GPPL Short Stories: Speaking Bad of the Dead

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Every time I miss Deanna more than usual, I visit our place. Here in the forest, I can almost feel his presence. We loved taking long walks, and there was no problem we couldn’t cope with as we walked through the woods, creating our own trails through the dense bush as we chatted. Deanna was my person, my soul sister, and our conversations ranged from mundane to ecstatic intense, an intensity you can only achieve when you are with someone who truly sees you.

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We met at a yogalates of all things boot camp, about four years ago. I was recently in a relationship with Marshall, and at that stage in love where I wanted everything to be perfect, including my body. Determined to starve and tone up from the ten extra pounds I’d clung to, I walked in on the first day to find myself by Deanna’s side. Wonderful Deanna with her shy hunched over to match mine, and her half smile, half wince that told me she didn’t feel like she belonged there either. We went together that day and every day, until our two-week bootcamp experience ended. At that time, our friendship was cemented. Neither of us attended a yogalates class again, but we had met and our friendship came to vibrant life through coffee dates, text chains, and of course, our weekend nature walks. We both preferred to exercise here, away from civilization with its prying eyes.

It pains me to say that things went wrong for us. When Deanna passed away, we hadn’t spoken in quite a while. What she and Marshall had done to me was terrible in itself, but to be perfectly honest, I hated her affair even more because it stole Deanna from me. Stripped, I would put on my hiking boots and hike through the woods, moving at punishing speeds in an attempt to exhaust my loneliness. Despite my misery, reconciling was not an option. I neither forgive nor forget, and Deanna knew it. She knew perfectly well when she took Marshall from me.

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Yet he terribly missed them both. While my relationship with Marshall had long since left the honeymoon stage, he was good to me, he helped me keep the darkness at bay. And lose Deanna, my soul mate by his own betrayal it was like walking with an open, infected chest wound. He kept talking to her, because it was the only way to get by. Please help me. I am so scared, so angry. Terrified, I’ll never stop feeling like this.

you Will, my imagined Deanna would respond fiercely. This too shall pass. I know you.

At that point, I stop and wipe the sweat from my forehead. Aside from the blood pounding in my ears and the chirping of birds, it is silent. And yet I know that I am in the right place; I know these forests like the back of my hand. As remote as it is here, almost impenetrable with trees that look identical to inexperienced eyes, I know exactly where I am.

It is where I feel his presence most strongly.

As if it were a signal, I hear a screech. A voice, so weak now, so hoarse, as if it had been screaming for hours. Really silly, she must know that no one will listen to her. Having reached the tree on the right, I reach down and remove the gag from his mouth. “It’s you,” he croaks. “You’re back. Please let me go. I’m so sorry. Please. Don’t leave me here again. Please . “

I look at her in disgust, this lying, scheming, pathetic pile of garbage disguised as my devoted friend Deanna. His arms and legs are tightly tied to a tree, he has no chance of leaving here. This is your final resting place. Sadly, as much as I miss her, it’s time for her to shut up. Deanna is dead, after all, since she betrayed me, and the dead don’t speak.

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Slowly, I reach for her. Goodbye my friend. Rest in peace, ”I whisper, as I force the gag back into his mouth. She weakly tries to shake her head, to say something else, but I’m done listening, and it’s time I let Deanna go.

I turn to leave, aware of the crunchy leaves under my boots. It’s a shame to lose a friend so unexpectedly and then a fiancé so soon after. Poor Marshall has passed away too, you see, and while I didn’t spend much time with him in the woods, I suspect I’ll soon feel his presence here too, perhaps as strongly as Deanna’s.

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You’re a writer? All 34 ^th The Collins Annual Writing Contest is open for submissions. This year’s theme is “Beyond,” and participants are invited to participate in a short story that explores this theme. Stories must be the work of a single author, unpublished, and 2,000 words or less. The deadline to enter is Monday, February 28 at 8:00 pm.

Tara Wiebe / HHead of Customer Service at GPPL