My Writing

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Prom, such a happy time in so many lives. I was dressed in a blue dress that fell to my knees with a jeweled heart design on the bodice. My brown hair was curled into ringlets to frame my face and my makeup was applied almost professionally.

I took a deep breath before exiting my bedroom and walking carefully down the stairs in my satin blue high heels. I took each step deliberately so that I wouldn't fall all the way down the stairs.

My date, Martin, was standing a the foot of the stairs waiting for me. He was dressed in a tux with a blue tie that matched my dress exactly. He was nearly a foot taller than me at six foot three. His black hair fell into his green eyes and he was constantly pushing it to the side.

Martin was smiling at me with everything he had, his heart was always on his sleeve and I was terrified of breaking it. I liked Martin a lot, but I already knew that he wasn't the one for me. I just didn't have the heart to break his.

I had known Martin since our freshman year in high school and he never once hid his feelings for me, he was head over heels in love with me. His infatuation with me came the day he saved my life. Since then, I secretly wished that he wouldn't have saved me because being dead would be a lot easier than trying to convince Martin that me being his girlfriend was a bad idea.

I was bad luck. Martin had already seen that fact in action. No matter where I went, death was always on my heels.

It wasn't that I was just clumsy, I was cursed.

When I was born, my parents were informed that there was something different about me even though the doctors couldn't quite figure it out. Little did the doctors realize, they were right about one thing, there was something wrong with me.

When I say that I'm cursed, I mean it. On the eve of my birth, a witch doctor made a deal with my mother, that if she didn't want to die, then she would have to sacrifice her first born, that being me. My mother being the crack addict that she is, made this deal. The witch doctor told her that there wouldn't be any warning to my death that it would come when it was time.

My time came at the end of my freshman year of high school, but because of Martin, I lived.

I was crossing the street and a car careened out of control and was supposed to slam into me, but Martin prevented that by pulling me out of the way. It was no big deal, right? Wrong. It was a huge deal, because I was SUPPOSED to die!

This caused the witch doctor to show up at my house, in the middle of the night, when I was wearing my headgear for my braces. I looked less than appealing.

"You're not supposed to live, your mother sacrificed you, you know that right?" The witch doctor asked me with a thick, Jamaican accent. The dread locks in her hair were ratty and I could smell the faint odor of tobacco and something I couldn't put my finger on.

"I know that, my mother was kind enough to inform me of my impending death when I was old enough to know what that meant." I said with snark.

"Ah, no need to be bratty, you're time will come when you least expect it." The witch doctor said before disappearing out of my bedroom window.

I gave a huff of disapproval and flopped back onto my bed.

I smiled back at the memory of my first meeting with the witch doctor. She was right about one thing, I was going to die when I least expected it, but for some reason, Martin was always stepping in. He saved me from the car the first time I was supposed to die, the horse the second time, which I'll get to eventually and now, the third, I believe is going to be me falling down these stairs and breaking my neck in my prom dress.

I can't help but be careful in everything that I do. If I slip on ice or fall down a set of steps, I could easily be signing my own death certificate.

Martin, curse him! Okay, no time for joking about curses since you're just now learning about mine, but seriously, Martin wasn't supposed to have saved my life, I should have been dead three and a half years ago. Now I have to look over my shoulder, while watching where I'm going to make sure I don't face plant down a set of steps and die.

I could see the car careening over the curb and starting to fly at me, I embraced death in that moment. I knew it was my time and I was happy to see it come to me. I had been dreaming of this moment for years. Ever since I knew that I was cursed to die because of my mother's foolish decisions, I had welcomed death. I knew that when it was my time to go, I would die happy. I had spent so many years thinking of when I was going to die and how.

All of a sudden, I feel two arms around my waist, pulling me out of the path of the car and I can almost hear myself groan at the thought of having to live more. I would have to look over my shoulder and in every alley way to make sure that death wasn't around the corner hoping to take me away.

I felt my body being laid on the ground a mere three feet away from the car that was about to crush me. I looked up and saw a pair of sparkling green eyes almost shaded by jet black hair. The hair fell into the persons eyes and it was almost impossible, except for the small soul patch on his bottom lip to know if my savior was male or female.

"Thank you." I muttered but not really meaning it.

"You're welcome. You're just lucky I got here in time." The boy said.

"Lucky?" I asked. "I'm supposed to die, you know."

"You are to do no such thing and as long as I'm around, I'll keep you safe." This heroic boy said.

That was the first day that I had met Martin. He had saved my life for the first time. I don't know why he was drawn to me, but he seemed hell-bent on making sure I lived to be at least one hundred. I was hell-bent on making sure I died when I was supposed to.

According to my calculations, I was supposed to have died at least ten times, but each time, Martin had kept me alive by some chance of fate. I don't know if maybe he had some kind of power over death, but he sure was making it to where I wasn't allowed to die so easily.

I can remember back to when I as seven years old and my mother telling me that I was going to die. Being the little kid that I was, I cried for hours at the thought of losing my life, but as I got older and the more she told me I was going to die, the more I got comfortable with the idea.

The first time my mother told me I was going to die, at seven, was after I had taken a tumble down a flight of stairs, resulting in my first of many broken bones.

"Why didn't you die?" She asked me through the haze of her latest high.

"What do you mean, mommy?" I asked not knowing that she was serious.

"You're supposed to die." My mother said. "The doctor who saved my life said so."

"I don't want to die!" I cried out with tears streaming down my cheeks.

"Hush you." My mother warned.

"Why am I supposed to die?" I asked dumbly.

"Because you're cursed, now shut up." My mother bellowed in the exam room of the emergency room I was sitting in.

"Is everything okay in here?" A nurse came in and asked.

"It's fine, can you guys please hurry up, I do need to get my daughter to bed." My mother said hatefully.

"I'm sorry ma'am, but we are processing everything as fast as we can. I hate that there is an inconvenience." The sweet nurse said. She looked very young with bright blue eyes and hair the color of chocolate. There was no way she was as old as my mother who I think was in her forties at the time. The nurse had to of been in her late twenties.

I found myself over the years of being alive, wishing that the nurse was my mother. She could have easily taken care of me better than my mother had. I think some days my mother had given up not only on my life, but her own.

I slowly made my way down the steps toward Martin. I made sure that I was sure in my footing so I didn't tumble, I wanted to make sure that my next accident wasn't in front of Martin so that he couldn't save me again.

When I stepped off of the landing in front of Martin, I wobbled a little in my high heels but didn't fall. With a steadying hand, Martin grabbed the top of my right arm to make sure I was done wobbling.

"Thank you." I said.

"You're quite welcome, Mallory." Martin said in his sweetest voice. His voice dripped like syrup. It was sickly sweet and as much as it made me want to vomit, I loved to hear it.

As much as I was comfortable with the idea of death, something in me soared every time that Martin saved me. I never dreamed that I could even live to see my senior prom but because of Martin, I'd seen well past my freshman year and for that I was eternally grateful.

"Are you ready to go?" Martin asked.

"I guess so." I said not entirely convinced that the night was going to be a good idea.

"Well, then. Your chariot awaits, m'lady." Martin said.

I giggled at his words. There was something about Martin that made me happy, but I still knew that he wasn't 'the one'. I don't know how I knew, but it was something that was deep rooted in me from the first time we met.

Martin was on this earth, not to bring me a lifetime of joy and happiness as a lover, but to protect me from dying as many times as he had to before the deed was finally done.

Agh. I thought. I couldn't keep leading Martin on! I had to let him down easy after the night was over. I would give him his dream prom and then I would let him down easy, let him know that he had to quit saving my life.

I was ready to die now.

Martin walked me out of the house with his arm linked through mine, we got into the limo that he had rented for the night. I thought it was a pretty big deal because the only time I'd been in a limo was when my mother had died, shortly after my tenth birthday. The drugs and drinking had finally caught up with her.

All of my ten years had come down to my mothers drinking and crack habit. The food on the table was bought with what was left over from her addiction. If she had something to sell, usually my stuff, she would buy more drugs with that and then what change was leftover, she would send me to the dollar store to buy a box of macaroni and cheese or something similar. At eight, I was cooking my own meals. By the age of nine, I'd been on the streets picking up cans and bottles so I could have lunch money or money to wash my own clothes, which my mother had never done.

I was used to wearing ragged clothes and hand-me-downs, which were usually too big. I was known as the crack baby through most of my life. It wasn't far off, but it did get annoying.

The more I grew up, I toyed with taking my own life and fulfilling the curse, but I was never brave enough to do so.

When Martin climbed into the limo beside me, he smiled brightly at me, like tonight was the best night of his life. I had to admit that it probably was for him and after tomorrow, he would regret taking me to prom.

I fiddled with the hem of my dress and gave an unsure smile to Martin. His green eyes were sparkling with happiness that I couldn't deny him when he leaned over and kissed me on the cheek.

"You look amazing." Martin said.

"Thank you." I said honestly. I didn't feel amazing. I knew that tonight was the night I was going to die and no matter how much Martin tried to save my life he wouldn't be able to.

Something felt wrong to me about the limo and I would soon find out what that was. I just hoped that whatever went wrong wouldn't hurt Martin other than the heart break he was going to endure at the loss of me.

Before I could say another word to Martin, a lurch of the limo and the sounds of crashing metal and breaking glass filled my ears. I felt my body being lifted from my seat and being slammed into the front of the limo.

There I felt my arm break and tried not to cry out. Through all of my efforts, not a single tear was shed, but when I tried to move my legs, nothing happened. My legs were dead and I couldn't feel anything from the waist down.

"Mal! Are you okay?" I heard Martin's voice ring out.

"My legs." I said through a deep breath.

"You're going to be okay, hang in there." I heard Martin's voice from far away.

I heard Martin fumbling around for something, but I couldn't see because the world had grown dark.

I could hear hushed voices outside of the cab of the limo and people were talking about blood and how much blood there was. I couldn't take my mind off of their voices.

I heard a door being pried open and could feel the cool, evening air on my face, but I still couldn't see anything.

I felt my body being moved outside and someone saying something about not moving the girl too much because they thought she had a broken back. I tried to move my arm, but I was severely weak and could only move it to my face. I felt a hot liquid which I could only assume was blood trickling it's way through my hair and down my face.

Before the world grew completely black and I started seeing things that were outlandish, I whispered to Martin, where ever he was, "I guess I really did get dressed up for death."

That's when all sights and sounds stopped and I could feel myself take my last breath through a blood filled mouth.

My Writing

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Tuesday, June 12, 2012

Dressed Up For Death

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