A good start?

A couple of years ago, while visiting one of my cousins (who shall remain nameless), I was bored and he had a lot of homework to do. I offered to help out, to provide some inspiration if you will. One assignment he was particularly struggling with was an original short story for a creative writing class. So I started writing, and the following is what I came up with. In the end he turned in a completely different story, so I didn't have to feel guilty about aiding in scholastic delinquency.

But I thought I would share it here. So if you have a few minutes, keep reading, and let me know if you'd like to know what happens next.....

It took every ounce of strength I had just to open my eyes. It was as if my body was trying to tell me that I was better off not waking up. I wasn't sure how long I had been asleep, nor could I figure out why my whole being felt like solid lead instead of flesh and blood. Come to think of it, I really wasn't sure of anything at that moment. I ran through the events of the past few days in my mind: moved into a new apartment in Indianapolis, drove back to Denver, and planned the perfect proposal to my girlfriend Genevieve. I was going to pop the question at dinner. Since she was graduating with her MBA today, Vee’s whole family would be in town to celebrate. And with the perfect ring that her best friend Ellie helped me choose, she wouldn’t be able to say no. Well, if I was asleep, then she must have already said yes. But why couldn’t I remember?

It was then that I felt a hand in mine, clutching it tight as if its owner was hanging on for dear life. There was a familiarity about that hand; it fit perfectly into mine. Vee’s face popped into my mind – her emerald green eyes set above a spray of adorable freckles splashed across her nose, those eternally smiling lips in between the most perfect set of dimples ever to exist, and all of it framed by intensely red curls wound so tight that no flat iron on Earth was up to the challenge. The image in my head was slightly faded though, and my need for a reminder was what forced my eyes open. Staring back at me was a face I recognized, only it had aged significantly. I could never forget those piercingly blue eyes.

“Ellie? Ellie, is that you?” I asked.

“It’s me. It’s me, Jeremiah. I’m here. Don’t try to move too much. Let me get the kids. They just went out for some fresh air. They’ve been so worried.” She was out the door in the blink of an eye. I was so confused. I wasn’t in my own bed – or my own room for that matter – Ellie looked as though she was pushing fifty, Vee was nowhere in sight, and who were these worried kids who went out for fresh air? I glanced around the room, looking for clues to help me make sense of it all. The room was painted a cheerful buttery yellow, rimmed around the top with a green and blue checkered border. Across the room was the oak bureau my parents gave me when I graduated from college...but it had shiny new handles. On top was a globe and vase full of brightly colored flowers. Next to my bed were a few mismatched chairs that didn’t appear too comfortable. It wasn’t a hospital room but it didn’t feel like home either.

I tried to pinch my face to wake myself up but my arms were just so heavy. I pinched my leg instead, expecting it to shake me out of this dream. Nothing changed. I pinched again, harder this time. But there was no jolting awake, no return to the comforts of my own bed. As I looked down and went to pinch my leg once more (after all, third time’s a charm!) I felt an internal horror as I realized that my arms weren’t my own. They were tanned and covered in gray hair; the hands were rough and calloused. They turned over and over again, and I was amazed at my ability to control these limbs that obviously did not belong to me, the singer and actor who spent his days memorizing lines, learning choreography, and rehearsing musical numbers for hours on end, not doing manual labor that left hands in this state.

As I continued to stare at these foreign hands and arms, the door flew open and in rushed a crowd of kids. They moved quickly towards me, stumbling over each other in their haste. I counted one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, and a baby made ten. All of them with varying lengths of walnut brown hair, except one…a tall woman with long blonde hair was holding the baby that couldn’t have been more than a few months old. They were all bundled up in coats, hats, scarves, and gloves, which was strange since it was the middle of May. I was sure I didn’t know them but then they weren’t completely unfamiliar.

“Oh he really is awake!” said one of them.

“Thank goodness!” said another.

“It’s about time!” yelled a third.

Then the sweetest little voice I had ever heard said the most horrific thing. “We missed you Daddy.” I have never felt such terror. DADDY! DADDY? This child was calling me Daddy! But I never had children. I never wanted any. Vee and I had agreed a long time ago that given our chosen careers, having kids would be irresponsible. We decided that we would spoil all the nieces and nephews we were bound to have. I could feel my palms begin to sweat, my muscles tighten, and the butterflies all aflutter in my stomach. The room faded to black, accompanied by shouts of concern from all the people in the room. And as my brain cut off all sensory function, I was sure each one was calling me Dad.