Lilia Aberle 2015

Poem:     "Never Quit"

Story:     "The Hunt"

Story:      "Through Opposite Eyes"

Story:     "Untitled"

Poem:     "The Game For Heather"

Twitter Pieces

Never Quit

When the path ahead is not straight,

don’t worry because its not a race.

When the budget seems to be tight,

you must keep your attitude light.

When stress is pressing you down a bit

rest if you must, but never quit.

Life is hard with its ups and downs,

But know that things can turn around.

And many times a fellow turns about,

when he may have won, had he stuck it out.

Don’t give up when the journey is long,

instead keep in mind that you must be strong.

Success is failure turned inside out-

the silver tint of the clouds of doubt.

She stands in the rain, facing her fears

Does she choose to run or remain sincere?

When the path still seems like a dread,

keep in mind the end may be just ahead.

So stick to the fight when you’re dealt with the hardest hit;

its when things seem at their worst, you must never quit.

The Hunt

     For one week every bitter, cold morning in November, she piled on her winter clothes and waited by the fireplace for her father to return from chores. He walked through the kitchen door, breathing so heavily in the frosted air that she could still see his first breath. He disappeared into the other room and returned with two rifles, handed her one and nodded, asking, “Ready?”

     She answered steadily with, “Yes.” She looked forward to these mornings with her dad. It was the only time he cared to spend with her since the death of her older brother three years back.

     She was a freshman and her brother, Austin, was a junior when he died. Austin and his father had set out to herd cattle, and Hayley stayed home with her mom. There was no way to prevent the accident; it was simply that, an accident. Austin was herding cattle in the east pasture and his father was herding the cows in the west pasture. Austin’s horse got spooked by a snake and bucked him off. His head landed on a rock and that was it.

     His father found him an hour later lying in a dried pool of his own blood. Their family never fully recovered from his death; each one is slightly different. They stopped coming into town, stopped going to church, and stopped seeing friends. They isolated themselves, trying to find the best way to cope. Three years went by, and they still hadn’t found any peace.

     Hayley’s father made her walk an extra mile to go around their east pasture. They didn’t hunt there anymore; they didn’t feed cattle there either. The east pasture only had one thing in it, a cross hammered deep in the ground where Austin drew his last breath. Hayley had never seen the cross herself because her father banned anyone from ever crossing the fence.

     When they were finished walking, they sat down on top of a hill where they could see all of the land. They scanned for any sign of life or movement in the grass that had grown tall over the past three years. Hayley would never say it, but by the time they arrived, her toes already stung from the cold, and her nose had already began to go numb. Her father could always tell she was cold but he, also, would never ask her if she wanted to go back to the house. He expected her to be as strong as Austin.

     Hayley’s father took her hunting for the first time six years ago; it was the only thing he still did with her since her brother died. But for the last three years whenever he saw a deer he remained calm and quiet when he use to get a thrill out of it. He told her to line up her scope and see the deer through it. The thought of disobeying her father never ran through Hayley’s mind. So she pulled her gun up to her face, the cold stinging against her check, and she pressed the butt hard into her shoulder, preparing herself to take a shot. Then, she would look through the scope and line it up perfectly with the deer. But, her father would then tell her to lower the gun and wait for the next one. He did this with every deer they came across. In the past three years of hunting with her father she had never heard gunfire.

     Hayley and her father would sit in silence for hours watching the land, then walk back to their house. Hayley stopped calling it home because nothing about it made her feel safe or loved. Her house was all dusty picture frames, some empty, others of Austin. It was always silent; the slightest sound would echo. The strange thing was she never heard voices echo, she only ever heard the echo of something being knocked over by their dog or the wind blowing the kitchen cupboards shut. Nobody spoke to one another anymore.

     But this time, they didn’t turn back to go to the house. Her father got up and continued walking forward, knowing that she would follow behind him without asking any questions. They walked through the entire pasture and came to a fence; that’s where they stopped. Hayley started to sit down, but stopped herself quickly when she noticed her father wasn’t. They didn’t stand there long before her father spotted a buck 50 yards out. Hayley already knew what would come next, but she waited for his command anyway.

     He said to her, “Line it up.” So she did, he made her hold the gun up longer than he ever had before. Her arm began to ache and her hand trembled from the cold. She thought this would be the time they’d finally take a shot again, but then he said, “Lower it.” As her gun came down his quickly shot up. Her father’s grip on his gun was much stronger than hers, and he had it lined up within a matter of seconds. Before she had time to think about what he was doing a loud bang echoed through her ears.

     Her father fell to his knees and sobbed. This was the first time she’d seen him cry in three years. He reached up to Hayley and grabbed her arm, pulling her down to him. They sat in the cold, hugging and crying for what seemed like hours. Hayley, for the first time, wanted to go home.

Through Opposite Eyes

     He planted me in late April on a rainy spring day. His hands were stained brown from years of dirt. He gently covered me with a blanket of soil fertilized by machines, but he passed me and moved to the next seed in line, also there not by choice or chance but by force.

     I grew slowly every day in the warmth of a greenhouse. On my left, on my right, and above and below there were flowerpots exactly like mine, and inside were flowers exactly like me. We all looked the same and we all grew, without a choice, the same.

     When my flowers began to bloom, I was moved for the first and last time. I hung from the same metal bar day after day. Some people would walk right past me; others would stop for a moment and take the time to read my label then move on. Some would rub my leaves and my flowers with their harsh human hands. I waited 13 dreadful days for someone to choose me. I waited for someone who thought I was the most beautiful; I wanted to catch their eyes and lock their gaze on me.

     Shopping carts were pushed past me, even the bees chose to give their attention to the flowers below me. On a good day, a butterfly would wander its way into the green house and flutter towards me, landing on my petals for a moment then gracefully flying away.

     On June 15th, a young girl with short brown hair, green eyes, and a vibrant smile stopped and took my hook off the metal bar and placed me in her shopping cart. She took me home, and there for the first time in my life I was surrounded by other flowers, different flowers—different leaves, pots, colors, shapes, and sizes. I was cared for every day by her loving hands. My new home was by a window and my pink petals glowed when the sunlight shone though. There, I was never poked or prodded again.

Untitled

     There was one rose petal. It was just right there; lying by the last step of the alter; nothing but one single rose petal. For a moment I actually felt bad for it. Somebody chose to leave it there, alone and unwanted. I looked around the church and there was nobody. Nothing except a white lace veil and a single red rose petal. There was no dress to go with the veil, at least not anymore; and there was no bouquet, just a rose petal. Tears are somewhat normal at a wedding, seeing tears doesn’t cause anyone to worry, some might even say tears are inevitable. But I could tell her tears were different.

     Seeing her was all I wanted. I didn’t come bearing the intentions of a hopeless romantic with the dream of her loving me once again. I think I was trying to prove something to myself; that seeing her walk down the aisle would finally give me peace of mind, or closure, or whatever it is you look for when someone breaks your heart the way she broke mine. She wasn’t crying tears of joy, which was evident to anyone in the church that day who actually knew her; knew her the way I did.

     Three months earlier I received the invitation in the mail, three days earlier I stood outside her hotel room debating whether or not to knock, and three hours earlier I was embraced in an awkward hug with her. I said “Congratulations,” even though I knew she had already heard that enough times to make her ears bleed. But right then, in that very moment, I was simply watching her. I watched her walk through the doors, and I watched her run out of the doors. Alone.

     There were faint whispers traveling through the deafening silence between confused family members and baffled friends. No one had any clue as to why she would run away from her dream, but the difference between her wedding and her dream was the man waiting for her at the alter.

     I felt the chill of the wind brush along the side of my face when she ran past me, the smell of her perfume lingered in the air. It hurt, for the first time I admitted that it hurt. She ran past me, not to me. Who was she running to? Where was she running? Why was she running? The part of my heart reserved for her wanted to believe she was running out of his arms and into mine, but reality and my heart have never agreed on much of anything.

     An endless line of girls in summer dresses and guys dressed in their best khakis and polos shuffled out of the church into the blinding daylight. The whispers were never ending and the judgmental stares were painted onto everyone’s faces as if they were canvases. Once again I found myself thinking about her, how could I still want her after all this time? How could I want someone who doesn’t want me? I told myself it was time to forget and move on, and for the first time in eight years I actually believed I would.

     I noticed a rose on the ground outside the church, assuming it fell out of her bouquet. I picked it up, thinking it would bring me closer to her in some way. One by one I picked off the petals; leaving a trail behind me that I never planned to look back at. I pulled off the last rose petal just as I turned the corner where I parked my car. I looked up from the ground and I saw a sea of white covering the window of my car. It was her.

The Game For Heather

Hand in hand, we bowed our heads over the candle lit memorial.

Together we remembered her and the radiating love she had for this team.

Tonight

The smell of sweat lingered in the thick, heavy air of our home gym.

Energy embodied the sea of screaming fans.

We

Ambition buried deep within the eyes of every girl.

A flood of nervousness consumed the gym.

Fight

Hands trembled, knees were shaky and players held hands,

swaying rhythmically back and forth.

Back

A passion so intense, the crowd surrounding them could feel it in their hearts.

Like thousands of times before, we roared onto the court with clear eyes.

Cancer

But tonight, we played for her.