January 18, 2008
By Morgan Creekmore, Mathews, VA

The room was anything but quiet. Raindrops cracked open on the windows, raindrops that were laid there to starve and stale onto the cold glass. Everything in the room seemed to wilt in the shadows cast through the windows. The stench of mildewed shelves hovered overhead. Rain rusted the door shut and the secrets on the shelves wept in their shelter. They were Olive’s secrets. She stood now at the door; she had come back for them.
The walls shed the sounds of a now fierce storm. She rushed inside the room hoping to find comfort within the shallow walls. The prisoners called to her, her secrets, the end of her story, the books. Olive frantically grabbed at the shelved books hoping they held the answers she was thirsty for, that’s why she had come here. Cries of her past turned to dust as she gripped them.
More frantically now, Olive clasped the books close only to receive broken pages and crumbled words. The floors creaked louder now and the windows couldn’t withstand the storm much longer. The storm mounted and the room was close to ruin yet still Olive begged the books for an answer. Who she was, why she hadn’t recognized anyone at home, what had happened to her?…
“Ms. Calime, wake up, please you’re having a terrible nightmare. Ms. Calime wake up now, you’re starting to scare me”.
She woke, “Who’s Ms. Calime?”
“You are,” said the nurse.
“I’m Olive”.

Similar Articles


This article has 0 comments.

Parkland Book