The rain poured down, pummeling her
body. Each crystal drop stung like a shard of glass but the entire
mass formed a gray curtain whose weight gradually crushed her so she
bent almost double, propping herself against the cracked and
weathered concrete wall, still slightly warm from the earlier heat.
And the pain wasn't just on her skin. Her eyes burned and she could
feel the sharp stabbing of the flecks of glass there as well. But
this wasn't the rain running into her eyes. This came from within,
each raw, jagged shard forcing its way out through her eye, mangling
it in the process. Even in the downpour, she could feel the tears
run down her cheeks because they were warmer than the clammy rain
drops. The dark shape of the school building, the row of trees, the
bus turnaround, already hazy through the falling curtain, began to
waver and run together. The faded colors swirled together like a bad
paining, skewing everything towards uniform gray.
Panic gripped her chest. “I'm going
blind,” she thought desperately. “Blind, blind.” She gave a
strangled whimper and put her hands up to cover her eyes. But
neither the driving rain, nor her strange blindness, nor even the
darkness of her own hands, could shut out the sight she had seen, now
scarred into her eyes that even brutal tears were powerless to erase.
Back there in the building that she could no longer see, somewhere
off to the right, a man was dancing. Her prince, Calvin Goldes, was
dancing at her ball with another princess.
There was a noise in the hallway
outside her door and Ashley sat bolt upright in bed, startled out of
her day dream. It had been happening more and more often this past
month and she could not afford the distraction. Spring semester was
winding down and finals would soon be upon her. Like tonight, for
instance, she had another chapter of history to read for the quiz
tomorrow. The book lay open on the bed beside her, probably not even
on the right page, but she had made no headway on it. Was it really
any wonder that she was so distracted with prom less than a week
away? No one at school could talk about anything else it seemed.
But then, her perspective might be a little skewed since she sat
behind Dorthy in English who was always bursting at the seams with
the latest news about everyone's dates and dresses and dinner plans.
It was a constant struggle for Ashley every day to refrain from
punching her in the back of the head to make her be quiet.
Then there was Calvin in math class.
She knew he was going in the hopes of asking for a dance from
Clarissa, the dark haired, dark eyed beauty of the school, at least
in the opinion of everyone who mattered and, thus, also in the
opinion of Calvin. It was Clarissa she imagined in her recurring day
dream, outside and alone because Calvin had chosen to dance with
Ashley instead, not that that would ever happen and if, by some
miracle of fate, it did, Clarissa would hardly be left without other
options. The hot blood of anger bloomed in her face again as she
thought that Calvin would choose Clarissa instead of her even though
there was absolutely nothing for them to talk about. But then, there
was no use pretending his interest in Clarissa had anything to do
with her mind. She scowled at the mirror, flat chest, flat face,
freckles everywhere, and skin that looked perpetually sun-burnt. Was
it any wonder she didn't stand a chance against a thin and curvy body
with eyes like Princess Jasmine, a pert nose, and rich olive skin?
Well, no wonder if you accepted the unfair idea that attractiveness
was based on looks.
Savagely twisting the sheets between
her hands, she rolled onto her side and dragged the book up to her
face. There was nothing she could do about the fact that she had
been born without the physical qualities that gave her value, but she
could learn her history material and do well on the quiz tomorrow.
True, that would matter not at all to the relevant
parties—Calvin--but it was something she could do. And so she
steeled herself to do it, not because it would make a difference, but
just because it was the one thing she could control. But she could
not control even that very well. The acute emotional pain she felt
made her less than attentive to her studies which came back to bite
her during class the following day. When she got her grade back she
would normally have been upset but, now, it was Friday, the last day
before the dance, and, as per usual on such a day, the extremity of
her despair was such that it made her physically sick. Her stomach
was in knots and she did not touch her lunch but wandered about weak
and dazed, feeling hollow yet, simultaneously, like she was going to
puke. And, what made it even worse was that, even in this state, she
was never able to quite give up hope, the wild dream that something
magical would happen that would allow her to go. She found herself
searching carefully for some last minute note frantically slipped
into her locker or between the pages of her textbook by a secret
admirer. But the worst was the delivery of the pre-prom rose grams,
which usually took place around fourth period. Ashley had never
received one and the public humiliation of watching other girls get
as many as four in comparison, always made her sicker than ever. On
a few occasions, she had fled to the bathroom to defray the worst of
it but, normally, the pathetic idea that this, this might be the time
when she finally got one, kept her rooted to the spot for the full
torture. There had been the one time there was another Ashley in
class who got one and the presenter had had a coughing fit while
reading the last name and she had almost died of joy thinking it was
her, then had to leave the room to hide her tears.
Saturday was agony as well, though in
a different way. True, she was no longer surrounded by happy eager
people, about to enjoy what she could not but, outside of school, she
lacked anything to distract her from what would happen in a few short
hours. Frequently, she found herself looking up at the clock on her
dresser, counting the time left before IT happened. Even though hope
was past. Ticket sales closed on Friday so, even if someone did want
to take her, it wouldn't matter now. Unless, he had bought two
tickets just on the off chance she would agree to go but, no, that
was beyond ridiculous. Finally, late in the afternoon, she fled out
into the back yard, where there were no clocks to taunt her. There
had been a light shower earlier and the gray clouds overhead
threatened more but Ashley paid no heed. Nor did she care that the
grass was still wet and the soil beneath turned to mud. It sucked at
her bare feet and left wet streaks across her jeans as she ran across
the yard, finally collapsing near the oak tree in the back with the
flower bed around it. The point of this mad dash was to wear herself
out so she could no longer think straight, but now that she was older
the distance was no longer sufficient to do so and, as she collapsed
onto the damp ground, her breathing was slightly faster but not the
desperate gasping she had longed for. Denied this last refuge, she
slumped forward and wept with helpless rage.
This is a short story sample.
Read the full story here.
© Amanda RR Hamlin 2025
