentional but I had a hard time getting a feel for the character’s age. At first I was thinking maybe 10 or 11 because she referred to her father as “Daddy” but then I had trouble believing that someone that young would be treated so harshly by the police. A child that age would, I think, be automatically considered missing as opposed to a runaway and would likely not be familiar with the term “juvie”.
As I’ve said, though, overall the story is really well done and I’d like to read more.
Vabeachpk reviewed Version 1 -
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Wow, That was amazing are you like professional? That was awesome. Whew, You had my attention from the beginning that was wow. If you ever come out with the book for this I need it please tell me. Constructive Criticsm You lost me a bit in the middle where the dad was crying but then you explained it. It was Great though keep writing!
Ladyauthor2b reviewed Version 1 -
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The part where she goes into the principals office was obsure to me. First, Ms. Beadle told her to go in as if nothing abnormal was going on. Wouldn’t she react a bit startled to see the girl and then behave differenly knowing that the parent was there? Surely, he would have announced himself being already upset and looked that way, and so she would realize something was up. Also, Rachel goes in, expecting to get a what for from the principal, and then notices that her father is there. I was confused here, because I interpreted that the principal was in the room, and then he wasn’t. Maybe it’s just me. Then she cries out no, just because she looks at her father’s expression and runs away. I was clueless to why she did that until reading further down. Perhaps when she is daydreaming in the beginning of the story, she can be thinking about her mother instead of her freinds. Any family that feels stressed about someone being on the verge of dying would have them on their minds constantly, expecially a young daughter. Just food for thought. I didn’t really feel alot of emotional impact from this, even if she had lost her mother. Something was lost in the translation, but I’m at a loss how to remedy that. Perhaps mentioning more details about the mother, so we can care about her loss, would be helpful.
jenniferb29 reviewed Version 1 -
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I could feel the emotion here but it dragged a bit much. You also might want to proofread this a little more due to there are quite a few grammar errors. You also want to feel your characters out a bit more. Like the scene where the father is yelling at the cop about putting his daughter in jail. The father calling him a jerk doesn’t feel real. You need to truly know your characters and make them as beliveable to not only yourself but to anyone else who reads this. I think you’ve got a good start but just need to fine tune this just a bit more. Good luck.
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