Please read and comment!  I feel a little sad that no one ever seems to read my stuff and tell me how they liked it or how I could improve it!  (With a few exceptions of course).
 
((As a side note, I know there are some geographical/ cultural errors in this.  I need to go back and fix them.  I just never got around to it today, as that would require looking a bit into counties. Would Scandinavia or something like that fit?))

I kind of sympathize with the main character, which is why I wrote this story. It was also my effort at a more open ended story which I usually hate.  Did I do it alright?

I remember seeing that frail little form of a girl for the first time as I made my way down the dark winding streets.  I was on my way home after buying my groceries.  It’s not that seeing little children in the street was uncommon; Taiwan was a poor country.  It was the look of complete innocence that seemed to cling to her skinny body and filthy raggedy clothes that caught my attention.  The innocence seemed to cling to her as strong as life itself.  Yet I walked by that ghost of a girl without saying a word, without even glancing back. 

Looking back, I am ashamed to remember that I slept well that night.  In fact, I did for the next few days.  The days were constant, repetitious and dull.  The little girl never crossed my mind.  Except for the fact that I went to bed at night and got up in the mornings, the days were indistinguishable, and one was the same as the other.  TDYs were not meant to be exciting.

My outspoken younger peers made it clear that they disagreed with me.  If they didn’t say so themselves, their breath after long nights of partying, and who knows what else, certainly did. I was always the type to meticulously plan every minute of every day.  Perhaps this explains the repetitious days where nothing new ever presented itself to me.  From the minute I got up, to the minute I found myself crawling onto my hard mattress, I followed an austere schedule, and I allowed myself no room to fall behind.  I feared stumbling across something and getting off track, thus ruining my chances of carrying out my strict plans. 

Of course, it never bothered me to think that I might get ahead of schedule.  I just never did.  I had no reason to want a few quiet moments to myself before I drifted off into a dreamless sleep every night.  I had no caring, loving wife to whom I could write little notes, under a small desk lamp at night, on the day’s events to be sent off back home. I had no children to stop and think about, to wonder if they were still up at this lonely hour of the night or in bed cuddling their latest toy.  I had no friends to hang out with, and even if I did, my schedule wouldn’t permit it.  I was a stern, hard person to be around. 

This doesn’t mean I was unfriendly.  In fact, I was about the nicest guy among us.  I always scheduled time on the weekends to visit each of my peers, chatting to them about the military’s plans, my plans, the country’s plans, and their own plans.  They were amiable enough, and when it was time for me to go, they would wish me a good week until next time and tell me that they looked forward to seeing me again.  I wasn’t fooled by their shenanigans; the only thing that mattered to them was that I ranked above them.  This is the reason I never allowed myself extra time to spend with them.  I wasn’t about to try and befriend those who thought little of my ways.  Were they 47 and had they lived through three wars, they might have been a little more open and I might not have distanced myself from them. 

During one of these particular weekend visits, I was at the apartment of a younger man who, despite his slight grudge of my rank, I was a little fond of.

“Brian,” he says, “you’ve got to mellow out.” As if I haven’t heard this before, I give him a short gentle lecture on the importance of being prepared. “Oh, I can see you being prepared and all, but that’s not what I mean.  You’ve got to think of yourself once in a while.  Take a few minutes to stroll along and enjoy some peace.  Relax!  It’s not like there’s a war going on.” 

If only he knew, I thought to myself, that there is always a war going on.  Whether under your feet or in your mind, there is always some silent battle being fiercely fought until only one weary victor remains, too worn out to appreciate the spoils before him. 

“Eric,” I began, but he cut me off. 

“Brian, I am 26 and on my way to a future of who knows what all.  I worry less than you do and you sit in an office all day.  I sit here worrying about my wife and 3 year-old daughter.  Did Chloe make it to school today?  I wonder.  How about Emily?  Did she make it to work?  Has the house been robbed?  How are they managing?  An endless tirade of questions, I’m telling you!  Yet, you want to sit here and worry about getting off your own private schedule.  You stress yourself out way too much.  You worry me.” 

It was this short speech Eric made that day that made me start war.  My own war.  I was going to try as hard as I could to stay off schedule.  I was going to be spontaneous.  When I visited my peers on Wednesday, they asked me if something was wrong.  I smiled at them, confirming whatever suspicions they had brewed up in their callow minds.  Eric, however, acted as if nothing was out of the ordinary. 

I did my laundry on Saturdays, sometimes Thursdays, whatever day of the week pleased me.  The days were no longer continuous.  I went to bed whenever I was done with my chores; I ate when I got hungry. I went into my war with all the energy of a young teen out of the house for the first time.  However, as a few weeks went by, I found myself slowly slipping into my old ways, planning for what I was going to do tomorrow.  It wasn’t very long before I was my same old self.  My younger peers whispered behind my back.  

“He must be over it,” they would mumble to themselves.  But I knew better.  I had lost my own war; I succumbed to the stronger forces, slipped onto a well-trodden path.  I no longer took extra time out to talk with my peers on the weekends; I did my laundry on Thursdays at 5:00; I went to bed at 9:00. I went grocery shopping every Friday.  On the verge of winter, the earth started drawing up its own blanket woven of snow.  Snowshoes were essential to get to the store and back.  Coats were drawn tight, buttoned all the way to the top, brushing our chins.  It was a few weeks after my embarrassing and unnoticed defeat that I saw that little girl again. 

She was eight or nine and in the same dress that she had on last time.  Worn out sneakers, allowing a peek at her little toes, adorned her feet.   She looked like part of a picture, and like she hadn’t moved an inch since last time.  Innocent.  I passed her by and didn’t look back. 

Time flew and I had one more day to stay in Taiwan. Tomorrow I would be sleeping in my own bed, at 9:00 of course.  It was Friday, and though I didn’t need food, I made the trip just because it was on my schedule.  I passed the little girl, seen so often that she wasn’t given a second thought.  It was as if she were a part of the scenery, sitting there in her raggedy dress shivering from the extreme cold, snowflakes in a thin layer over her ratty black hair.  I walked right pass her, didn’t look back, and entered the store. I had time to kill in that store.

I walked around in the little cramped aisles for a while, mentally complaining about the outrageous prices.  Foreigners!  I looked at my watch.  Eight minutes to go.  Had I really been here that long?  I watched an older lady with her son walk among the aisles, buy some food, and leave the tiny store.  Three minutes to go.  I took off my glasses and carefully cleaned them on the outside of my bulky parka.

Two minutes.  I listened to my watch, ticking so slowly.  One minute.  I swatted at the flies hovering over the meat section.  

Finally.  I nodded my farewell to the cashier and stepped outside. During those twenty minutes, it had started storming.  Fat snowflakes fell on my hood and eyelashes.  I blinked them away and started planning for tomorrow, all the while keeping track of the time.  I had a shower to take, bags to pack, and quick visits to make.  I came to an abrupt halt and slowly turned a half circle.

There was that little girl, so pale that she almost blended in with the snow.  I hadn’t even noticed her in my self-calculations.  I took a step toward her, and she didn’t move.  Slowly, I came towards her, fighting my own war with every step.  My plans screamed at me mercilessly.  You have plans!  What are you doing?  Turn around! 

“What’s your name?”  I asked. She sat there not answering, not even looking up.

Angel, I thought.  Angel should be your name. She suddenly looked up.  Her chilling eyes, so full of innocence, pierced my soul.  They felt as if they were searching my whole past, present, and uture.  They saw all my faults.  I was but dirt at her feet. 

“Is the war over?” she asked. 

I smiled.  “There is no war,” I said.  You have plans!  “Don’t you know that?” She never answered.  She just looked at me with those cold blue eyes.  I stared at her for a while and pulled my coat off.  I put it around her shoulders, but she didn’t budge.  Turn around!  

When I saw she would say no more, I walked off, hunkered in the freezing snow.  I was two minutes behind schedule

Singelli : Wow great short story! You are a very talented writer. Does it have another chapter? Anyways really good writing, it really draws you in and lets you get to know the charactures. It wasn't what i expected but it is good none the less.

jlh : Aw thanks!  I wasn't thinking of writing another chapter, and I'm not sure how I would.  It was meant to be a short story with an open ending.  (I edited the top of my post while you were still reading it.     I added some questions for feedback on, too.)