Her Name Was Sheila

His name was Milton. That’s what eventually did him in. Milton McCrawler. As if that last name wasn’t enough his mother, for some reason he never fully grasped, named him Milton.

Now if this was 1955, it probably wouldn’t have bother him as much. He probably wouldn’t have been pushed around so much in school, probably wouldn’t be looked down on even as an adult. We’ll never know. Well, there is one thing we do know. If it had been 1955, Milton wouldn’t have had the idea to go to the store, buy the weapons so eagerly provided to him and proceed to gun down his office. Every last one of them.

Except Sheila. Sweet Sheila. Sheila never made fun of his name. She even defended him once. Milton remembered it fondly. It was near the coffee machine, at 12:34pm, on the 5th of June, 2011. He also remembered thinking it was fate that it was near that same coffee machine he found her hiding. He didn’t blame her for hiding, even as she cried harder as he approached her. He knew he had to look a mess, covered in the blood of the people who made him so miserable for three years, four hours and thirty-five minutes. It was her fear, in fact, that made him realize his next step. See, Milton has planned this day for a while; three years, three hours and thirty-five minutes to be exact. Sheila was the one anomaly. He had never planned for there to be survivors. Well, a survivor.

As Sheila cowered in front of him, biting one of her beautiful lips to keep from screaming, Milton decided. And then he turned around, walked to the elevator, pressed the button for the ground floor and smiled.

But this story isn’t about Milton or his lifelong struggles revolving around his name. This story is about Sheila and what happened to her after the police shot down Milton McCrawler on the ground floor in the building of her very first job.

This is a story of after.

Girl In The Hallway

“Thanks, you know, for not letting me get trampled. I, uh, need to get to class.” Smooth, I was not. I was just trying to get out in one piece before he laughed in my silly sophomore face or, god forbid, made a comment about the dopey staring I was sure he had noticed. It didn’t help that I was dressed in the new clothes Allison had “helped” me pick out. I felt so uncomfortable in them, almost like I was naked. As I started to make a b-line toward anywhere there wasn’t a cute boy I’d made a fool of myself in front of, that hand was there again. That knee melting smile was still on his face and I’m sure my face was redder than a strawberry.

“When one stops a near tragic hallway trampling, it’s customary for the savior to make sure the victim is alright and, if she’s as cute as you are, it’s also expected to find out her name.”

I stood in shock for a moment before I closed my mouth and swallowed. “Annie. Annie... uh.. Williams.”

He dug his hands into his pockets, looking amused at my timid response. “Well, Annie Uh Williams, I’m Oliver Kent.”

“Oh, I know.” It came out of my mouth before I could stop myself and I felt my eyes widen in horror.

I saw the corner of his mouth twitch slightly. “My reputation as the hallway hero precedes me then? This wasn’t a clever ruse to meet me was it? That would be flattering, but definitely put a cramp in the whole hero, damsel in distress thing I was going for before asking you out.”

“Oh no, I promise the almost squished into oblivion thing was very m-” My brain then caught up with my mouth. “Ask me out?”

His mouth twitched again before he gave me a heart stopping toothy grin, “Oh you caught that did you. Well I guess now I better follow through. How about Friday? Pizza, a movie, a complete lack of near tramplings.”

“Me, movie....pizza?” I’m sure he was dazzled by my wit by this point. Trying to relieve some of the building tension, I started to laugh. To my despair, it came out a sharp giggle that made me wince and quiet instantly. His smile just grew wider.

“How about this,” he reached into his pocket and pulled out a cellphone, holding it out to me, “Put in your number, I’ll call you tonight and ask you out all over again. Maybe then you’ll have a stronger opinion on the whole movie, pizza thing.”

End of Novel

There are no prom queens in my story. No captains of the football team. No knights in shining armor or true loves kiss. No sappy endings where the pain and suffering is forgiven and forgotten as a sweet sunset lights the sky and music swells to fill your heart with a sense of fulfilment.

My story is all about life. And how just being alive, doesn’t mean you’re living.

My story is one all too common, all too true and all too often hidden.

Above all and most importantly, my story is about the hard learned fact that no one can save you if you can’t save yourself.

And you can save yourself.

Snippets and whatnot

This... is a place for writing snippets and thusly will probably be seen by no one.

Moo.