A Thousand Years | Teen Ink

A Thousand Years

January 8, 2014
By bethanyann BRONZE, Nezperce, Idaho
bethanyann BRONZE, Nezperce, Idaho
1 article 0 photos 0 comments

It was pouring rain in that Wal-Mart parking lot. The store lights reflected off each individual drop, and glistened in her eyes. A gust of sharp November wind roared by, and she gasped, pulling her sweater closer.

He was standing by his car. That silly little white Ford Escort that seemed a thousand years old. He wasn’t wearing a coat, but the cold didn’t seem to bother him.

Time went by so slowly that night, and each second seemed like a year. Together the boy and girl stood in that freezing rain, neither saying a word.

A thousand years later and he opens his mouth. When the words fail to come out, he shuts his mouth and pulls at his hair with both hands. She cringes as a groan escapes his lips, and the sound echoes an eternity.

The boy looks up with eyes so blue, in the way that he felt. He ran one hand through his hair again, this time stopping to speak.

He watched as his voice screamed those words in such a loud whisper, words he wished he could take back, words that ruined everything, words that he had to say.

A pit sank in his stomach as he watched her very essence fade, and all passion be extinguished. The same passion he fell in love with, that essence he helped create.

She said no words, no sound came out, as if the only thing she could do was look down. As slowly as the rain drizzled lightly onto them, a tear rolled down her face, followed by a silent waterfall.

He couldn’t leave, but he had to. He opened his door, and climbed in. Just before he closed that door forever, she cried his name. A sound he used to love to hear, that now shoots ice into his veins.

She looks up slowly, and gazes around. That parking lot was bare and exposed, as if it too had experienced its heart falling away.

He whispered to her, calling her back to a harsher reality.

She turned as ice cascaded down her face, the cold reminder of his words. She studied his face, memorizing every line and crease that’s filled with pain, keeping it to memory, for this would be the last time.

Slowly, as if her jaw had rusty hinges, like an old abandoned house, she opened her mouth.

“I don’t regret you.”

He couldn’t bear those words, the memories they brought, the feelings that poured in. He closed his door, and pulled away. To see her one last time, he turned his head, and watched as she crumpled to the ground like the rain that fell.



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