Guilt of Oblivion

October 11, 2012
By Trillian BRONZE, The Woodlands, Texas
Trillian BRONZE, The Woodlands, Texas
4 articles 0 photos 0 comments

Favorite Quote:
"It must be Thursday. I never could get the hang of Thursdays." - Douglas Adams, The Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy

Eliza and Prefect were a perfect match. She was a hermit, dedicated to education, fitness and Prefect. Prefect was a lovable guy, sporting a luscious mix of black, white and gray fur from head to tail. He was a beautiful blue heeler/cattle dog mix with stark grey eyes that light up the faces of children that pass during mid-day walks.
Together since Eliza's tenth birthday surprise, Prefect and her were inseparable. Prefect would curl around Eliza's legs as she dipped into Hawking's The Dreams That Stuff Is Made Of. His long, velvety hair would dance in the wind as he returned a tennis ball at her feet with the triumphant look of a warrior returning from battle. Prefect was Eliza's only true friend and she was his. She would tell him secrets that she wouldn't dare spill to anyone but him. Sure, he didn't have a way of telling others, but she believed he listened to her whether he understood or not.
But as Prefect grew older, so did Eliza. Eliza had less and less time to share with Prefect as she began to cram for the SAT's and scramble to register for university. Though Prefect didn't mind, he was happy curled around her legs during the long nights.
After things calmed down at the house, Eliza had more time on her hands, but she didn't have much for Prefect. Prefect still curled around her legs when she collapsed onto her sheets on late Friday nights. He was completely satisfied until one day the family left him all alone. To Prefect, it seemed they had been gone for ages, but after one week the slamming of car doors caused his heart to dance and his feet to stagger with excitement. Eliza's parents walked into the house and greeted the exhilarated mutt with a pat on the head and a quick smile. They soon disappeared upstairs to unpack their bags. Prefect patiently gawked at the door awaiting the moment Eliza walked in to see him, her face instantly beaming with delight. Surely she missed him as much as he missed her. She must be rushing to the door so she can drop her things and give him a big hug. Then as the day winded down, she would read a book and he would curl around her legs.
Only Liza didn't walk through the door. But Prefect waited. And waited. And waited. After a week had passed Prefect began to howl. He had to warn her parents that something was wrong. Fed up with his moaning, they put him in the backyard for the night. Then for the day... for the week.
She must be hurt or lost. Why aren't they looking for her? Why won't they listen to me? How can they be happy when she's out there all alone?
Hopeless and despaired, Prefect curled around a small branch and tried to go to sleep. Every now and then he would cry out, hoping Eliza would hear him and come home, but she couldn't hear him over the giggles of her friends. She was busy studying with her friends and cracking jokes about her professors. She had no time for childhood friends.
Eliza's first year of university was coming to an end as she gathered with her friends to get a head start studying for finals. After a strike of wit the room was full of laughter, unwavering to the ringing of Eliza's phone. She slipped out of the room to gather her weekly update from her parents, but she was greeted with a strained and hesitant voice. Eliza's eyes widened as the news settled in. She ended the call with a soft "No really, I'm fine" and an artificially cheery goodnight. She slowly roamed back into the room of snickers and cackles and sloped into her chair with a forged smile.
As the last of her friends retired from her petty apartment, Eliza slid on her pajamas and crept into her unkempt bed. She blankly stared at her ceiling for a minute until she let out a deep cry of anguish and fell into an unrelenting path of sorrow. She felt each tear as it climbed around her head as she wrapped her arms around her legs for comfort.

Similar Articles


This article has 0 comments.


MacMillan Books

Aspiring Writer? Take Our Online Course!