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It was a spectacular sight and I could see a few people taking photos of the storm from across the road, an older couple were even holding up a selfie stick. Watching the man fumble with his selfie stick, I imagined myself doing the same thing, stepping out into the rain, waiting for the build-up of static electricity that would signal a lightning strike.

Could the same strange event that happened to my sister happen to me? I shook my head and laughed.

The One I Left Behind

But still, the storm beckoned. Where are you? Come into the storm. Was I really hearing her or was I making up the words? I knew she was most likely dead, her body under the ground, hidden for all time. But… she could be alive, waiting at the edge of the storm, waiting for me. I grabbed my cap and slipped it over my ponytail, then tightened my hoodie around my neck.


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The door screeched as a rumble of thunder shook the house. I waited, holding my breath. I could hear my mother chatting away on the phone in the kitchen, oblivious to my escape. It was cooler outside then I had expected, the flurries of wind brushing my hair to and fro across my face. I tucked the loose strands under my hat, shrugging my shoulders against the chill as I pressed on the latch of the back gate, stepping out into the laneway. The sky grew darker as I continued forward, fat droplets of rain seeping through my thin, lightweight hoodie and onto my skin.

I was almost at the park when I turned away.

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What was wrong with me? Even if she had left me behind and slipped into another world, how would I ever know? I glanced once more into the storm, my heart yearning for a sign, for anything to signal that my sister was alive. The back of my neck began to tingle, lightly at first like a gentle caress, before a wave of pins and needles swept down my arms.

What was going on? Was this my sister calling to me from beyond the grave? When I opened my eyes I was on the ground, my cap resting in a puddle a few meters away, the rain gliding freely through my hair and over my face. I was shaking as I stood up, wiping the grass and dirt from my clothes. The trees were waving unharmed in the wind, the ground devoid of any strange markings. I took in a deep breath. What on Earth was going on? Was that a sign? Was my sister alive? I turned around and caught sight of the man with the selfie stick running up toward me. He was breathing, in short, gasping breaths, his eyes wide with shock.

Behind him I could see the woman, her eyes wide with fright. I checked my body one more time, patting my arms and legs, relieved to see that everything was in its usual place. The woman reached forward and touched my arm. Did he run off? Is he OK? The man shook his head. I peered closer. One was taller than the other, his arm outstretched over someone wearing a cap. I stepped back and touched my hand to my heart.

A flurry of goosebumps rushed over my shoulders and down my arms. I think. The man was nodding, excited. I slowed down and took a few slow, deep breaths. My arms and legs were still tingling with adrenaline as my chest tightened with emotion. Magic was real, it had to be. I was still leaning on the back gate, ignoring the rain trickling down my back when I heard footsteps coming up the laneway behind me. They were slow and even, not at all like the man with the selfie stick. The sound stopped and then I heard a low, deep voice. Part 2. I love this idea of posting short stories and am feeling very inspired!!

Do you have any advice on doing this for me? Like Liked by 1 person. Hey Mia! I love the offerings on your blog, and your layout is a standout! In regards to short stories, I reckon just go for it and post whatever you like and go from there. Thank you so much for the advice! Very inspiriational X. Like Like. Thanks a lot too. People like me just love to pump positive energy into the universe.

More golden ink to your pen. Such an intriguing short story this is. You sparked my curiousity from the first paragraph. I love the way you write. Your clarity and flow immerses the reader in a world you have created with vivid words. By the way, thanks for following Geoidhead. The gesture is much appreciated. Like Liked by 2 people. Great work!!! A great use of rising tension and pathetic fallacy. I found the casual narration perhaps overly calm at some points given the situation but overall thoroughly enjoyed.

Thanks so much for the feedback!! Great work. And believe it or not magic and supernatural stuff do exist. Waiting for more to come …. Like Liked by 3 people. Thank you. I had so much fun writing this one, trying to strike a careful balance between reality and magic. Okay then. Quick question, Do you know how i change my plan from free to personal? Awesome this is amazing! Loved how your story flowed and your combination of details with action, it created a very vivid picture.

Thank you! The open ending is one of my favourite parts of the story. I hope you have a second part of this story.. Awesome read! I certainly hope this is not the end if the story! I was captivated from beginning to end. Wonderful job! Thank you!!! Does the guy with the selfie stick know? So many questions. The thanks belongs to you!! Great story.

The One I Left Behind: A Novel by Jennifer McMahon, Paperback | Barnes & Noble®

Please read my recent uploaded fictional story. Absolutely loved the story. It drew me in immediately. I was sad that it ended so quickly. I would have loved to continue reading. Like Liked by 4 people. I wrote a part 2 for you all! Hi Milly. I was captivated by every line. You kept the suspense the whole time.. Keep writing. Hi Lalie, thanks for such a lovely comment, I had no clue if it was any good or not. So thank you!! Loved this Milly! Gripping from the outset and throttling all the way through.

Have you continued this story? Wrote a part 2 for you all!! I quite like there being in stories a sort of ambiguity of genres. It certainly kept me hooked in the beginning, as I was reading your story: are we in some sort of psychological drama where the girl is gonna impose her madness on her sister and their family? Or, my favourite, one of fantasy. Thank you!!

And there was more to follow!! Just read it eventually! While it is short and simple, it makes for an easy read and is quite gripping. Great writing! Hahah thanks!! A very good story. I liked the ending very much. You definitely have to keep writing.

Tribulation Force: the continuing drama of those Left Behind

Can someone like review my story? Like Liked by 5 people. Tough stuff only make you tougher! Just imagine for a moment the day, when you casually sign ten copies of your work and distribute it to the lucky few among thousands thronging the book store! Let that image motivate you and empower you to continue what you do best! We are all here to support you!

Hey I love to share this story on my blog. I would post with link back to your blog. Let me know if that would be possible. Oooo love, this gave me goosebumps. The idea behind the story was fascinatingly unique and well executed. Well done doll xx you did lovely xo. Really enjoyed this, Milly.

Jojo Moyes - The Girl You Left Behind

Love the mysterious mood of the piece. Who knows whether the magic of this world will turn out to be benevolent or not for Monty…. Yeah poor Monty, I think she needs a proper ending. Reblogged this on The Indie Spot! Wow a great story Milly! Loved the intrigue and drama and just a taste of the magical happening right around us that we choose to ignore. Who is this man!? What is he?! Are you going to write more? They just sweep you up and take you to their magical Oz and you just follow the yellow brick road of creativity.

Thanks for sharing your short story. It can be nerve wracking for writers to put themselves out there like that, so congratulations. Thank you Marie! Your pacing, descriptions and imagination were all spot on; they really drew me in. Hey susie!! Crazy can be magical, because the imagination can often be a little weird, but many good things can stem from it. She was hospitalized for a bit, then in a nursing home for a few weeks, but she hated it, and her disease or the medicine or something was making her more confused and agitated all the time.

My partner and I made the decision to bring her home to die. It was an intense and surreal period of time. But George did not always make my mother laugh. One morning, frantic, she asked me for paper towels. Trying to make sense of my dying mother was as useless as trying to make sense of her in life had been. She was a conundrum; a walking riddle I was never meant to solve. See, the thing is, all my life, I tried to save my mother. Not from anything as drastic as a serial killer, but from herself.

From her mental illness, her alcoholism, her tendency to hook up with sinister men men who ate glass, beat her, gave her cocaine , and her multiple attempts at suicide. My mother, like Vera, had been a model once, long before I was born. I have a head shot of her from that time — dark hair, tormented eyes, her face perfect and radiant. She was painfully beautiful. Her life before me was a bright bauble of a thing, and only later, as I grew, did I realize that the stories she told were full of half-truths, exaggerations, and out and out lies. All my life, I tried to unravel the mystery that was my mother.

To understand what drove her to leave us for weeks, sometimes months at a time, then turn up in jail, in rehab, in the Emergency Room or on our doorstep with a strange silent man whom she announced was her new husband. When I was teenager and she disappeared, I learned to look for her in the dark world she inhabited: horrible dive bars with sticky floors, efficiency motels, the park in Hartford she sometimes slept in.

When we were together, everything was an adventure and she taught me many strange and wonderful lessons: that ghosts walk in the fog; some people have the souls of animals; and if you fill a bowl with water and black dye you can use it to see your future. My mother was a magician. A shaman who walked between worlds. Never was this more true than when she lay dying, swaddled in bedclothes, telling me secrets about George. One of the hospice nurses told me to write it all down, that I should put some of these details into one of my stories.

I smiled indulgently, and thought, No way. Too close to home. I write fiction. But then, not long after my mother died, I remembered that book about Clark and his mother. I decided to rework the story, and tell it from the point of view of an adult woman, looking back on crimes that happened in her youth. I decided to make my protagonist an architect — successful, secure, seemingly sure of herself and her place in the world. Someone who is a master at design, at finding patterns, reading the shape and feeling of each room and building she entered.

Reading Guide click here. The first thing she does when she wakes up is check her hands. Thank you, thank you, thank Jesus, sweet, sweet Mother Mary , both her hands are there. She wiggles her fingers and remembers a song her mother used to sing:. Where is Thumbkin? She hears Neptune breathing and it sounds almost mechanical, the rasping rhythm of it: in, out, in, out.