|In The Arms Of An Angel (standard:non fiction, 544 words)|
|Author: chele||Added: Feb 08 2006||Views/Reads: 1629/997||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|I wrote this story after 9/11|
Everyone was moving impetuously to get to one place or another. Allen Beaulieu sits on the curbside amidst the extreme confusion covered with a thick gray powdery substance and debris covering the street. With a tear stained face and swollen eyes Allen stands and starts walking aimlessly. He has walked up and down the street for hours trying to find his wife with no avail. No one was able to help him locate her, it was not until three long days had passed that he got the dreaded words that his wife was one that had succumbed to an untimely death. The apartment they shared was full of packed boxes, four days before she died Allen and his wife put a down payment on a house on the upper east side, the closing was delayed because the front deck was not up to code. Allen decided after the death of his wife not to move into the large empty house they were to share instead Allen remained in the apartment. A tall woman asked, "Are you okay?" Allen with a shaky voice and trembling hands he muttered," Why my wife? Why her? She was to young!" " I lost my son and granddaughter," said another person standing near by. " That maybe, but my wife and I never had the chance to start a family," Allen went on, "She was a beautiful,passionate woman and would have been a good mother." A young boy no older then twelve years old tells them all," I lost my mom and dad and now I live with my grandma and grandpa." " But there again your parents were able to leave a piece of themselves behind in you," Allen chirps. " We all are grieving a loss no one is greater than the other," the tall woman remarks. Allen starts to say something when he was stopped by a sudden silence that now surrounded the people around him including himself. A bell starts ringing, Ding,Ding it went on for a number of times, Allen counted about ten times that it had rang but may have been mistaken. Allen lifted his head and looked at the horizon and realized that the glass structures that once shined in the early morning sun light like perfectly cut diamonds were only a vivid memory. A young girl stands upon the make shift stage and speaks into the microphone, " I wrote this poem for my dad but all of us here have lost Click here to read the rest of this story (25 more lines)
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