At times of great need, the true potential of a person thrusts itself outwards in great leaps. However, how much potential is needed for an impossible need? This is what Timmy pondered as he stared at the stain-steel giant towering above him. Lines of magnets scaled the terrifying mountain, a sole magnet nearly at the peak. What Timmy wanted, however, was the prize at the top; the gold at the end of the rainbow, the earnings from a game of Jeopardy— the cookies jar. A prize even greater than eternal life itself, it sat atop the fridge, begging to be pried open by the mightiest of heroes. The achievements of Achilles, Theseus, Perseus (more so the contemporary version) would be mere dust before Timmy if he could retrieve the cookie jar. Sweat dribbled across his brow. His black eyes narrowed. Across the kitchen, in the laundry room laid his trusty steed, the stepladder. A metal beast made of pure awesome. Surely, the aid of the stepladder creature will be suitable enough to reach the cookie jar. With a jump, Timmy began to run, his socks feathers brushing the hardwood floor. The stepladder was within reach as he threw out an arm. His fingers embraced the handle as he smiled. Without stopping, he ran in an arc around the stepladder and slid back to the fridge, the stepladder clambering behind him. Coming to a halt, body sprawled out across the floor, Timmy gazed up at the cookie jar, his eyes shimmering black ice. Cookie jar, you will be mine. The stepladder took almost no time to set up against the fridge. Stepping back, Timmy marveled at his work. The stepladder scaled past the line of magnet, the four wide black steps like a shortcut to destiny. Timmy could feel the cookie jar’s fear. It made him feel empowered. Timmy took a step upon a ladder. A small creak echoed out of the hinges, but he was too determined to notice. His fingers were shaking mildly as he took the next step. Another creaking noise erupted from the joints, the ignorance of pride still clouding Timmy’s judgment. The creaking echoed as he took another step up. This time the sound reached his ears, an ominous, hanging bat in the chasm of his lobe. His breathing became stifled, each breath through his nostrils flowing in and refusing to leave. Timmy took a glance at his hand; it was pale, yet gripped the top of the fridge with some unknown courage. He could feel himself wishing that the courage in his hand would somehow diffuse into the bloodstream, quick and painless, and then overtake his existence, a true hero’s plague. He could feel this hand, tightly enclosed in its valor, nudge him up to the fourth and final step. With a gulp, Timmy heaved his right leg onto the final step, his eyes closing immediately. The kitchen was quiet. The stool was no longer creaking, the memory of the sound fading quickly from his mind as he brought his left leg upon the stool. His victory laid sprawled before him; plain as day, still as a stone. The cookie jar reflected in his pupils, glimmering with green lust. Timmy put his hand out before the cookie jar and grabbed the handle. Like the victories of past heroes, the cookie jar slipped straight into his hand. Timmy, just like past heroes, began to jump for joy in the stool, his fortune sitting idly in his hands. And just like the past heroes, Timmy forgot the one, simple danger that lay omnipresent through the journey. This quickly came to his mind as he felt the stool shake beneath his weight, the legs falling off their hinges, and Timmy descending towards the floor—his demise. _ _ _ _ _ Death was like jumping in a pile of lotus flowers. It was soft warmth that spread from the toes all the way to the core of the very soul. Timmy felt at peace, as though life was just a long-standing annoyance that had finally been removed. What if all people realized the peace that came after life? There would be no war, no struggle; just pure joy in the rawest of forms. That is the solution. Death is the answer. A sound struck through the warmth. He could hear the words in vague fragments, death his personal lover. “Please…up…Timmy…get…” The words made no sense to him. Nothing made sense to him anymore except the warmth of the lotus flowers. He wanted to dive further within. “Timmy…wake…up” The words came clearer. Timmy began to focus harder on the warmth, trying to get more to shoot into him. The voice became even clearer; it was a woman’s voice, chipper and delicate. “Timmy, get up. It’s not your time yet. Come back now. Awaken.” The warmth flowed out of Timmy’s body in gallons as he gasped for breath. The feathers were gone, replaced by the familiar hardwood floor. He shook his head roughly, causing him to mutter an “Ow” under his breath. Looking up, he saw a woman in a blue blouse and jeans. Her auburn hair was tied in a ponytail, a few strands falling off the sides. Her eyes were the same wooden hazel of the floor. She had on tan fur boots, which lay tranquilly behind her. Timmy felt his insides tense. This woman was a stranger, an invader of his home. What would his father think if he saw the woman just sitting there in his house? As if reading his mind, the woman responded in a dismissive tone: “I’m a friend of your Dad’s. He told me to check up on you ten minutes ago. And boy was he right. The ‘cookie jar on the fridge” routine,” she said, her fingers making quotation marks in the air, “is old. It’s probably even older than me.” “Then that must be pretty old” Timmy snorted, smiling at the woman. Whoever she was, she knew his dad. That was enough information for him to instill some amount of trust in her. The woman also began to smile, her pearly teeth complimenting his. “I’ll have you know I’m only 27. That’s still pretty young. As though I’d expect you to know, seeing as how you just got out of the diaper phase and all.” Timmy’s cheeks flushed red as he glared at her. The woman merely laughed in response, standing up against the fridge. Grabbing his arm, she helped Timmy get to his feet, his head still aching from shaking it too hard. “So lady…what’s your name?” “My name is Maura. Maura Ashburg.” “Okay. So Ms. Maura’s your name” Timmy said, staring at her face. He could see the faint outlines of age on her face. Her eyes appeared to carry years of ranging emotions; from tired to melancholy, even a hint or two of jealousy. Timmy could see a reflection of himself hanging in her eyes as she stared back. “Timmy, to make certain that you don’t go crazed with any more half-brain schemes for sweets, how about I get a couple of ice cream cones. One for you, and one for me. Then we can talk about whatever you want—from school, to life and hey, maybe even girls. Or are you not ready for that yet?” Timmy could feel the red flush returning to his cheeks as she laughed, pulling the door open to the freezer. She pulled out the ice cream, turning her head towards Timmy. “One scoop, or two?” _ _ _ _ _ It felt like they had talked for days. He told Maura everything he has any recollection of doing in his life; from the day Kaylee Hamilton gave him a black eye at preschool (apparently, tripping someone without meaning to is still a crime), the day he first used the potty by himself, all the way up to today. The entire time he was talking, she had listened intently; asking him to describe how the black eye felt (which was pretty bad), and even in-depth questions about the cookie jar (“It’s right there,” he had said after what seemed like the five hundredth question, “why don’t you take a good look for yourself.” She brushed off the comment as though it was dirt with a simple reply that made his head spin; “I’d rather see the world from the eyes of some other person than myself.”). When he asked about her life, Maura merely replied with “Maura Ashburg. Age, 27. Professional Architect. My hobbies include building and rebuilding. I’m about 5’6”, weigh 155 pounds, and despite the cliché here, like long walks on the beach.” After that, Maura went back to asking Timmy more and more questions. “Ms. Maura,” Timmy finally said as he interrupted one of her next questions. “What is it Timmy?” “What time is it?” “Why, it’s…time for me to go now.” The room sat still. All Timmy could see was Maura’s smile, a mask that shrouded the sadness that seemed to spread across the universe. Timmy could feel his heart churn with pain. Even though they only met today, Timmy felt a bond to Maura. An almost natural instinct that made him love her as though she were his mother. Mother, a person he never had in his life. His father had told him his mother had died when he was born. He was always apathetic to it; he didn’t know her and couldn’t bring himself to care for a person that would never be with him. Yet somehow, this woman meant the world to him, and seeing her go made his eyes water. “You don’t have to cry Timmy” “I’m not crying.” “I forgot you’re my big strong man” Maura said, ruffling Timmy’s hair. Before Timmy could blink, Maura was hugging him, the loose ends of her ponytail warm patches against his face. “Your dad should be coming home in about five minutes. While you were talking, I wrote a note to him explaining about the broken stool. You shouldn’t get in any trouble,” she said, petting Timmy on the head, “as long as you’re a good boy.” “Yeah, yeah, yeah” Timmy giggled. Maura pulled herself away from Timmy, the warm patches leaving his skin. She walked out of the door in the front room, waving bye to Timmy. With all the energy he had, Timmy gave Maura a grand salute farewell. _ _ _ _ _ Maura was walking down the street. A black Subaru passed her five minutes ago, a thin man in an overstuffed business suit at the wheel. Somewhere in the line of five minutes, a young, adventurous little rascal will have welcomed his father back home after a long day of work. The father will ask him how his day was. The boy will respond hesitantly, and tell the father of his afternoon with the 27-year-old woman with the ponytail. The father will not scream. He will simply walk upstairs to his room with a smile on his face and tears in his eyes. On his bed, he will find a note. Putting on his onyx glasses, he will read aloud the note, but just enough so that the boy running around will not here: You need to keep better watch of Timmy. When I came today, he had fallen off a step ladder in an attempt to get the cookie jar. Of all things that should NEVER be put atop a fridge, you put a cookie jar there. Not to mention that old rickety step ladder your mother gave us 12 years ago. Sometimes, I forget that I’ve known you for that exact amount of time. When you’re up there, time is just a rule that can be bent like all the others. You see things other don’t get to see. But isn’t that true of all people? That no one person, despite witnessing the same event, can never truly see what the other does. People are snowflakes; each one more different than the next. It makes me wonder what Timmy will turn out to be in the future, but just seeing him here and now, I know for a fact that he’s the last person I should worry about. Dan, know that even if you may not be able to see me as much as you like, as much as you wish that I had lived to see our child grow up, I will always be there; watching, waiting, loving. P.S. You need to start locking the deadbolt. I didn’t even have to use any of my awesome skills this time. Love, Maura. As the father puts the note down, the boy will run in. He will see his father crying, then, with a great effort, ask a question he never tried to think about: “Daddy, are you thinking about Mommy?” “Timmy, I’m always thinking about your mother.” At this point, the boy will hop into his father’s lap and look him straight in the eye. “What was Mommy like?” “An angel son. Your mother is an angel.” Spoiler loltitle Anyway, I wrote this a few months ago for Creative Writing, and figured I'd post it here to get feedback and such. This is honestly my first "cutesy" story, so in the event I write more like that, CnC would be very much appreciated c: A few flaws I can see with this already is how Maura talks to Timmy, as well as the end when the narration goes to a third person omniscient view, which I thought didn't transition well.
this. is. ADORABLE!!! but on to edits: i did notice problems in the areas you mentioned, but since you know about those already, ill leave them alone. you seem to have a tendancy to put the speaker and the speech in different paragraphs. example: there isnt really anything wrong with this. im simply pointing it out because it might cause some confusion for the reader. beyond this, i didnt really see anything wrong. this is a great story. i like the premise of Timmys mom becoming his guardian angel, and him seeing and speaking to her after she saves him. and the first two paragraphs made be laugh.
I didn't even notice that. ._. It looked fine on Word when I was formatting it, but I forgot Word to KHV is always a problem. >: And yeah. xD The first two paragraphs were me playing around with the character since I had no idea where I would go with this (until it happened). Thanks for the comments/critique. c:
