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The Death of a Poem (standard:drama, 0 words)
Author: PhilAdded: Jun 29 2001Views/Reads: 1115/646Story 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 


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