Short Story 1

         I stare blankly out the window, watching the trees sway in the crisp Autumn breeze. I watch was one lonely leaf loosens itself from a branch and flutters to the ground. My yard resembles a colorful mosaic of orange, red, and yellow; I haven't raked it in weeks. I haven't done much of anything in weeks. All I can think about is Robert. I close my eyes as images begin to flood my mind.

         "I need a drink," I think aloud as I pull my blanket tighter around me. I slowly walk into the kitchen, listening to the soft thuds of my feet on the hardwood floor. I open the refrigerator, grab the bottle of Smirnoff Ice, and head back into the living room. I glance at the clock.

         "Three in the afternoon and I'm already drinking." I had hit a new low. But this eased the pain. It lessened the worry and the doubt, the fear and the sadness. I could forget for an hour or so. For these reasons, almost every day for the past year I had drank myself into a stupor, passed out in the living room, woken up the next day at noon, and done it all again. But it's all Robert's fault. If he hadn't gone, if hadn't felt the need to protect his country then I wouldn't be this. If he wouldn't have tried to be the hero then he wouldn't have gone missing. I never would have to listen to those two insincere army men tell me that he's missing and presumed...I can't even think the word.

         I take a sip of my vodka, wanting to numb everything. The alcohol taints my breath, leaving a tast in my mouth that I equate to weakness, to failure. What would he think of me if he were here? I take another sip, wallowing in my pain.

         The faint sound of a car pulling into my driveway reaches my ears. I stand and glance out the window. It's the black car. It's that damn black car that took away my happiness, my hope, my Robert. I sit back down, not wanting to know any more, wanting only to be ignorant. The door bell rings. The sound pierces my heart and causes my stomach to reel. Slowly I stand and descend the stairs. The door bell rings again. I reach the front door and reluctantly grasp the door knob. My hand trembles, anticipating what awaits me on the other side of that door. I turn the handle and open the door.

         My eyes meet the gazeof two smiling brown eyes staring down at me. I try to speak. I try to move. It's as if every muscle in my body has frozen. Time itself has frozen. And now every emotion I've felt, every thought I've had, every drink I've consumed in the past year didn't matter; he had come home. My Robert, my brother.