The Third Person

            “I chose the prompt about what I'm going to do when the world ends,” Matt said loudly, grinning around at his classmates. It was second period English and a majority of the students were beginning to show signs of consciousness. “It goes like this: When the world ends I'm not going to waste my time being all sad. I'm going to rejoice. It will mean no more school. Not that I won't miss English class, because I will.

            “As soon as the emergency broadcast system is activated on TV I'm going to take my brother's truck – it's really big – and I'm going to drive to the nearest gas station. My friend Jean is gonna meet me there with these big oil drums that he's got hidden away in his garage and we'll run over anyone who tries to stop us. Then we're going to swing by my girlfriend's house and she'll have all the food ready so we can just take off and ditch this place.”

            “Yes, very nice,” Mr. Talbeth broke in. “I think we get the picture.”

            “It get's better,” Matt shrugged. “We put chains with spikes on them on the wheels and go around running over zombies.”

            “I'm sure it's quite a stimulating story. Next.”

            Abby took a deep breath and waited for the cat calls and clapping to finish. She hated public speaking, wanted nothing to do with it. Ever. But she also prided herself at being able to perform tolerably well. Besides, this was her sophomore English class. What could they do?

            Straightening the skirt of her black dress, she moved to the front of the room where a podium awaited her. Clearing her throat, she situated the papers she held and waited. Slowly, her classmates fell silent. The teacher looked up over her glasses, waiting.

            “The prompt I did,” she said in a shaky voice. “Was to describe myself in third person, as though I was a character in a book.”

            With a deep breath, she strengthened her stance, wincing as the soles of her combat boots squeaked on the laminate tiles.

            “I am observant,” she began. Matt had reached his seat and purposefully knocked Jean's notebook onto the floor. Which resulted in a friendly and muted competition of notebook wars to take place. “I see the little things that no one else does.”

            “It's supposed to be in third person,” Lily exclaimed, shooting her hand into the air but not bothering to wait for the teacher's approval. Her eyes narrowed maliciously at Abby and she gave a small smirk.

            “Just keep reading,” the teacher sighed.

            “She's of medium height,” Abby continued, switching all of the first person words as she read. It took more concentration. Maybe that would make it easier to ignore her classmates' attention. “Her hair is normally brunette with natural highlights of gold and red. She has hazel eyes and usually wears contacts.”

            A glance up at the room showed that Jean was now rolling his eyes, slumping back into his seat and attempting to ignore his best friend.

            “She's rated as perfectly healthy on the BMI index and—.”

            “Awkward wording,” Lily broke in.

            “She's well proportioned.”

            Lily snorted and rolled her eyes.

            “She has enough meat on her bones to look like a woman,” Abby snapped, words full of venomous implications as she glared at her nemesis. “Unlike the stick thin girls walking the halls of school today.”

            “That is enough, Lily,” the teacher said. “Continue Abby.”

            “Um, I—she dislikes sports of any kind and hates gym class, preferring instead to read or write. She doesn't believe in ignoring homework, and this, combined with her adequate mind keep her grades in the A-range.”

            Lily yawned widely, looking at the clock above Abby's head. What she saw there seemed to give her hope, for she straightened up and started shuffling her things into order.

            “And, apparently, she's out of time,” Abby finished.

            “Thank you, Abby,” the teacher said, but he was cut off halfway through by the ringing of the bell. “We'll start tomorrow off with Jean.”

            Fighting against the sudden rush of students for the door, Abby grabbed at her things, trying to wrap her arms around the bundle of books and folders. She hated being late, and if she didn't hurry to her locker, she would be.

            “Hey,” a voice said, and she looked up in surprise, right into the friendly face of Jean. “Um, I'm sorry about Lily. Sometimes... I think she's just having a bad week. Y'know, hasn't gotten that acceptance letter she wanted or something.”

            “She's a sophomore,” Abby said blankly. “What's she applying to?”

            Jean shrugged, a slight laugh rising to his lips.

            “Thanks, though,” she sighed. There was a shout in the hallway before she could continue, and they both glanced up. “What is your prompt, then?”

            “Oh,” he said, leading the way to the door. “Um, the most influential person in my life. I'm doing my brother.”

            “You have an older brother?”

            “Uh, younger,” and then he had vanished into the crowded hallway.

            Abby blinked after him, a slight frown creasing her forehead, before glancing at her watch. With a gasp that ended in a choke, she took off for her locker, messenger bag slamming against her hip.

Great Grandchild

            Eleanor sat quietly in the winged armchair. The plush back did nothing to ease the ache in her neck, the one that was slowly but surely surely climbing into her head. She was sick of the smell, the dim room, the feeling of helplessness. And yet she wouldn't trade it for the world. She had always been close to her mother, always been the first one home for the holidays. Now she was the only child home for the drawn out, gruesome end.

            The gasping creature in the bed next to her, the one that had taken her mother's place almost over night, stirred. Its head turned towards her, eyes seeking, and Eleanor forced herself to stand and step into view.

            “Ellie,” it whispered.

            “Yes Mother,” Eleanor said, forcing on a cheery smile.

            “Oh don't give me that look,” she sighed. “I know I'm a mess. Now, I need you to do something for me.”

            “Anything,” Eleanor agreed quickly, nodding her head.

            The creature gave her an annoyed look that was achingly familiar. Then it wet its cracking lips, sandpaper crackle, and continued.

            “Go to my desk,” it hissed. “In that secret compartment that you discovered on your tenth birthday. There's a box.”

            Eleanor glanced over at the desk standing under the window and shifted uneasily on her feet. It was new, a downsize from the hulking antique her mother had dragged to every house and apartment she'd ever lived in. From the brief tour of the housing her mother was in, Eleanor had merely assumed that the desk had been sold along with anything else of value to pay for the mounting medical bills. For a moment anger overtook her at the memory of how things had been handled, of how she had been kept in the dark about so much, of how the rest of her family had done nothing. Then she sighed.

            “It's not here any more, Mother,” she whispered. “They took the desk.”

            “The box,” the creature rasped as though it hadn't heard her. “Is green. I don't want you to open it, Eleanor. It's not for you.”

            The explanation was interrupted by a wet, hacking cough. Eleanor, mostly out of reaction, reached out for the call button that had been installed beside her mother's bed. Then she gingerly helped her sit up in the hopes that this would make breathing easier.

            “It's for my first great grandchild,” her mother whispered carefully into her ear. “Not your first child, but your first grandchild. I want it passed down, you understand. I want there to be some memory of me in this world.”

             The nurse burst in at that, face carefully devoid of any emotion.

            “I can take her now Mrs. Piper,” she said in a quiet but firm voice. “Perhaps you'd like some fresh air.”

            Eleanor recognized the command for what it really was and reluctantly stepped out of the small room. Tears were forming unbidden in her eyes and for a moment all she could feel was hopeless despair. Then her mind turned to what the nurse had called her, and she began to think of her new husband.

            Mr. Richard Piper was everything she had ever dreamed of and more. When, halfway through their honeymoon, she had received a call that her mother was on her deathbed, he had offered to fly out with her and accepted easily her preference that she make this journey alone. He was kind, reasonable, calm, and best of all, he was in her life.

            She almost ran to the phone in the living room, the only one in the house, and her fingers shook as she dialed in his number. He picked up on the third ring, sounding tired and business-like. Of course, he'd returned to his work after their honeymoon was cut short.

            “Hello, Richard Piper speaking. How may I help you?”

            “Richard,” she breathed in relief, and then started to sob.

            “Ellie!” he exclaimed at once worried and elated. “What's going on? Are you alright? I can get on a plane in a little under an hour.”

            “N-no,” she managed. “I'm f-fine.”

            “Ellie,” he sighed. “You're not fine. You're crying.”

            “I-it's just horrible!” she burst out. “The way they're keeping her. A-nd they've sold off e-everything just to pay the bills. No thought as to what she'd want. Her d-desk! They sold her desk.”

            Richard waited a moment to be certain that she wasn't about to catch her breath and continue with her tirade. His mind was already made up that he would be on the next available flight. He should never have let his wife face such hardships alone, and if she hadn't pleaded with him...

            “Ellie,” he said in a firm voice. “Tell me what happened.”

            Haltingly, Eleanor explained about the desk, about how it had been passed down from her grandmother to her mother, how it had been hauled to every single house they lived in no matter how awkward it was, how her mother had loved the thing and now, apparently, it had been sold just to pay for the hospital bills that everyone was too cheap to pay themselves.

            “And it's just gone!” she finished, pressing a sodden tissue to her lips in an attempt to quell the sobs rolling through her. They were not even a month wedded. What could Richard possibly think of her now, falling apart at the slightest provocation.

            “Do you know who the maker was?” he asked gently. “Can we find a similar one?”

            “N-no! You don't understand,” she wailed. “She hid something in it, in a secret compartment. It was supposed to be a present for our first grandchild. But the thing is sold and no one will find it now.”

            “Is it that thing she had sitting in front of the big bay windows that one time I visited?” he pressed. “I'm sorry, Ellie, I just—.”

            “I think so,” Eleanor nodded. “I'm sorry. I have to go. I love you.”

            “Love you too,” Richard murmured. For a long time after she hung up the phone he just sat at his desk, staring at the telephone. He truly loved Eleanor and even knowing that marriages were beginning to fall apart more and more often, he hadn't been able to resist getting down on one knee. She had agreed, of course, and they'd said their vows three months later.

            “Cindy,” he called out to his secretary. “I need you to book me a flight to California. Leaves tomorrow. And could you clear up my schedule for the rest of today? I have some things to do.”

~*~

             “Anyway... George wants to fly over to see you guys soon, so I guess we can have a less awkward talk about this. Love you guys!”

             Eleanor sighed, finger hovering over the replay of the message her daughter had left that afternoon while she'd been out grocery shopping. Painful memories crowded close in her mind, but they were easily pushed away. A new life was going to be joining their family soon. Her very first grandchild.

            A gentle smile curled her lips as she remembered, after the funeral, after her mother had finally passed and Richard had come to take her home, how he had tenderly led her into their new house.

            “I wanted to have a place you could come home to after that,” he'd explained ruefully. “I'm sorry if it's not what you want.”

            The house was... well, it was a mansion. Quaint and old and in need of repair, but absolutely perfect. Eleanor had been unable to do more than cling a little harder to him and nod into his shoulder. She'd thought that there was nothing more he could do to prove how perfect he was. She'd thought that nothing could top his behavior in the past weeks.

            And then he'd led her into the living room. There, sitting in the bay window, was a familiar desk.

            Still smiling at this precious memory, Eleanor stood and made her way over to the closet. Inside, on the top shelf, hidden in a shoebox, was a green velvet box. As yet unopened. Tucked into the matching satin ribbon that held it closed was a note, the creamy envelope and faded ink showing its age.