Got the idea for this at work and wrote it a few days later before I went to bed. It didn't turn out quite the way I wanted, but I don't really have any specific problems with it. Also, if my scanner wasn't utter crap, I'd be linking to a matching illustration. Oh well, for now you'll have to be content with the essay/story. Please enjoy, review, and be nice.

THE ONE THAT GOT AWAY

I don't tell this for you. I don't tell it for them. Rather, I tell it for myself. It is a story without surprises. This is, of course, because it deals with humans, who are never predictable, yet never shocking.

I remember when it started. The beginning is always fuzzy, but I remember. I remember being comfortable and safe. But most of all I remember feeling comfortable. Comfort is key. Because whenever a person is in a state of comfort, everything that follows is part of an effort to destroy that comfort.

Let me explain. My name is Erin Harris. I should have been born long ago. Instead, I came here. Like everyone else, it took me some time to realize what had happened. It's hard on a person when they find out that they are no longer alive. I never got bite into a fresh apple, or smell a rose, or breathe fresh air into my lungs. The first I saw of Earth was from up above, shortly after my arrival here.

My mother and father were sitting in a room, which gave me feelings of cold fear. All I remember seeing was white. Not gentle white like that of an angel's wings, but the stark white of a winter that has lasted far longer than intended. They sat very still, holding each other when the doctor came in. He stepped into the room, closed the door, removed his hat, and spoke. "I'm very sorry. There was nothing I could do." He proceeded to show something to my parents, mumbling something about umbilical strangulation. Before he left, he expressed his sympathy "for their loss."

"Loss?" The word hung loosely in my mind for several moments. I knew he was talking about me, but at that time I couldn't grasp the depths of his words. "What loss? I'm still here." At first I was confused, but when no one answered or even noticed, I began to become hysterical, screaming for someone, anyone, to deny my fear.

I squinted my eyes, trying to rid them of my weeping mother. When I opened them again, it was silent. I never felt so alone, but I was not afraid. It was a peaceful solitude. Time meant nothing in this new place and I eventually came to terms with my death.

I watched my sisters grow from infants to children. I saw them off on their first days of school and applauded at their school plays. Today was their first sleepover and I kissed them goodnight. They are six, and I would be eight. For six years, I've witnessed their joys and their failings, knowing that I would never be the one they could share them with.

As for my parents, I saw them hide their sadness from everyone they saw. Alone at night, they sometimes cried, but always smiled for their company. I knew they were hurting, but somehow, I always thought they could feel me. As they slept, peace came over their faces and I knew they were thinking of me because it was at those moments when I held their hands.

Seventeen years is a long time to sit behind the stage. Today would have been my graduation day. Each smiling face makes me wonder, 'Would she have been my friend? Could I have confided in her? Would he ever have kissed me?' And between Debra Farber and William Johnson, I call me name out and applaud alone.

Telling these things relieves me. Each time I wish to put myself among a group of people, I silently pray for them. As I have too cruelly learned, happiness, safety, and comfort are all short lived. But my prayer remains the same. 'May their happiness last far longer than mine ever would have.' What I could not have for myself, I instead wish upon others.

There are no surprises that go with being human. Today I should be blowing out 37 candles on a cake. Instead, I am blowing flowers petals at my father's funeral. I already know I won't be seeing him for some time. He has to ask forgiveness for each of his sins before I can see him. Will he recognize me when that day comes? I often wonder.

I've never eaten an apple or smelled a rose. I always ask my sister to take an extra bite or a second sniff and send it to me, but that's impossible. Tastes and scents cannot reach me here in heaven. Only love.

My name is Erin Harris. Tomorrow is my eighth birthday. I am a little girl like any other. I have a mother, a father, and two sisters. There is only one difference keeping me apart from all the other little girls. They can breathe, but I never got the chance. I am the one that got away.

~*~

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