this is just a short story that i wrote for english class, and the teacher gave me a really good grade, so i thought id share it with you guys :]
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Til The Day That I Die
A short story written by Nikki ****** (last name censored for privacy)
"Til the day that I die, babe," he said, what felt like so long ago.
"The day that you die?" I asked, chewing on my lip nervously as I held his hand tightly, not wanting to let go. Seeing him in his uniform, duffel bag in hand, I was scared to let him board that airplane. If I let him walk away, he won't come back, I told myself, praying that it wouldn't be true. I felt the tears I had been holding back for so long start to roll down my cheeks, one by one. He wiped one away with his thumb, and I saw his jaw set like it always did when he was trying not to cry,
"The day that I die. Even as they lower my coffin into the ground, I'll still love you as much as I do now- if not more. Nothing, not distance, nor time apart, will ever change that." he said fiercely.
I sighed sadly. Not wanting to discuss it anymore, I choked back my tears and wrapped my arms around his neck, so tightly it was probably choking him.
"I'll miss you so much," I sobbed. I felt like I was going to throw a temper tantrum, stomping my feet and screaming, protesting, not letting him go.
"I'll miss you even more. But think, I'll be home sooner than you know it and well be a family. Just you and me. Like we always wanted."
I gulped and nodded, sliding back down to stand in front of the first love of my life, my first boyfriend, my husband... The man I would have to say goodbye to in a few minutes. I shuddered as tears welled up at my eyes again.
"Okay?" he asked.
"Okay." I stared into his eyes for what seemed like hours, not ever wanting to forget those deep brown eyes.
"Flight 103 is now boarding," a voice said over speakerphone.
"That's you..." I spoke, my voice barely at a whisper. He nodded pulling me into his arms for one last embrace. I gripped the material of his uniform at his back and I could feel the sobs hit my chest.
"I love you so much," I cried.
"I love you too, don't ever forget that." I just nodded, not able to speak.
All around me, I saw others going through the same thing we were.
He picked up his duffel bag and threw it over his shoulder, kissing my forehead sadly.
"I'm not going to say goodbye. Goodbye means forever. I'll be back, right here, in this exact spot 4 years from now. Will you?" his voice grew huskier as he asked the last bit, and I saw his eyes well up with tears. I nodded my head yes.
"Of course," I vowed.
He nodded his head once, then turned to walk towards his plane.
It's been 7 months since that day, and I've still got to get used to not seeing Brayton as soon as I wake up. Sometimes I find myself looking for him at my side, until the truth dawns on me. Then it hits me. That pang in the core of my chest. He's not here, it tells me. As if I need to be reminded. Today I woke up, clutched his picture to my chest, and let one tear roll down my cheek.
My one moment of acceptable sadness. After that it was time to get on with my day.
Today is a Saturday. Laundry day. I pulled on a pair of sweats and one of Brayton's shirts.
As I walked down the hallway and towards the kitchen, the door bell rang. With a huff, I set down the clothes basket and brushed my hair out of my face. I opened the door, expecting it to be my mother. What I didn't expect though, was exactly what I saw. Two men dressed in dark blue uniforms stood before me. Behind them was a chaplain. The smaller of the men in uniform was holding an envelope. For a second, I was confused. As realization sunk into me, I felt my knees buckle and my jaw fall open. Tears wouldn't come.
"Miss Mills?" the larger of the two asked.
I tried to speak, but all that came out was a sort of gurgle. I nodded my head meekly, still frozen in shock, not wanting to hear what I knew was coming next.
"It is with the deepest sorrow and regret that I inform you of the death of PFC Brayton Mills. He served his country well."
I fell to the ground then, and sobbed so hard my chest hurt. I gasped for breath, and my exhales came out in shudders.
"No... No... No... That's not right. It isn't brayton. It cant be. No, no, you have the wrong person." I said, but I knew it was all a lie. They don't make mistakes like that.
"I'm sorry." he said, reaching out his hand. Brayton wouldn't want this. He wouldn't want to see me fall apart. Not his Soldier. I couldn't let myself cry. I have to be strong not for myself, but for Brayton. The least I could do was be strong while the men were here.
My shaking hand put itself into his, and he pulled me to my feet. The smaller man stepped forward and placed the envelope into my free hand. I opened it shakily, confused when my fingers brushed against cool metal. I pulled the metal out, and realized that it was Braytons dog tags. I immediately held it to my chest, holding all that I had left of Brayton. I pulled the chain over my head and tucked it under my shirt. The chaplain stepped forward after the other two men stepped aside.
"It would be my honor to stay and answer and questions you have," he offered.
I shook my head no.
"Thank you, but I'd like to just be by myself right now."
He bowed his head and nodded.
"I understand."
The larger man came forward once more.
"If theres anything I or the United States Marine Corps can do for you..." he said, letting his sentence hang in the air.
I nodded my head, then the three men walked away. As I closed the door and leaned against it, I slumped into a sitting position. I clutched his dog tags to my chest once more, running my thumb back and forth over the ridges of where his name was engraved.
I let the tears fall freely then, and the solemn picture of Brayton on the desk ahead of me looked on, almost sadly.
Today, I stand strong. A little over 3 years have passed since the day I found out about Braytons death. The pain of losing him hasn't gone away, but it has gotten duller, lost its sharp edge. I still wear his tags around my neck, but they're not alone. Right next to them are my own dog tags. They are almost identical to the less shiny ones to their left.
Today, I stand at the airport, in the exact spot Brayton and I stood just 4 years ago. My white uniform has been ironed to a crisp, and now I'm the one holding a duffel bag.
I reach my left hand up to my neck and hold Braytons tags tightly.
"I promised you I'd be here."
