"The Affair"

          "She stepped slowly toward him, her feet heavy against the ground as her breathing came in rasps, barely wheezing in and out from the sobs raking her entire form. Her eyes were lost and hurting, desperate and desolate, and all hope was gone from them.

            She took another step and those pained, tear-filled eyes that were spilling violently over looked dejectedly at his face. Her eyes swept cautiously over his entire countenance before they diverted themselves to his mouth.

            She concentrated on his mouth with all her being as she moistened her lips nervously with her tongue although they were already wet with tears. Her lips moved in a soft murmur before the words came out, soft and shaking, just loud enough for one who was paying painstakingly close attention to hear, and so he was.

            He leaned closer as her lips moved and not a single word that escaped those broken lips escaped his ears. “I am so sorry,” she half-groaned. “I don’t know why I did this. How I could have done this. To you.” She gasped in a deep breath as if she hadn’t taken a single breath the entire time she was speaking, as indeed she hadn’t.

            His eyes were riveted on her as she spoke and he leaned slightly forward toward her. He opened his mouth and was about to say her name when she shook her head and placed a finger on his lips."

~Grace Marshall

From my short story "The Affair"

The Warning

She had gone swimming that morning.

Somehow it had felt weird, as if I had a premonition that she was never coming back, but my sleep-slurred eyes couldn’t focus so I’d just turned over in bed. I had glimpsed that she was wearing a bathing suit but my muddled mind dismissed it as an error.

“I’m heading out,” was all she whispered. It was the same thing she normally whispered when she took her daily walk.

Chelsea had taken to long morning walks about two years ago and the effects provided me hours of exploration on the beautifully sculpted crevices of her body. My accusatory mind kept deriding me that I should have known she was leaving. A distance had begun visiting her hazel eyes and her voice had grown quieter.

Somehow, my heart always said she couldn’t leave. I felt caught off guard, slighted, I should have had at least an oral warning. Yet, I should have taken longer reading her eyes. Now I had nothing but the memory of them and a distant echo of long lost laughter.

Up until one o’clock that afternoon, my morning had been fairly normal. I’d rolled out of bed around ten and toasted myself a raisin bagel that I smothered with cream cheese. Chelsea’s work started at eight so her being absent didn’t raise any red flags. I just sat down at my laptop to pound out emails.

I wasn’t alarmed until my grumbling stomach caused me to look at the clock and I realized the time. Chelsea should have been home shortly after noon.

I fruitlessly called her cellphone. When I then called her work they said she’d called in sick. Vainly thinking maybe I’d find her still walking the beach, I closed my laptop and let my bare feet lead me across the sands. She was nowhere in sight and so I stopped and looked out at the ocean, hoping the blue rolling of the waves would strike an idea upon my tortured mind and that’s when I remembered the lavender bathing suit she’d been wearing that morning.

I gazed hopelessly at the ocean, my listless eyes no longer searching because I knew she was gone. The insatiable waves rolled up and lapped at my feet until it could grasp at my ankles. I watched them in disinterest as they also devoured the reminiscent marks of my bare feet upon the sand.

Chelsea hadn’t been swallowed up, she hadn’t been taken, but she had left. She had dived into the ocean that morning and forever left the beach I was standing on.

I let my gaze travel back to our tiny white house further up on the beach that was haphazardly circled by a quickly constructed wood panel fence. The area around the house was composed of sand but weeds and grass sprouts had managed to find a hold in several places and stretched hungrily toward the sun. The rays from the midday sun cast hot sparks of light upon my listless eyes.

 I trudged back toward the house, knowing I would already have several calls and voicemails from prospective investors, which just this morning meant so much to us. Well, to me, at least.. However, as I reached the small, dark metal gate that allowed entrance to the walkway leading to the front door, I couldn’t bring myself to go through it. I turned away and let my feet leave small patterns in the sand leading up to the end of the fence where my eyes landed on when it had gone wrong.

Tucked unto two wooden panels of the fence were her shoes. They were fairly new and bright pink. She had picked them out especially for strolling along the beach a week after I told her I was going to be working from home.

She’d thrown her arms around me and peppered my face with kisses. It meant I could spend more time with her.  A short two days later I started spending the majority of my time at the island in the kitchen, plugging away on my laptop and taking calls in the comfort of home and often her company. Then, three short days later, she went out for a few hours and came back with those shoes.

I couldn’t believe, after all this time, all she’d left me with was a broken heart and a pair of pink shoes.

THE END

~Grace Marshall

"Help Me Understand"

"Wow, I sound worse than ever

You have loved me never

My heart won't get that

I feel my emotions are a spoiled brat

Whoa, back up, what am I saying

For every one of these words I'll be paying

Only if I let them out

Then the world will have its doubts

I'm not totally insane

My emotions just fight my brain

Wow, I make no sense anymore

Talking as if gold makes me poor"

~Grace Marshall

From my poem, "Help Me Understand"

"Way Out"

"Broken inside

Trying to run

Trying to hide

Battered and bruised

So desperate for healing

So utterly used

Crying and sick

But even while dying

There is a slap and a kick

Trying to see

My body shaking

I wanna be free"

~Grace Marshall

From my poem, "Way Out"

"Here We Are Once Again"

"So here we are

Once again

Our hearts mending

Trying to win

A battle that's raging

Of love and hate

You are more decided 

But I was the one to wait"

From my poem, "Here We Are Once Again"

~Grace Marshall

The Rancher's Only Daughter

“Naomi, Naomi, Naomi,” the principal shook his head, tapping his pen against the papers on his desk.

            Naomi shrugged in response, letting her eyes wander around the walls of the principal’s small office.

            “Why did you have to go and do this?” The principal stood up and sat on the corner of his desk, his eyes narrowed in a stern glance. “You are usually a good kid.”

            “He tried to kiss me,” she protested, her eyes snapping to him.
            “Mhm.”

            “That’s sexual assault. Besides, his parents should have smacked that butthead up a little bit so I wouldn’t have had to fill in for them. I was just making up for all the years they didn’t do their job.”

            “It’s not your job to discipline Ralph,” the principal admonished.

            “And what kind of name is Ralph anyway?” Naomi’s face betrayed just how ridiculous and outdated she believed the name to be.

            The principal sighed in exasperation, “We are not here to discuss his name, Naomi.”

            “Well, it’s his fault,” Naomi retorted, then internally scolded herself for getting short with the principal.

            “Naomi, what do I do with you?” The slump of his shoulder’s clearly displayed the principal’s dismay.

            “Say ‘good job’ and give me a gold star,” Naomi mumbled, slouching in her chair.

            He laughed good-humoredly and stood up from the corner of his desk. “I don’t think Ralph would appreciate that very much.”

Naomi just shrugged in response and the principal chuckled at her once more. “So what do you propose I do then as a form of punishment, since I doubt a gold star would be a very good idea?”

            “Why do you find it necessary to punish me? I was just protecting my virtue,” Naomi’s annoyance was clear in her voice.

            “Well, if I just let you go around punching men cause they asked you out, other people will think it is acceptable to just smack people around.”

            “He’s a boy, not a man. I didn’t punch a man.”

            “Oh?” The principal raised his eyebrow.

            “Yes.”

            The principal pursed his lips for a moment, “Well, I’ve already given him punishment.”

            “Oh?” Naomi said, sitting up straighter, she opened her mouth to say more but the principal didn’t let her finish.

            “Yes,” the principal put up his hand at Naomi, motioning to her to cease in her train of thought. He cleared his throat after a moment, and continued, “And as for you…”

~~~

“Naomi!” A girl’s voice flung across the air before the speaker shortly embraced Naomi in a tight bear hug.

“Marie!” Naomi smiled, hugging her best friend back.

“So, what are they going to do to you?” Marie’s amber eyes were sincerely curious.

“Slap my wrist and send me home for a day’s suspension,” Naomi grumbled.

“Uh-oh,” Marie said, her gentle, endearing face clearly displayed her worry in deeply creased worry lines that spanned the width of her forehead.

“Tell me about it,” Naomi muttered.

“What’s your dad going to say?”

“I have no idea. It all depends on his reaction to the story. It’s Thursday though, so you know, it will just sort of just be like a three-day weekend,” Naomi shrugged in dismissal as she mentioned the silver lining to the dark cloud upon her day.
            “Well, good thing it’s so close to the end of the school year so you don’t have so much homework to worry about,” Marie joined in the optimism without hesitation, she was always looking on the bright side. Naomi’s short, spritely best friend always had a way of brightening her mood.

“Yup,” Naomi said, pulling her backpack onto her shoulder.

“What about Ralph?” Marie questioned hesitantly.

“What about him?” Naomi asked, unaware as to why Marie would have the slightest inkling of concern for the wellbeing of such a despicable character.

“Well, is he going to go tell his friends or something?”

“Yeah, and what’s he going to say, ‘I got beat up by a girl’? Get real.” Naomi chuckled.

“Good point,” Marie giggled and then moved to stand by Naomi’s side as Naomi began walking, and the two of them headed toward the high school parking lot.

~Grace Marshall

From my novel, "The Rancher's Only Daughter"