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deviation in storage by evethethird

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Two AM. A phone call. It was supposed to be three. Why wasn’t it three? The house is pitch black, so he can only hear as his mother answers the phone, voice still saying she’s half asleep. Why wasn’t it three AM?

“Hello?” There’s a pause before he can hear the other end before he can hear a man’s voice. A stranger’s voice.

“Is this Mrs. Wilcox?” This was wrong, this wasn’t how it had happened. It had been her mother, not a man. Her mother responded with a sleepy yes and the man went on, “This is Officer Buchanan. There’s been an accident on the bridge to Seattle.” No, no no no. This was wrong!

“An accident? Wh-what kind of accident?” The sleep in his mother’s voice had vanished in an instant. A light clicked on in the dark and he could see his mother suddenly, looking worried. When had worry lines gotten creased into her forehead?

“Ma'am, we believe your son was in an accident this evening. He’s on his way to the University of Washington Medical Center.”

“Oh…oh no. Okay. We’ll be there soon.” She hung up before the man could continue and shook her husband awake. Panic set in as they quickly dressed and rushed toward Seattle. But it was a controlled panic, that only let loose when they arrived at the hospital.

His mother rushed in, demanded to see her son, she had to see him right this instant. Tears were in her eyes then and Chase could feel a knot in his chest forming, pulling tight.

The nurse told her to remain calm and that she would go find out where they were keeping her son. Chase wanted to vomit. Why was it two AM and not three? Why had he done this? Why was he seeing this?!

The nurse returned with a doctor and he told the Wilcox’s to please have a seat. They sank into chairs and the doctor cleared his throat. “When the ambulance arrived at the scene, your son was unresponsive. He was airlifted here. But we…we believe he died instantly.” His mom began to sob and yelled that it wasn’t possible, it couldn’t be possible, that he was her baby and he couldn’t be dead. But he had.

Officer Buchanan arrived soon after, sat down with his parents, and explained. He told them that they believed Chase had hit the median on the bridge going at least ninety miles per hour. And that he had been sober at the time. He told them that he believed their son may have fallen asleep at the wheel. But Chase knew that was a crock of shit. He’d done it on purpose.

The death would be ruled an accident, but his mother didn’t believe it. She shook her head over and over. “No, this was no accident. My son…he…a year ago his girlfriend got into an accident on that bridge. She’s been in a coma since. God, he said he was going for a drive, how could this happen? Why would he do this?”

And all his dad could do was hold her. He had no words. He couldn’t believe it.

And Chase just wanted to cry.

tw: funeral, death


All was dark for a time, as he stared at the ceiling. But soon he felt water dripping on to his face. And then a sky opened above and when he moved to sit up, the darkness around him dissolved into a dreary day in October.

Rain was trickling down as the progression moved into the funeral home, all dressed in black. Soft sniffles could be heard, a few whispered voices, but it was otherwise a somber mood all around. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go. Chase had always imagined his death would be a celebration, not a parade of sadness marching into a church. There were so many people who showed up, though. People he’d grown up with, his entire family, co-workers, people from town. The place was packed. He hadn’t realized just how many people had cared about him, until of course he realized that they probably were there to catch a glimpse of the kid who killed himself.

From the back of the room, he could see a casket, closed to the world. Relief filled him. He hadn’t wanted to be cremated and an open casket would have left him wanting to vomit. On top of the casket were flowers and his graduation photo. Surrounding the casket were more flowers and then poster boards with collages of photos of him from the time he was little until a few months before her accident. In the background he could hear a piano playing some generic funeral song.

As the people gathered in, they all stopped to hug his mom and dad, give them condolences, let them know if they needed anything they could call. His aunt Margaret held his mother for a long while. Her husband stood beside his father and whispered that he was terribly sorry, that Chase was so young.

Chase watched his mother weep with each hug, his father’s hand holding her steady. He’d always been the stronger one. It was so sad to see them look so…old. When had his mother gotten wrinkles in her forehead? When had his father’s hair turned so gray? A pang of guilt gnawed at his insides and he tried to turn away. But he saw it all. Every tear fall, every sad nod.

And just as he thought her parents wouldn’t show up, they came. Dressed in black. Mrs. Robins looked like a ghost of herself as she shook his parent’s hands. Mr. Robins, who’d always given Chase great advice, had a frown set so deep into his mouth it was like stone. No hugs were given between the two, all too broken for that sort of thing. Each blaming the other for something. He could have screamed at them.

But worst of all, there was no Daisy. Was she still in a coma? Or was she awake and alive, just too broken to attend? He’d never know.

The doors into the church were closed and soon all was quiet as the celebrant began the services with an opening. A poem his mother picked.

Here, freed from pain, secure from misery, lies
A child, the darling of his parents’ eyes:
A gentler lamb n'er sported on the plain,
A fairer flower will never bloom again:
Few were the days allotted to his breath;
Now let him sleep in peace his night of death.

And soon as it was over, he could hear the sounds of people blowing their noses. Then his mother rose, walked slowly to the podium and inhaled a ragged breath. Chase could feel his throat closing as he watched this woman who had raised him try so hard to make it through the speech. “Anyone who knew Chase…knew he was destined for great things. He…he always had a plan, my Chase. I-I’m not sure if this-” she paused to take a breath. “I don’t know if this was part of his- his plan. He wanted to be…something big. He wanted t-to go places in l-life. But a year ago…s-something ch-changed.” Chase could feel hot tears in his eyes as he watched his mother cover her face, trying to compose herself. But he was frozen, no matter what he tried, nothing could make it stop. Finally, his mother went on, “Chase was a good boy, he was my only ch-child. And I love him so much. He will always, always be in my thoughts. And wherever he is n-now, I hope…he is at peace.” And then she was moving back to her chair, sobbing. His father’s arms wrapped around her and Chase wanted so badly to tell them he wasn’t at peace, that he’d never be at peace.

But he was frozen. And then his father was moving, standing before the gathered people. His voice was soft, as it always was. Words he’d practiced before the mirror - as he always did - came pouring out. “When I think about Chase, I think about all the times he tested my patience growing up. I think about the way he used to laugh so easily and make even the worst things into something good. He was so smart, so down-to-earth. He was always the child to question everything and I like to think I taught him that.” He paused to smile sadly at the crowd before going on, hands rested on the podium for strength. “Without Chase in our lives, there will be less laughter around the dinner table at Thanksgiving. But although he is no longer with us, we shouldn’t remain sad. Chase wouldn’t want that of us. He would want to be celebrated. To be remembered in a happy way. He had always been so happy. And to lose him so young, it hurts. But I will never forget all the good times we enjoyed. I will miss him greatly and I will always love him. Thank you all.”

Chase’s face was wet by the end of his father’s speech. Music began to play softly, and soon the air was filled with a man’s voice and a guitar. It was mellow and sad, but better than any other funeral music he’d ever heard.

He wondered what Daisy would have said if she’d attended. Would she tell them all it was all his fault? That he’d hurt her so much? He swallowed hard and watched as people began to get up and his uncles moved to carry his casket out into the pouring rain to be buried.

And as soon as the doors to the funeral home opened, everything went dark and Chase found himself sobbing into his pillow, whispering that he was so sorry.

TW: depression, suicide, car accidents


SIXTY-FIVE DAYS BEFORE


"It's only across the river. We'll see each other every weekend. I promise," she stresses, fingers laced in his. Standing there in the driveway, her car packed to the top with dorm supplies, reality had finally set in. Daisy would no longer be just down the street. She would be miles away going to university while he was left behind. His heart ached, despite her reassured words. Leaning in, Chase pressed his lips to her forehead.

"Every weekend," he whispered back, trying to give her his best smile. But she knew him far too well to believe such a smile.

"Every weekend," she echoed again, burying her face into his chest, arms holding him close. But the moment passed and her parents came out of the house.

Chase stood in the driveway as she backed out, waving all the while, trying to fight back the feeling that he was losing her.


THIRTY-TWO DAYS BEFORE


A deep inset frown had spread over Erik's face as he stared at Chase. "You're joking, right? You're upset with her because she's busy trying to actually make friends? C'mon man, you and i both know you're not that guy."

Every weekend had become every other weekend, each with a new excuse. They'd only been apart for a month and it was as though she were moving on. Chase had been in a sour mood for days and finally spilled his thoughts on the matter to his best friend. Erik was less sympathetic than he'd anticipated. Chase recoiled from his friend's words and rolled his eyes.

"I'm not upset that she's making friends, Erik. I'm just...I don't want to lose her." but even as he tried to argue his feelings, he knew it was no use. He was being greedy, he knew it.

Erik sighed, flopping down on the couch. "You're not going to lose her, you dimwit. Daisy's mad in love with you. Let her have some fun, though. Don't be such a tight ass."

"If you say so."

"I know so."


THE DAY


It's three am and the phone sings the familiar melody beside his head. The sound forces it's way into his subconscious, squeezes into the crevices of his dreamworld, and shoves him awake. Rolling over, he pulls the phone to his face, eyes squinting against the brightness of the screen. Her name flashes before his eyes and for a second he almost hits answer. But then he remembers and drops the phone, sighing.

He doesn't want to talk, doesn't want to keep fighting, so he rolls over, ignores it. A fatal mistake. He should have picked up, should have told her he loved her, should have told her everything was going to be alright. But they'd been fighting and he was so tired. He just wanted time to think.

Before he can slip back into sleep, the phone goes off again. There's an urgency behind the ringing that forces him to finally roll back over and hit answer. "Can we not do this toni-" he began, voice sounding tired, but he didn't get to finish. On the other end was the high-pitched, frantic voice of an upset mother. She was going on about some sort of accident. Told him to hurry.

The sound of sirens echoed in his ears as he hung up the phone.


FOUR DAYS AFTER


He'd never been very good at sleeping, but sleep was nearly impossible. And not just because the seats in the waiting room were uncomfortable. Every time Chase closed his eyes, his mind traveled back to the argument. To the sound of sirens. To the sight of Daisy as she was pushed through those emergency room doors. To the look on her mother's face. Every time he closed his eyes, he left one nightmare and entered another.

He ran a hand over his face and stood up. He desperately needed air. In the ninety-six hours since Daisy had first been wheeled through those doors, he had only left the waiting room twice. Once was to ask if he could see her. And the other was to get away from all the accusing stares.

Guilt had begun to slowly dig at him, squeezing its way into the pit of his stomach and gnawing at his insides. He pushed through two sets of doors before being met with the brisk late-autumn air. Sucking in the cold helped clear his head for a brief moment.

But the moment passed as soon as he let the breath out and remembered that Daisy was still hooked up to a ventilator. Was in a coma because they had been fighting and she'd decided to drive to see him. Had gotten into an accident because it was late and it was raining and she was upset. Chase squeezed his eyes shut to fight back the tears.


THREE HUNDRED SIXTY-FOUR DAYS AFTER


The roar of the engine in his ears was reassuring as he backed out of the driveway. It was late and the house was so quiet, he just needed to get away. It wasn't until he got onto the highway that he even realized where he was going. His hands gripped the steering wheel tighter. Chase had spent the year carefully avoiding the highway, taking the long way around whenever he needed to travel further than the outskirts of the small town. But now he watched as the familiar landmarks zoomed by.

The same highway that had ripped Daisy from his life and stuck her under a ventilator, brain activity all but lost. Chase felt his foot press down on the gas pedal a little more and the engine roared even louder. It had been his fault, though. He'd known that from the moment he saw her wheeled through the emergency room doors.

Had she not been so upset, had he just picked up his phone and told her everything would be okay…

Chase squeezed his eyes shut, fighting back the hot, angry tears that always showed up when he thought about that night. He choked back a sob and looked back up at the road again. And suddenly, the anger was gone, leaving Chase feeling empty. Hollow.

The bridge emerged in the darkness, taunting him. And it was then that he knew what he'd need to do to make everything better. His foot pressed down on the gas a little more, hands squeezing the wheel even tighter.

"I'm so sorry," he whispered before closing his eyes and letting his foot press completely down on the accelerator.

He didn't even feel the car explode around him.
car crash blues
this was a writing exercise i did in the style of john green's looking for alaska. enjoy.
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poptartizzle
RAWR.
Artist | Hobbyist | Photography
United States
Hello. I'm Chelsey. However, I've got a handful of nicknames.
You can just call me Kat.

:]

Current Residence: The United States.
Favourite genre of music: I listen to everything...
Favourite photographer: Annie Leibovitz <3
Favourite style of art: Most every kind, really.
Operating System: Windows 7
MP3 player of choice: Zune!
Shell of choice: 27" iMac
Favourite cartoon character: Scooby-Doo.
Personal Quote: If you can't play with the big dogs, leave your ass on the porch.
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:iconcloser-to-the-sun:
Closer-To-The-Sun Featured By Owner Mar 13, 2013  Hobbyist General Artist
Whoa. Haven't seen ya on in like....ever!
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:iconpoptartizzle:
poptartizzle Featured By Owner Mar 13, 2013  Hobbyist Photographer
I'm on lurk mode most of the time. lol.
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:iconcloser-to-the-sun:
Closer-To-The-Sun Featured By Owner Mar 14, 2013  Hobbyist General Artist
Well, it's awesome to see you lurking around!
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:iconcloser-to-the-sun:
Closer-To-The-Sun Featured By Owner Oct 28, 2010  Hobbyist General Artist
Here you go. [link]
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:iconpoptartizzle:
poptartizzle Featured By Owner Oct 29, 2010  Hobbyist Photographer
:D OMG. I love this! Vulpix is so dang adorable. :3 As is Pichu. And the size is actually pretty good. o:
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:iconanamellie:
anamellie Featured By Owner Sep 29, 2010
Just wanted to say thanks and that you're my first wather and I'm really glad :D
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:iconpoptartizzle:
poptartizzle Featured By Owner Oct 9, 2010  Hobbyist Photographer
You're very welcome! :D
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:iconanamellie:
anamellie Featured By Owner Sep 26, 2010
Thanks for the fave :D
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:iconpoptartizzle:
poptartizzle Featured By Owner Sep 26, 2010  Hobbyist Photographer
You're welcome. :D

When I first saw that image, I thought the flower was drawn and the rest was a photograph.
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:iconanamellie:
anamellie Featured By Owner Sep 26, 2010
Nope. Everything is a photo. :) And I'm really, really proud of it. And thanks again :D
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