A Collection

of Short
Stories
The following are a collection of short
stories written by me over the past couple
of years. This document will be updated
with new stories periodically and the date
will be noted at the bottom of this page.

@HeyLauryn

Forbidden Sun
Written sometime between 2011 and 2012

It was the perfect time to escape. The rattling of pots and pans in the
kitchen meant her mothers need for overcomplicated food had already been
put into action. Kylie raced to the door as fast as her wheelchair could carry
her. Maneuvering around the door was difficult. She had to be careful not to
run into the door--the clash of metal would alert her mother. A few tries later
she slipped out. Bright sunlight glared into her face, a foreignness that made
her squint her eyes shut at once. The warmth on her skin, however, was just
right--an invisible blanket caressing her skin and making her feel loved.
The wheelchair slowly made its way down the ramp. Inside the house,
Kylies mother voice slipped out the door.
Kylie, do you want to help me with dinner? Theres corn here you can
husk? Asking her to help was her mothers clumsy attempt to make her feel
useful. Kylie released her death grip on the wheels and sped down to the
bottom of the ramp, hoping to be out of sight by the time her mother opened
the door. The click of her mothers heels pounded in her ears as they made
their way toward the door. A count of the seconds before Kylie was pulled
back and locked away.
Halfway down the sidewalk, her mothers panicked voice and
quickening heel-clicks filled the air as she hurried down the ramp.
Kylie! What are you doing? You know you cant be outside. She
grabbed the back of the chair, jerking Kylie to a stop and almost sending her
toppling forward onto the concrete.
Dang it. She was so close. Why couldnt her mother have waited a few
more minutes, until she was out of sight? Kylie slumped into the vinyl chair
cushioning as her mother spun her around and pushed her back toward the
house and up the ramp.
I just--

What the hell is wrong with you, Kylie? Your immune system wont be
able to handle it after all the chemo,she said as Kylie rolled back into the
house The door slammed shut, leaving Kylies precious rays of sunshine
outside, only able to enter the house through the filter of a window. Dont you
scare me like that again Thank God you didnt touch anything or get out of
your chair. Do you want to have another seizure?
Nothing would have happened. I havent had a seizure in two months.
The doctor said Im responding well to the chemo and the tumor is reducing.
Kylie rolled into her bedroom, wishing she could slam the door like a normal
teenager. But her mother had taken off the door to her room, to make sure
she was safe. The only thing Kylie could do was stare at her mother, waiting
for her to leave or spontaneously combust, whichever came first. Kylie was
hoping for spontaneous combustion, judging by her facial expression.
Were not taking any chances, Kylie.
Well maybe I--
We arent discussing this, Kylie. Stay in your room until dinner. Ill call
you when its ready. She turned and left, her heels clicking into the kitchen.
Once the sound of cooking resumed, Kylie stood and folded up her chair and
hid it in the closet. If she was going to be stuck in the room, she didnt want to
stare at the chair the entire time. She didnt need anything else to tell her how
bad her life was.
When a mirror caught her reflection, and she looked quickly enough, all
she saw was death.
Her eyes had become hollow, losing their shine and her once bright red
hair was gone, shaved to bristles. She was so skinny she felt people would
mistake her for a toothpick, nothing more than skin and bones. And it wasnt
as if she didnt try to put on weight. Her mother always made her eat seconds,
and she gladly ate them. The only thing her mother was good at besides work
was cooking.
Her mother was only trying to help, but she never was much of the
caring type. Instead of playing with Kylie when she was little she would sit her
in front of the TV and go back into her office to work. Anytime Kylie cried she
handed her off to Teresa, the babysitter to calm down. When Kylie was

diagnosed with an inoperable brain tumor, she didnt know what to do so she
treated Kylie like a princess.
And Kylie hated it. All of it. She hated being handled with kid gloves, as
if a high wind would knock her over, shattering her to pieces like a feather
made of glass.
The epilepsy didnt help either.
If it were just cancer, Kylie would have been able to go to school, walk
around, be a normal girl. But after her first seizure last year, her mother
freaked out and pulled her out of everything--stuck in a wheelchair like some
twisted, rolling throne. All the while saying, Im only following the doctors
orders. It was either this or a helmet, and Id rather you not have a chance of
falling at all. It was so ridiculous. It was to the point she couldnt even walk
around the house if her mother was home.
With the chance of her mother checking up on her any minute and
nothing else to do, she pulled a book off the bookshelf and settled into bed.
Being stuck in her house didnt mean she couldnt leave, even if it was just by
diving into the world of a book.
Around five oclock Kylies mother clicked into the doorway.
Kylie, Im going shopping. Im missing a few things for the casserole.
Your brother should be home in an hour. Dont do anything stupid and stay in
the house, preferably in your room. Kylie closed her book and shifted so her
back was toward the door; she didnt want to talk, didnt want to listen, didnt
want to do anything except be left alone. Her mothers weight shifted the bed
as she leaned over and kissed her on the head. Im sorry, dear. I know you
must hate this, but Im doing this for your own good. No matter how much you
love being outside, its not good for you. I just want whats best. Kylie didnt
respond so her mother got up and left.
Once the rattling and clacking of the old Buick was out of earshot, Kylie
opened her book again, but she couldnt concentrate. The ghostly girl in the
mirror drew her gaze again. Unbearable pressure rose in her chest and she
flung the book at the mirror, jarring it from its brackets so it landed, splintered

against the floor. She couldnt sit here any longer. She jumped off the bed,
and walked out of her bedroom and out of the house.
Kylie walked down the ramp, her eyes closed, arms outstretched, once
again soaking up the warmth of the sun and letting it fill her pores. Finally, she
was out of her prison and there was no one around to pull her back inside. For
the first time in over a year she was able to run, even if it was just back and
forth across the yard with the grass underneath her feet and wind splashing
across her face. Her steps started out awkward as her muscles tried to
remember what running was.
Playing with her forbidden sun, she started to feel like her old self again.
Running imaginary races with cheering crowds and jeering competitors. The
starting point--the apple tree. The finish line--the oak tree at the corner of the
lot.
The sun began to sink in the sky, stretching shadows to their breaking
point, as Kylie took her place at the starting block, her bare foot pressed
against the roots of the apple tree. She crouched into the starting position and
then took off.
She felt like she was flying, her feet barely touched the grass. She didnt
mind the pain in her side, or the breathless feeling. It made her feel more alive
and pushed her to run faster. Her eyes went out of focus for a second, but
she ignored it, shaking her head. Right before her hand reached the finish line
she abruptly stopped. Blackness took her before she reached the ground, and
then she lay among the roots and the golden leaves.
On her face was a smile.

It Should Have Been Me

Written sometime between 2010 to 2011

With Anas diagnosis, my perspective of what life was about changed. I

worried more about her surviving the chemotherapy and operations than
planning for a dance two years away. But Anas focus never changed. Every
time I visited all we would talk about was prom and what our hair and dresses
would look like and who our dates would be. Thats when I decided she was
going to make it to prom. Prom became not just a dance but a night of reunion
and glory.
Two years later, her cancer was in remission and my best friend was
back, just in time for prom. The timing couldnt have been any better. But
despite all our planning, we still had one thing standing in our way. Anas
father.
Her father was hesitant to let her out of the house so soon. It took a little
bit of a convincing the night of prom before we got him to agree. She slipped
on her wig, put on the faintest traces of mascara and blush, and pulled on her
light blue ball gown - the spitting image of Cinderella. Speechless, with a tear
in his eye, he just nodded his head, but not before making me promise I would
bring her home safe and sound before midnight.
Our fairy tale night was perfect, and after the dance ended we hurried
through a light rain to the car. Before we opened the doors, Analise paused
and looked across the top of the car.
Do you think I could drive?

Thinking nothing of it, I nodded and we switched places.

A crescent moon and the occasional patch of stars fought their way
through the rain and clouds on the drive home. We sang loudly and out of
tune to the radio as we took the bend in the road by her house. As we came
around the other side we were immediately blinded by two bright lights flying
down the rain-slicked road, followed by the sound of breaking glass and
wrenching metal.
I woke up on the pavement about twenty feet away from the car, staring
up at a night sky devoid of stars. Raindrops and tendrils of cold reached my
skin through rips and tears in my dress, sending shivers down my body.
The sound of sirens and yelling filled the air. A man leaned over me and
told me not to move as he shined a light into my eyes. He started asking me
questions that I couldnt get the voice to answer while he strapped me onto a
gurney. As the paramedics lifted me into an ambulance the sound of a bag
being zipped shut reached me through all the commotion. All I could think
was:
It should have been me.