Short & Sweet Stories

Life's Next Chapter

Author's Note: This short story isn't about sci-fi. I wrote it for the Love is Love contest run by #FANTASCI so I included it here. As you read, comment if you can guess the sickness :) 

I felt like I was infected. If this was a sickness, god help me, because I had a feeling I was terminal.

All the symptoms were there. My stomach felt unsettled and my eyes watered constantly, but it was the pain in my chest that was the hardest to ignore.

There was no cure, nor vaccine, nor immunity for what I had. It was a sickness that spread without rhyme or reason, among the old and the young, the poor and the rich, the educated and the masses.

I need to talk to someone. Someone other than myself. I can't continue this way.

With a sigh, I pulled into a parking space right in front of my apartment. My car jutted out slightly making it difficult for anyone to park beside me. I left it just like that.

Where was my key?

I shuffled the items in my backpack around desperately. If I lost the key again, my landlord would probably evict me... There it was, thank goodness.

The door opened with soft click. "I'm back."

Silence. Everything was just the way I'd left it this morning. The living room and kitchen were tidy. The trashcans were empty. The dishes were washed. The blinds were closed. But it still felt wrong.

The room was cold and dark. A musty smell lingered behind like a bad aftertaste to a sweet dessert.

Stop torturing yourself. It's not that bad.

"Yes, it is." Arguing with myself was pointless, but I did it anyway. Even if I went raving mad, there was no one around to care.

I shut the door and went to go lay down on the couch awhile. My shoes were still on my feet, but I put them up anyway and stared at the cracks in the popcorn ceiling.

Gone were the days I'd return to the smell of my friends' cooking dinner or hear their loud voices through the door as they laughed. I was already missing the feel of that sticky, rickety table at Starbucks where we'd used to hold impromptu group, cram sessions. Now I was the only one left.

Everyone else, all my friends, had already graduated with their degree. I'd gone to see them at the ceremony. My friend had all hugged me, promised to write, and then disappeared to the far corners of the world. Swish and flick.

I checked my phone. There were no new messages. I threw it carelessly on the coffee table in disgust. 

Suddenly, it rang. I snatched up the phone only to pause in disappointment. My mom was calling. Well, they say beggars can't be choosers. 

"Hi mom. Yes, I got home. No, I didn't-No...No, that's not what happened-I'm sorry that I-" The call ended abruptly.

"Bye mom. Nice talking to you. I'll call you later."

I resisted the urge to throw my phone at the nearest wall. I need to talk to someone, anyone, please god.

Ding! I raised the phone again to eye-level. It was a half-hearted attempt. I didn't have room for any more disappointment.

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I smiled and pulled out my laptop out of its sleeve. A familiar orange-and-white screen popped up.

My novel only had 2 chapters, but it had 50 reads. Whoo!

I was touched. Fifty people had looked at what I wrote, and two had voted.

Sure, these weren't people I actually knew. I couldn't call them to pick up groceries at the market or to go shopping with me. But as I scrolled through the notifications, I had a deep appreciation for each reader who had voted or commented.

They supported my writing. 

They cared. They were showing me that they cared.

My energy returned in an instant. I got up, made some coffee, plugged in my computer, and started typing.

Time for the next chapter.