Hope's Tears

I didn't mean for this blog to be all short stories, but it seems to be the way I best translate things that I want to say, without making them terribly cheesy.



I am sitting next to the woman I love. Her very presence fills me with joy. But I also know that she is about to die.

She is driving to Starbuck's to have coffee with a friend. I am trying to convince her to do otherwise.

The windows are down and her beautiful blonde hair is blowing in her face. Her eyes are crisp blue, and all her features are perfectly formed. But there are tears streaming down her face. The saddest part is, she doesn't even know why. Even sadder, I do know why. But she keeps ignoring me.

I speak her name as sweetly as possible. She snorts, looks out the window, and smashes her hand into the radio button, blasting music.

She hates me, I know this. But I love her, and I don't want her to die.
"Please, you have to trust me."

She pretends as if she can't hear me, and turns the music up louder. It is a song about cheap fake romance, but she views it as true love. She tries to focus her mind to her first kiss, desperate for an escape. Then she remembers that I was there watching her, warning her. She only now remembers that the guy stole her purse. She sobs even harder, looks at me in rage that I can read her thoughts.

"All I ask for you to do is trust me."

She smashes the radio again, this time too hard. She flicks her hand to unsuccessfully numb the pain.

"Trust you? Really now?" Her tone is sarcastic and mocking. I know what is coming next, but I let her continue anyways.

"Do you remember last time I 'trusted you'? A random fool busts into our house when I was seven years old, mind you. You said the same exact thing then as now, to trust you. And I did. He points a gun at my head, then at the last second shoots my entire family. All of them, except me. I wish he had killed me. And then you tell me you will always be with me!? Like that's supposed to mean something, you sick bastard! You've never done a single thing for me, except make life harder." She is screaming, and takes a deep breath to catch up. People are staring through their car windows, and she is too enraged to notice.

"You never help me. You've made me life Hell, and you are Satan torturing me."

She is shocked at the deep, endless rage within herself.

I look ahead at the swerving semi headed for us. She doesn't have much time. I can't let her die. I love her more than anything in the world.

I could tell her that the semi is heading towards us, but she won't listen. I tell her anyways.

She looks straight at me, ignoring the road. She won't waste her breath to speak to the scum of the earth.

Tears pour down my face. I whisper her name. "I love you."


I watch out the window of Starbuck's sipping on my mocha frappuccino. I sneak another glance at my phone. She is now 23 minutes late. We've been best friends since high school, and she'd never once been this late.

I look back out the window. A full-size semi is swerving down the road. My mouth opens in horror. I sprint out the door and start screaming. I look to see who is in the semi's path and am horrified to see it is my friend's old beater. I almost faint, when I notice an attractive man in the passenger seat. I instantly feel guilty at my surprise she could land hot guy. She has only has an okay personality, and is, to be frank, ugly. I shove the thought aside though, she does not deserve to die.

There is now only a meter between the two vehicles. At the last second, the man reaches over, and jerks the wheel just enough so that the semi hits him full force. The two spin, and eventually stop, as does all traffic. I run to my friend. She walks out of the car without a scratch, and falls to her knees, rubbing her face in the dirt. I look inside for the man who sacrificed his life for an almost unlovable woman.