Story #1 (Personal Investigation)

A middle aged man hunched over the counter. Next to him sat a younger woman whose red dress complemented the blue suit the man who was sitting next to her was wearing. A conversation had silently arisen, and the whiskey was all around. The bartender listened in quietly while staring at the odd man out across from the other two. Nobody knew that the “odd man out” was really someone special. He was someone who investigated crimes of various sorts. He was someone not to be taken lightly. His current investigation had nothing to do with the woman in the red dress, and it also had nothing to do with the man in the blue suit. It had everything to do with himself. That was all my mother could gather from glancing at this one photo in my grandfather’s old photo album. But I knew the rest of the story somehow. The story was told to me by my grandfather when he was still alive. I’m currently seventeen, but at the time I was fifteen. When my grandfather was a child he always assumed that his parents were his biological parents. At age ten, his adoptive parents broke the tragic truth to him that he was actually adopted, and that his biological parents had died when he was a baby. Most parents, who adopt, if they know the child’s history, will spill the beans as to their story. But not my Grandfather’s, they wouldn’t tell him anything regarding his real parents. All my Grandpa knew was that they were dead. For years, he begged his adoptive parents to tell him what they knew, but they wouldn’t. This infuriated him, and so he decided to investigate on his own. My Grandfather finished High School, and then went to college where he became an investigator. The part he picked up on his story was when he was twenty two, newly engaged, and still troubled about what the story of his biological parents was. Sitting down with a diary in his hands, and a pen he began to write out his thoughts. “Should I or should I not research my mystery? Should I or should I not tell my fiancé? Should I or should I not beg my adoptive parents one last time to tell me? Should I continue the search that originated in my heart? I don’t know what would calm my heart? I don’t know what would put a peace to my soul. All I know is that I want peace.” At that moment my grandpa made one out of two decisions that he would make in his story. His first decision was that he was going to use his investigative skills to investigate who his parents were, and that he would investigate in secret, and all by himself. My Grandfather’s best friend was the county sheriff, and nobody else could get the kind of information my Grandfather needed accept the sheriff. There was a house that he had always questioned, and for some reason the house had always struck that “just like home” chord in his soul. His suspicions about his past as a baby started there. This was because the house was burned out. So, he decided to start his questions with the burned out house. As he arrived at the sheriff’s office, my grandfather’s best friend strutted out and said hello. “Hey”, my Grandfather responded. “What can I do for you?” the sheriff asked. My Grandfather explained his mystery, and how he wanted information on the burned out house that made his memory come alive. The sheriff decided to dig through some paperwork he had on the house to try and come up with some sort of information regarding the fire. The information that the sheriff dug up consisted of a biography of the owners, the outline of the construction of the house, and some pictures of the house before it caught fire. The biography of the owners was the most fascinating to my grandfather because it described a family who had a newborn baby right before the fire. The biography read something like this. “There is a family that is fairly new in town. I decided to investigate a little about them, and who they are. I found out that the husband’s name is James Eden, and the wife’s name is Chloe Eden. They both grew up in Anchorage, Alaska. They met when they were both eighteen, and dated for two years. They then decided to get married, and then they moved to Seattle, WA. When they arrived in Spokane they began searching for a castle type home. Even though they knew it wasn’t exactly the way they wanted it, when they found the home that they are living in now they knew that they had found the home they wanted to settle in to. A work in progress, the Eden couple is planning to repaint the house from the green and white trim to a brown and white trim. On the inside there is a lot of work to be done the Eden’s told me. They want to replace the windows with picture windows instead of pained windows. Also, they want to decorate the rooms, especially their newborn baby boy’s room. Blue is what Chloe wants, and so that is probably what they will paint it. The couple’s plan is to redecorate the entire house with candles, furniture, fireplaces, books, and many other comfort items. The things that the Eden’s love to do are golfing, skiing, swimming, reading, playing with their son Jack, helping others, and having family time. The main highlight of their lives is they newborn son. The Eden’s adore him, and he brings much light, and love to the home. They expect that he will turn out to be a very accomplished happy adult. So, if you have a minute, go and make your acquaintance known.”  There were two things that popped out to me about the characteristics of the baby. The baby had blue eyes, and brown hair. I had blue eyes, and brown hair. The baby was also named Jason, and my name was also Jason. There was something about looking at the picture of the baby that made me feel as if I was looking at myself. This also intrigued me. I couldn’t imagine that this was my family. The mother was so beautiful, and the father was such a handsome man. The house was dark green with white trim, and it looked like a fairy tale castle that had been whipped up by the wind. My Grandfather gathered up many questions that he kept on asking himself regarding the information.  “Could this really have been my life? Could I really have been that baby boy? Could my parents really have died in a tragic fire? Is there any way to prove that these are my parents? What am I supposed to do with all this information? Should I go to my adoptive parents, and make it seem like I know for sure they died in a fire, and then examine their facial expressions?” These questions floated around in my Grandfather’s head. He was still pondering when the sheriff wandered back out, and gave my grandfather another item. It was a vile of something red. He then asked what it was, and the sheriff replied that it was a vile of blood that was taken from Mr. Eden before the fire. My grandfather’s first thought was that he could have his DNA tested with DNA from the blood. So that was exactly what he had done. He had the two DNA’s compared. The information he received back was fascinating to him. They were related. The doctors said that the only way that the two types of blood could be related was if the blood that was in the vile belonged to his biological father. All of a sudden, the sheriff yet again came running in, this time with Chloe’s blood. The people that tested the other vile of blood tested this one two but the results were much different. The blood didn’t even relate a little to that of my Grandfather. The doctors concluded that Chloe’s blood showed that she wasn’t my grandfather’s mother, but James blood showed that he was my Grandfather’s father. So, the next question was who was my grandfather’s mother? My grandfather had no more leads on the origin of his mother, and so he decided to let it go.  Dealing with the truth of how his father died was enough at the time. Walking out the doctor’s office he went to a casino across the street that was almost always empty. Today was no exception. My Grandfather began to imagine what the current situation would sound like to random stranger if he were to explain the story in anything less than detailed. It sounded something like this. “A middle aged man is hunched over a counter. Next to him sits a younger woman whose red dress complements the blue suit that the man sitting next to her is wearing. A conversation has silently arisen, and the whiskey is all around. The bartender is listening in quietly while he stares at the odd man out across from the other two. Nobody knows that the “odd man out” is really someone special. He is someone who investigated crimes of various sorts. He is someone not to be taken lightly. The current investigation he was involved with had nothing to do with the woman in the red dress, and it also had nothing to do with the man in the blue suit. It had everything to do with himself.” My Grandfather decided that he needed to talk to his adoptive parents once again about what he had found out. That afternoon after he had left the casino he walked over to his adoptive parents place. His parents place looked very antique. His mother loved the Victorian way of life, and his father loved old fashioned artifacts. The outside of the house was painted yellow with cream trim. On the inside, there was almost always the smell of roses, and tobacco.  As he pushed the doorbell he heard voices. Then his dad opened the door. After the three of them settled into chairs my grandfather told them the information he had found. He told them about the blood, the house, the sheriff, everything that pertained to the situation.  His parents sat there in stunned silence. After a few minutes the silence ended. My grandfather’s father said the following, “Son, I’m not surprised, honestly. Me, and your mother have made a grave mistake. We should’ve told you about your parents when you were old enough to understand but we were scared about what your reaction would be. So we avoided the topic for so long. I realize you must have a lot of resentment in your mind as far as we are concerned. There is a whole lot of the story that you should hear, and my intention is now to tell you. The story that I have been told starts with the people that you found in the biography. To start with, the woman, Chloe Eden, isn’t your birth mother. Your birth mother disappeared right after you were born. Nobody knows her name, who she was, or anything about her. Your birth father, James Eden, wouldn’t tell anyone about her but people suspect that she was someone very close to him. Then, unexpectedly your father got married about three days after your birth. It shocked everyone around because they were figuring that he was still getting over the loss of your birth mother. The person your father married was Chloe, and they had been friends since childhood. They did grow up in Anchorage, Alaska, and when they married they did move to Spokane, WA, just as the report stated. The description of the house is accurate, and nothing is out of the ordinary. Everything was going wonderfully for your parents until Christmas Eve night. They had come home from a party, and you were being babysat by some relatives. That night your father forgot to turn off the space heater which was directly by the drapes. The drapes caught fire, and pretty soon the house was all in a blaze. The next door neighbors saw the fire, and called the fire department. The fire department came running; they dashed into the house, and were able to rescue you. But your parents were a goner. There was no hope for them whatsoever. And that son is the story. You are indeed an orphan.” It was then my grandfather’s turn to sit stunned. The story sounded different all put together. The story was still a shock but after a few nights my grandfather reached the best sleep he’d had in a long time. There was peace in his mind and heart. About a week after he had found all of the information and had time to process he picked up his diary again and wrote an entry about his feelings. “I have found out some very interesting facts. My real mom will never be known, and my birth father is no more. There was a fire in which my father passed away in. My step mother also passed away. I was the only survivor of the fire which is shocking. I wonder why I was the only one who survived. Maybe it was because God knew I’d meet my fiancé. Maybe it was because God knew that I needed to experience life and that my parents would want me to be able to feel what it was like to breathe until I reached ninety. I wish that I could have met them and talked with them but I know now that I won’t be able to do that. It makes me sad. I’m also angry at my adoptive parents. I wish they had told me the true story about my history before I had to investigate myself. There is much I wish I could ask them but I have no idea if they would tell me or not. They have kept so much hidden from me for so long that I don’t know if I trust them to tell me if something happens or not. I’m very angry. They hid a part of me from me that I deserved to know. I know that I can forgive them in time but that will definitely be in time. I realize that they were just doing what they thought was the best for me but I wish they had just taken a leap of faith, and just spit out what they knew before now. Well, anyways, enough of this complaining. I’m getting married; I have a wonderful job that I love which I know most people can’t say. It’s summer time, with the sun shining far beyond my reach, and there is nothing more that I need.” After my Grandfather told me this journal entry he got up from the rocker where he was sitting and left to go to bed with me pondering everything he had just told me. I remember that night oh so well. After I drifted out of my imaginary world of the story my Grandfather told me I knew that I needed to tell the rest of the story to my mom. After I told her she sat down to think. “You know, now that I think about it, I can almost remember him telling me that story too. I just never thought of it to relate to that photo in that photo album. I can almost remember sitting down by his feet near the fire, and relishing the looks he would have as he told me about the fire. He always had the cutest grimace. Even though I’m sorry that this was his story I’m glad that he had a story. It taught me that I should be thankful that my parents are still alive and breathing. There is much to be said concerning that topic.” All I could think was that my Grandfather had experienced the pain of not knowing his real parents. I was so thankful that I had gotten the chance to get to live my life with my parents by my side every step of the way. I thanked God, or whatever power was out there that I had been blessed so richly. Even though I and my parents fought ever so often I realized that it was ok because at least I had parents to fight with. At least I didn’t have to deal with pain every night that my children to come would never know their grandparents. It was a peaceful feeling that consumed me as I continued the day.  That night, I and my mother told the rest of my family the story that would forever go down in our family history, never to be forgotten again.  

Short Story #2 (An Eye for an Eye Makes the Whole World Blind)

My name is Jergen Knotts. There’s a fascinating, gory, and thought provoking story I wish to convey to any who choose to read. It starts with the fight of WW1. I was the head leader, and on the day of battle I told my minions what our motto would be. “An Eye for an Eye,” is what I said. My darling wife Sarah, before battle, conveyed to me that she was concerned for my motto, and that if we lost she would yell out her window, that overlooked the scene, why. I hugged her, and went on my way. As the war started we did exceptionally well. Then as we neared midpoint something went wrong, and all failed. Our enemy started to gouge out the eyes of my men, and then in turn and remembrance of our motto they did the same. At last every single one of my men, and the opposing sides men lay on the ground, blind as a bat, and as hurt as hurt could be. My heart ached with pain as I heard my dear wife Sarah yell out, “My dear husband. Remember this. An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind.” 

Short Story #1 (It Happened At Home)

 I remember it to be a cloudy day. There was a chill in the air as I remembered the past month that was made up of fights, and me comforting my twin brother, James. I, my brother James, and my mom all lived very unhappily together. My father had passed away two previous years before, and life had been one big fight ever since.  Now, what really stuck out to me was the night before the present. The previous night my mom and brother had the most heated argument that I had ever heard in my life. James had stumbled into my room so red that I thought he might burst, literally. He ranted to me for at least fifteen min. before giving out his last puff of air.  His final words to me before he went to bed were, “I want to kill Mom”. I went to bed pondering his words. My brother had always been a man of his word. But would he actually carry out his want? I wasn’t sure but when I got to school the next day I couldn’t help but worry when I couldn’t find James at lunch. There wasn’t much that I could do except drink my coffee, and sit on one of the school chair’s. The signs that directed students to the food quart didn’t even appeal to me, and the people wearing Goths that wore black clothes had always frightened me. So, I just sat there. At the end of the day I spotted James at our bus stop and ran towards him. “What’s wrong?” he asked. I said that I hadn’t seen him all day, and had started to worry about him. He said nothing back which I thought was weird. When we got home I noticed that morning chill again. There was something wrong. My feeling was confirmed the moment I noticed a lifeless hand lying on the floor. The body, I hoped, was to be found behind the kitchen island, and luckily it was. A part of me wished that the body hadn’t been there because what I saw next deprived me of taking a breath. My mother was lying all in red, and there was a knife wound through the center of her corpse. “James, come here!” I wailed. He came running, and acted just as shocked as I was. As I looked around I noticed that there was a bloody knife stretched across two chairs that were pushed into the island. We called the police, and they began the investigation procedure but I wanted to do something myself. I decided to check around my neighborhood starting with the house that was next door to me. On the outside of the house hung paper airplanes that twirled around whenever the wind blew in their direction. I’d always wondered if the man inside the house worked with airplanes, and if he had free tickets to airplane showings. Ever since I could remember I’d always wondered the strangest things. I grabbed the silver knocker, and banged it against the silver plating. An older looking gentleman peeked out, and gazed down at me. I took a deep breath and started in on my speech that was made up on the spot. “I’m sorry to disturb you mister but I have a very important matter to ask you about. You see, I came home from school today with my brother to find my mother dead in our kitchen. Did you by any chance notice anything out of the ordinary today around my place?” Next thing I knew I was sitting down in the older gentleman’s living room, and he was telling me the hard core facts. Somehow I knew the truth would come out from his lips the minute I knocked on the door. He proceeded to tell me that he had seen the scene all go down. My mother had been standing at the kitchen counter. My brother had stalked into the kitchen, had grabbed a knife, and while staring at my mother’s stunned eyes had stabbed her straight through her heart. With tears in my eyes I asked how the knife had turned up where I had found it. He said that my brother had fetched the suitcase that was lying on the counter and had stuck it in there for a brief moment before taking it out again, and laying it across the two chairs. I sat there in stunned silence, not quite sure what to say regarding the information I had just learned. So, I thanked my neighbor, and went straight to the police. I told them what my neighbor had said, and they said that they had examined the knife where they  found my brother’s fingerprints. They said that my brother would be tried for murder, and would probably spend his life in prison. I ran into my bedroom, and this is where you have found me writing. I couldn’t tell you anything else except for one thing. I want to avenge my mother’s death someway, somehow. I know what will happen to me. I will inherit the rest of the money my father left behind, and with that money I am going to go to college to become a real homicide detective. By the way, my name is Chloe Elizabeth Eden.     

Father

Dear Father,
Merry Christmas,
I'm alive & well.
My cup is running over.

I'm sitting here eating dinner with both sets of parents.
Inside I'm actually happy, no lie, no joke here.
There's snow outside, it represents the purity of our Lord.
I see the blue christmas lights, as they light up homes.

How is your Christmas Eve going?
You seem happy.
You seem content.
But how is your soul really?

I just want to barge in a little.
I just want to admit to something.
Something I fear not of.
Here are my confessions.

I miss you.
I care for you.
I wish I could hug you daily.
I cry sometimes because your not in a room across from me.
I'm happy, but I still remember you in my dreams.
I hope that life is happy all in itself for you this year.
All in all, I love you.
That is all that matters right now.

Sleep well tonight Father knowing that I'll be sleeping.
But sleeping for me means literally, not with fishes or flowers.
I swear, I promise, that will be the last time I truly scare you.
So sleep sound tonight Father.
Knowing that we are both well in spirit and soul.

Merry Christmas.