Short Story / Elise Carter
The light above the mirror hummed dully as Elise Carter peered at her awkwardly large nose, screaming insults at herself in her head. She paid no heed to the pounding on the locked door behind her or to the screams from her roommates Jessi and Rachael as they desperately tried to contact her. As if half in a trance, she opened a drawer and started muttering incoherently to herself. Elise, with tears streaming down her face, pulled a razor from the open drawer and began to trace her veins with it. “Everything has been Hell since Mom and Dad died…. Worst seven years of my life.” She giddily watched the river of crimson seep from her arms in a light-headed stupor. More voices screamed from beyond the door, still she paid no mind. A tiny spider crawled down from the ceiling and dangled before her glazed-over eyes. Somehow, shock managed to override her lack of blood, causing her to shriek uncontrollably. She didn’t notice the boot that crashed through the door. Or Ron, who wore the boot, when he came through and, with Harold, pulled her out to newly arriving EMTs.
Elise saw her parents in their car; she hadn’t been there when the semi hit them, but she’d seen it every night in her dreams since the incident, as if she’d been sitting in the back seat of the Saturn station wagon. She still saw it, just less frequently. She saw the icy curve on the highway, the semi’s inability to break, her dad being swallowed by the door and the dash, her mother crumpling under him, and the whole car warping into an accordion. All the while, Elise sat there, utterly helpless. She saw the semi as it approached through her window and met the front corner of the wagon. She wanted to scream and cry, to warn her father, but she couldn’t move, only watch.
After this, the dream always flashed to the funeral. She had been there, with her Grandmother, bawling her eyes out in the beaming sun and cloudless sky that was cruelly out of character for a funeral. She had wanted it to pour; she wanted the weather to be as miserable as she was, but no such luck. But this time, it got darker at the funeral. It was still sunny, and the birds still sang, but everything was darker, like a picture developed without enough exposure time. And it only got dimmer as every painstaking detail of the ceremony was recounted, just as it always had been. Eventually, it grew so dark that Elise couldn’t even see herself, seven years younger. Only her sobbing was left. And eventually, that was gone too.
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I’m not sure I understand the point of this story. At first it seems like Elise is displeased with her appearance and that is why she’s cutting herself. Later however, we find out that she’s in a depressed state due to her parents dying, making the first sentence sort of useless and misleading.
Also this sentence:”Or Ron, who wore the boot, when he came through and, with Harold, pulled her out to newly arriving EMTs.” is a bit of a mess, though it’s more than likely that it’s simply that the “and” is misplaced.
You make the point that Elise would see her parents death everynight in her dreams and then sort of contradict that, saying that she saw it less now. I think the rest of that paragraph is good, and the description of the crash is done well.
I like the decription of the sky, the phrase ” being cruelly out of character” helps relate the reader to the Elise and how she feels. It’s sort of confusing however when it’s said that this time the scene is darker, as it was never really stated that she was dreaming. I realize the oppurtunity is there now that she is passed out, but even that’s never stated, I just assume she is.
I think the premise of the story is fine, perhaps a bit cliche but it’s hard to get away from that sometimes. I enjoyed it for the most part, just some small things a quick re-write will fix. Also it might help if there is a bit more closure on the subject. I assume that by the ending she died, but it’s too vague, you don’t need to expressly tell the reader she’s dead, but a few more words would be good. Maybe some more buld up would be better, as the story is titled after the main character yet we learn very little about her, and it’s sort of hard to care that she dies at the end…presumably.
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Nayt, I’m noticing a theme of yours. I like this one with mucho gusto! The way you show the fading of her life is really nice—sobbing. And I like that you play with dreams. It’s perfect that it’s what she sees as she passes.
You should make an anthology of suicide.
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