(Fiction)

My name is Cynthia and I am twenty-five years old. I am in my second year of college in Brooklyn, New York after being in jail for five years. I was in jail for attempting to kill a woman but if you’ll just hear me out, I’ll tell you how it all happened. I was born and raised in Miami, FL with my mom and older sister, Melissa. My father died when I was ten. My sister was into women. She was lesbian or bisexual, or something. After I graduated high school I moved to Brooklyn to live with Melissa. At the time, she was attending New York University for film and dating a woman named Jasmine. I didn’t like Jasmine from the moment I met her. I knew that moving to New York would change Melissa but that woman had my big sister wrapped around her little finger.

"Where are you going? What time will you be back? Who will you be with? Why are you on-line so long? Why does she keep calling you? What’s going on between you two?" All these types of questions she would ask Melissa and my sister didn’t like to argue so she would just answer Jasmine so she would be quiet, or Melissa just wouldn’t go out to avoid the whole hassle all together.

I had intended to study at Pratt for graphic design. Melissa and I were going to work together on films. But six months after I moved in with her our mother died. She was electrocuted by a power line that was on a tree in her back yard. The neighbors said that she was picking mangos to give away but within seconds of touching the tree she collapsed, dying before an ambulance got to her. Melissa and I flew down for funeral arrangement and to talk to attorney’s about her house and will. After my mom died, I felt like Melissa was all I had. Not being into guys and relationships at the time I really felt like Melissa was my best friend. I just wanted to finish school and start making films, that was my dream. It turned out that Melissa and I had received twenty-five thousand dollars a piece after our mom died. But we wouldn’t get it until we turned twenty-five years old. I was eighteen then and Melissa, twenty-three.

It was hard moving on after my mom’s death but slowly things seemed to get back to normal. Melissa worked out a deal with her professors to make up her missed work and I just decided to work a year before enrolling. Melissa was still dating Jasmine. We split the rent three ways for the top floor of a brownstone in Bedford-Stuyvesant. One day after about a year of my living in their guest room I heard them arguing. They argued a lot but lately it had been getting worse. Melissa left and didn't' come back until the next morning. Jasmine was crying and apologizing until she smelled smoke on Melissa’s clothes and liquor on her breath.

Jasmine really hated when Melissa smoked because Melissa only smoked when she was mad at her. Melissa wasn't in the mood to be around Jasmine, she said she wanted to be with me. A little while after Melissa came home one of her coworkers called her, a female. Jasmine was rude to the girl and hung up. "Melissa is busy!"

Melissa got angry and they argued again. Jasmine threw the phone and it hit Melissa in the stomach. Melissa got up and pushed Jasmine into the wall. I had never seen my sister so upset, I tried to step in between them because I didn't want the fight to get any worse.

"Melissa, relax," I said but she didn't hear me. The more Jasmine put her hand in Melissa's face the angrier she got.

"I'm telling you, Jasmine, you better get your hands out of my face."

"Why? What are you going to do, hit me? I dare you," Jasmine said and pushed Melissa on the side of her head. She pushed her again and Melissa lost her balance. She almost fell. Melissa punched Jasmine in the face. They fought for a while before I tried to pull them apart again.

"Get off me, you little *****!" Jasmine yelled.

"Exscuse me?" I asked. Did I hear her right?

"I said, get off of me, you stupid little *****."

Bam! I threw Jasmine down on the floor. Melissa had asthma and she started to have an attack. I got really scared because she hadn't had an attack in over a year. I left Jasmine on the floor and went to look for Melissa’s pump. I pulled open all of her drawers tossing things out, but the one I found didn't work and I couldn't understand what Melissa was trying to say. I called 911 and in the mean time found a paper bag and gave it to Melissa, hoping it would help her breathe. I started to feel anger and hatred building up inside of me. Jasmine didn't even get up off the floor, she didn't even look concerned. I held Melissa in my arms stroking her forehead and talking to her as she tried desperately to pull air from the paper bag. A minute later I heard sirens and the doorbell. I ran to open the door and let the paramedics in.

“What happened to her?” one of them asked, referring to Jasmine.

“Forget her, I called you for my sister over here. Hurry, she’s having an asthma attack and can barely breathe.”

“And her?” Another medic asked.

“Her? It’s her fault! Let her lay there,” I said. He ignored my answer and checked Jasmine. I walked over to Melissa and the first medic. She kept saying that was that she was tired and wanted to lay down. But she said her chest was hurting.

“Do you want to go to the hospital?”

“Yeah,” she said softly.

“Ma’am,” the first paramedic said. “My name is Eric. Do you want to come along with us?”

“Yes. Of course!” I said. By that time Jasmine was sitting across the room. Nothing was wrong with her.

“Are you all right to walk Melissa?” Eric asked.

“Yeah.”

“Okay, let’s go on out. What’s her hospital?”

“Long Island College Hospital.”

“I want to go!” Jasmine said. I looked at her like she was out of her **** mind.

“It’s Okay,” Melissa said. “She can come.” We got in the ambulance and the paramedic asked more questions about Melissa’s medical history. But she started coughing again and Eric told the driver to go to Interfaith Hospital since it was closer.

_______________

Have you ever ridden in the back on an ambulance? It’s cold and scary with needles and cotton swabs and, well, you get the point. With the siren wailing, Jasmine and I rode along sitting against the wall, secured by seat belts. Eric sat behind Melissa. I wanted to choke Jasmine. Melissa complained of pain off and on. We got there really quick and I sat nervously waiting. Every five seconds the hospital doors swung open. People were getting upset about waiting. There was a loud speaker calling out names. And there was an older black man complaining that he was hungry.

“What are you doing. Mr. Washington?” A nurse asked him. He was taking off the hospital gown.

“I’m going to get something to eat. I just got fixed up from a stab wound, y’all ain’t gon’ starve me to death!”

I started laughing. It was really funny to me because he was serious. He started putting on his shoes, getting ready to go.

“Stop tripping, Ms. Lady, I’ll be right back!”

(The rest of the story can be found at: groups.yahoo.com/group/cherilnclarke)

Let me know what you think!!!!!

wow!!!! dis was tyght da whole story was smooth
u did it here !

how you gon leave me hanging? i attempted to read at yahoo but couldn't... you really should post the rest here. i was really involved. (and that's a good thang.) :spinstar:

thanks Rich!!!

wild ...i will post it here....but was trying to keep my work at a central location ya know!

sorry i took so long...have been crazy busy...but, here you go!

(Con't to End)

Another nurse came over and told him that they would bring
some food over and got him to settle down. Two hours later when I
was startled out of my sleep by someone tapping me on the shoulder.
"Cynthia Tyler?"

"Yes?"

"Melissa will be able to go home," the familiar voice said.
I looked up to see Melissa standing above me. She smiled when she
saw me and ignored Jasmine.

"How are you feeling, big sis?"

"I'm all right, just tired that's all."

"Melissa, I'm sorry," Jasmine pleaded.

"Yeah," Melissa said. "Let's get out of here, I'll tell you
what the doctor's said," she said to me and Jasmine followed not
saying anything else. We hailed a Gipsy cab on the and headed home.

"Where you goin'?"

"Stuyvesant between Han**** and Halsey," I said to the
driver. "How much?"

"Twelve."

"Twelve? It should be about six."

"Seven," he said.

"All right, that's better. She was sick not stupid," I
said.

Melissa said that they gave her an EKG to check her heart
rhythm but it was fine. The doctor said that her pain was most
likely stress related. He told her to take it easy and go to her
primary care doctor if the pain came back.

"The house is coming up, on the left hand side," I told the
driver. "Ok, right here." I gave him seven dollars and we got out.

"Melissa will you please talk to me?" Jasmine asked when we
got upstairs.

"I don't have anything to say except we're through. Cynthia
and I will be moving out just as soon as I can find an apartment for
us."

I smiled. I was glad. It's about time she ended her
relationship with Jasmine. Nothing good came out of it. And who's
to say what will happen the next time they have a fight.

"Melissa, no, you can't leave. Please, I'm sorry. It won't
happen again."

"I know, because I won't be around to see it."

"Please, Melissa, I promise we'll get better. We won't
fight. I'll stop stressing you. Please?"

"I'm going to lay down," Melissa said. And she went in my
room. I for one, was praising Jesus of Nazareth. Thank God Melissa
is finally getting away from Jasmine, I thought.

The house was quiet for the next couple of days. Melissa
worked as a customer service representative on nights and weekend
while she attended school during the day. I was a receptionist for
small cigar company in Lower Manhattan. Melissa was serious about
moving out. She told me that she spoke with some roommate services
and apartment finders. But finding decent place to live in New York
is hard. You can be on a waiting lists for like eight months before
something comes through. So we worked, and waited. She and Jasmine
were only cordial since their last fight. Melissa stayed in the
room with me. But I could tell Jasmine was starting to weasel her
way back on to Melissa's soft side. I was hoping we could hurry up
and get up out of there. But one day, our plans changed.

The company Melissa worked for was having budget problems
and Melissa got laid off. I didn't make enough money to pay for a
place of our own. We ended up staying with Jasmine, still splitting
the rent three ways. The more time went on, the closer they got
back to each other. I hated that we didn't get to move out. But I
swore on my father's grave if Jasmine stressed my sister to the
point of hospitalization again I would kill her *** myself.

Melissa was unemployed for six months until she and Jasmine
started fighting again. Melissa was a stubborn independent woman
and she couldn't stand it that she was starting to become more and
more dependent on Jasmine. The questions and nosy behavior started
to come back. Little arguments between them started to surface
between them frequently. Melissa had more chest pains and her
doctor put her on Zoloft saying it may help. There was nothing
physically wrong with her. All of her tests, even blood tests came
back normal. She started experiencing shortness of breath,
especially when coming up stairs. One day when we were coming out
of the Franklin Avenue subway station and Melissa had to wait a few
minutes before we could go home. She was really tired and out of
breath. And she had chest pain. Jasmine went to the doctor with
her again. She told me that she had another EKG but there was no
problem. They even did another test where they could see her heart,
sort of like a sonogram but it was normal and her chest cavity was
normal also. Stress, the doctor said. Stress.

Melissa and Jasmine were back to fighting at least three
times a week. One day Melissa yelled out, "I hate you. I regret
the day I ever met you!" After Jasmine threw some of her photos of
female models.

Jasmine slapped Melissa in the face. I ran to the kitchen
to where they were and pushed Jasmine as hard as I could. I punched
her in her mouth. Melissa couldn't really defend herself because of
her sickness, she may have ended up back in the hospital and I
wasn't having that. Melissa was more than a sister, she was my best
friend and I loved her like I loved my mom. She always looked out
for me and I would be damned if some psycho was going to have her
literally go crazy. Jasmine hit me and grabbed a knife. We
struggled back and forth, Melissa yelled for us to stop. But I
couldn't, I had too much of anger in me and I couldn't stop. The
knife fell from Jasmine's hand without hurting anyone. She fell on
the floor. I kicked her and was getting ready to punch her in the
face until I got tired but Melissa yanked me from behind. "Stop.
Cynthia, please stop. I don't feel so good."

My attention immediately switched and I turned around to
walk Melissa to the bedroom. I was tired from fighting with Jasmine
but I had to take care of Melissa. No one else in the family knew
what she was going through. They knew nothing about Jasmine and
their fights. I lay Melissa on the bed and ran to get her some
water. After I came back in the room to give it to her Jasmine
rushed in with the knife headed toward me. Her hair was wild and
she looked insane. I dropped the glass, it shattered , the water
spilled and Melissa screamed. Everything happened so fast Jasmine
missed me and the knife went into Melissa's chest. Everything
stoppe and my hands started to tremble. I thought I was going to
have a nervous break down. It seemed like everthing was happening
in slow motion.

"Melissa! Melissa!" I cried. Blood was spilling out of her
chest and she was coughing it up. The knife was still in her.
Jasmine was standing still. She realized that she missed me and
stabbed Melissa instead. I called 911 and then cradled Melissa in
my arms. I took the knife out gently and I tried to stop the
bleeding but I couldn't. She was crying. Her body was soaked in
blood, sweat, and tears. The more she coughed the more blood came
up and gushed out of her chest. Her body started shaking and I she
was having a hard time breathing.

"Why? Oh God Why?" I cried. "Hang on Melissa. Sis, please
hang on. It's going to be ok," I said, I hoped, and I prayed.
Melissa's body shook violently and then stopped. Blood was
all over the floor and bed. She stopped breathing. She stopped
blinking. She stopped everything. "No!" I cried, "Melissa wake up
please! God please don't take her away from me please." But it was
too late, Melissa died in my arms before the ambulance even
arrived. I don't know if it was from the blood loss, the stab
wound, or the asthma attack. I closed her eyes. I closed my eyes
and I sobbed. My body started to tremble and I cried out loud.
There was nothing that could be done by the time the ambulance got
to her. Our home turned into a crime scene and both Jasmine and I
were detained. The put her on the stretcher, and covered her up.
All of a sudden an uncontrollable rage swelled up inside of me.

"You killed my sister!" I yelled at Jasmine and jumped on
her. I pinned her to the ground with my hands around her neck I
tried to kill her right then and there but one of the paramedics
pulled me off of her. She gasped for air. More police and a
coroner came in the house next. They were holding me back, but I
was trying to break free.

"I want to press charges!" Jasmine yelled. "She tried to
kill me. Melissa's death was an accident. I was trying to protect
myself from her sister who was trying to stab me."

"What!" I yelled. She was lying. It was a good thing the
cops were holding me because I really would have kicked her out the
rest of her mind.

But when things got organized in the house, I was the one
who ended up leaving the house in hand cuffs. I was numb all over
in my blood stained clothes. Melissa's body was flown back to Miami
for her funeral. I was sentenced to five years for attempted murder
and Jasmine got off on an insanity plea. I drew a lot of pictures
while I was in jail. I always loved to draw and shoot photographs.
I studied hard and even made my own camera. I got out shortly
before my twenty-fifth birthday. I didn't know exactly what I
wanted to do for myself when I got out. I felt so lonely.

I am twenty-five now and I received the money that my mother
left for me, both my share and Melissa's. I think I may enroll in
school and live out my original dream. I have a box full of
Melissa's old photos and writings that I'm think I can put to
photography and make a book. She was a great writer with lots of
potential and I think that she can still touch people's lives even
in absence. I don't know, I just want to be able to tell her
melissa and help someone else.

By Cheril N. Clarke
(c) 02'

Now that really go me going ya story is very nice keep it coming !!!