Day 5

Death scenes are the worst thing to write. Ever. :( Especially when you like the character.

Today I sneaked out of the office on my lunch break, grabbed some coffee at Borders (not knowing it was the half price happy hour. Cheaper mocha for the win!), and picked up on a little scene that happens in between stuff I'd already written.

It was much easier for the short story, writing the death scene. Gloss over it -- oh yeah, she died, so sad -- and move on. Not so here, since I'd scribbled some backstory and gotten to know the mom character. And that's the problem.. a good problem. I've kind of grown to love Erin and hate to write her out so soon.

But... unlike other times, I can't change my mind on this one. No death = no story. :P

So my word count is up to 5,615. I'm tired, but might try to scribble some more before bed. I like the lunch break writing thing... helps a lot. (Yesterday, I sneaked to an empty office with a couch and wrote for my lunch hour. So nice.)

Oh yeah.. here's an excerpt. Just a few lines that I thought turned out rather okay for a first run through. There are some redundancy tweaks that must be made, but whatever. It was all about getting things quickly and capturing something so emotional and intense I can't begin to imagine it. I felt kind of sad after I finished writing it, so I guess I did something almost-right.

***

We all knew she was dying. We all knew the time was short, even though we didn’t really talk about it. Every day seemed like a breath. A sunrise. Inhale. A sunset. Exhale. God only knew how many more she would have.

When she came home, nothing about her suggested defeat. She didn’t limp, she didn’t moan, and if it weren’t for increasing thinness and frailty, the way she needed help with little things like opening bottles, and later, bigger little things, like getting up and walking across the room, we would’ve never thought of her as different.

She spent less and less time up and around the house, but never took less of an interest in our lives. Sometimes I’d walk by her room and see her propped up on pillows, tucked under her lacy white quilt with Shanna at her side, reviewing college brochures. Or helping Jon work out problems as he studied for a math test. Or with Dad, talking in hushed voices, holding hands. Sometimes I was the one with a chair nearby, recounting the events of the day.

...

Death is supposed to be something poetic, almost romantic. But for us, I think we all would have given anything to stop it.

I mean, how do you watch someone die? It’s the worst, most helpless feeling in the world. At least if someone’s hurt, you can try to help them. If someone’s crying, you can make them laugh.

But to watch a life end… to watch a heart stop beating… and know the person is someone you love and totally okay and peaceful even though you’re the one falling apart, and you can't do anything about it… has to be the hardest thing to face.

The sun rose. Another inhale. Another breath beginning.

And she exhaled for the last time. The rest of us didn’t. We were too busy holding our breath.

***

Note: This post dated Thursday because I wrote it on Thursday... but posted Sunday because I forgot to publish it. Makes sense, yes? Yes.

Week 1 recap to come soon. Carry on. :)