|main menu | forum | standard categories | authors | new stories | search | links | settings | author tools|
|The Death of a Poem (standard:drama, 0 words)|
|Author: Phil||Added: Jun 29 2001||Views/Reads: 1348/780||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|The narrator, Tom, a highschooler, is madly in love with a girl he's known for a long time. But will she go to the prom with him?|
I had been in love with Stacey since the sixth grade. What can I say? As long as I'd known her, she had been the most beautiful girl I had ever seen, with golden blonde hair; long, dark eyelashes; and a naturally perfect smile with pearly teeth. From the day that I'd laid eyes on her, my heart was hers. I was sixteen at the time and a junior in high school. I had never dated, but that would change soon, hopefully. It had always been a dream of mine to take Stacey to the prom. On a gray, rainy day in April, not two weeks before the prom, I decided to make my move. With all the love and passion for her within my soul, I had been up all night typing like a madman, inventing a poem, a love poem. It was easily the most beautiful love poem ever written. My plan was to find Stacey after school and hand her the poem, then, we she was finished reading it and her heart had melted, I would ask her to go with me. It was simple and fool proof; it just simply had to work. Fifth period. The poem was carefully folded and safely in my shirt pocket, where it seemed to be burning a hole in my chest. Although I was trying to pay attention to the teacher, I could not. Such fear; fear that I had never felt before. I sat quivering in terror that had driven me into a wretch. I was just nervous, I couldn't get my mind off of Stacey. Years of loving her had boiled down to this, simply asking her out. So simple, but I was so scared. A paper ball hit me in the back of the head. I turned to identify the culprit as Henry Stonning, the class jerk. As long as I had liked Stacey, I had disliked him even longer. Since the fourth grade, he had taken pleasure in hitting me, tripping me, spitting on me, making fun of me, and stealing my books. But forget Henry Stonning, I thought. Today will be the best day of my life. When I looked at my watch, I suddenly realized that the bell would ring in only two minutes. TWO MINUTES!!!! I had two minutes left alive, two minutes before I was thrown into a horrible abyss. Come on, Tom, I told myself. It can't be that bad. I'll just walk up to her, hand her the poem, give her time to read it, and say "please go to the prom with me" and she'll say, "oh, Tom, I'd love to!" Simple. Can't go wrong. My heart picked up a rapid, painful beat. Words can't describe the terror I felt through those last two minutes. The bell wrang. In agonizing suspense, I stood up and left the room. The hall was noisy and crowded, but I could clearly see Stacey at the end of the hall, standing by her locker, talking to her friends. She didn't look her best today; not much makeup, her hair back in a ponytail, with a white T-shirt and shorts. That's how they always seem to look on the day you decide to make your move. I was shaking badly. Steady, Tom, steady. I reached into my pocket, pulled out the folded sheet of paper, and headed in her direction. About ten feet away, she realized that I was walking towards her, and her eyes shifted in my direction. "Oh, Tom!" she said, "I've been looking for you. I've got such wonderful news. I'm going to the prom...with Henry Stonning!!!" I stopped dead in my tracks. "Umm...that's great," I choked out. She pointed to the sheet of paper in my hand and inquired, "What's that?" I put it back in my pocket and stammered "Uuhhh...nothing. Nothing at all." And I turned and walked away. School had been out for thirty minutes and the parking lot was empty. But I didn't care. I stood alone in the middle of the parking lot in the pouring rain, staring at the ground. This was supposed to be the best day of my life. Instead, it had become the worst. As I stood alone, waves of depression continued to crash into me, crushing and destroying me. Maybe a car would come by and hit me, and then I'd die. Then they'd be sorry. I fantasized about laying in the hospital bed, clinging onto life, looking at Stacey and telling her Click here to read the rest of this story (28 more lines)
Authors appreciate feedback!
Please vote, and write to the authors to tell them what you liked or didn't like about the story!
Phil has 1 active stories on this site.
Profile for Phil, incl. all stories
For a quick, anonymous response to the author of this story, type
a message below. It will be sent to the author by email.