Through Marilyn's Eyes
folder
Vampire › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
899
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Vampire › General
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
899
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
Through Marilyn's Eyes
Through Marilyn’s Eyes
By: RK
Chapter One:
The Beginning
“I can remember the event as if it took place yesterday. I was born June 2nd, 1962. One day after the death of Norma Jean Mortenson, AKA Marilyn Monroe. My mother and father adored her and so I acquired the name, Marilyn Jean, after her stage name and her real one. I only had one sibling, my sister Laura who died of the fits when she was eighteen. I decided once I was in my twenties, to wait until marriage before leaving my home. My parents acted so differently after Laura’s death that I felt it was only proper to do so. The evening in question took place on August 17th, 1984 in downtown Brooklyn. It was a time period when idiotic rock stars took not only their own life, but everyone else’s in their own hands. Driving drunk and high on every manner of drug thinkable. There is where the problem, lay. We were coming home late one evening from dinner. I sat in the back seat and listened to a rather new invention you may know as a walkman. Mother was knitting in the front passenger seat, which I could never figure out how she could knit in the dark. Father was an excellent driver and always aware of his surroundings; except on this night. What I can remember, I remember in sharp piercing flashes just as vivid as my hand before me. What I cannot remember I think I should be glad I forgot. I remember seeing two bright round circles coming toward us rather quickly. I could see father’s face in the rear view mirror; it had gone as pale as a ghost. Silence… I saw mother screaming and yet I could not hear it. I could not hear the screeching of the tires or the sound of the impact.
My eyes open slowly and I feel cold droplets of rain falling upon my face. I am lying on the ground just a few feet from the wreckage. I feel so cold and yet I know the concrete is hot. It’s August, but yet the ground feels like December. My head turns slowly to the side and there I see my mother’s face. Her eyes are as empty and cold as the feeling that I am having. Her blue eyes look like doll eyes staring at me with no emotion. As my sight clears I look a little further past and see the rest of her still in the passenger’s seat. It appeared that in the wreck the seatbelt had decapitated her. Father still sat in his driver’s seat, he face crushed in by the steering wheel. And yet here I lay, still alive? I thought hard and remembered seeing the windshield as I flew through it. I am surrounded by tiny twinkling pieces of glass and yet I am alive and I feel no pain. Perhaps I am paralyzed? But then how would I feel the cold asphalt below me? Not thinking, my hand reaches up and touches my forehead. Which brings two conclusions; first, I am not paralyzed, and second, I have no open wounds. Perhaps I died and… and… then my thoughts are interrupted by the sound of rushing footsteps, there must have been six or seven people.
My mother’s head is picked up and put into a bag and then one man comes over to me with a worried look. It is a paramedic. I am not in my right mind so I am happy because he can sew mother back together. He pulls up my wrist and I blink at him as he makes a familiar Catholic gesture on his chest. I ask him what is wrong and his face falls to as pale a white as new satin sheets. He looks at me and says, “How are you alive? You have no pulse?” I look at him a moment and wonder… What exactly happened during those parts I could not remember…?”
FIN
By: RK
Chapter One:
The Beginning
“I can remember the event as if it took place yesterday. I was born June 2nd, 1962. One day after the death of Norma Jean Mortenson, AKA Marilyn Monroe. My mother and father adored her and so I acquired the name, Marilyn Jean, after her stage name and her real one. I only had one sibling, my sister Laura who died of the fits when she was eighteen. I decided once I was in my twenties, to wait until marriage before leaving my home. My parents acted so differently after Laura’s death that I felt it was only proper to do so. The evening in question took place on August 17th, 1984 in downtown Brooklyn. It was a time period when idiotic rock stars took not only their own life, but everyone else’s in their own hands. Driving drunk and high on every manner of drug thinkable. There is where the problem, lay. We were coming home late one evening from dinner. I sat in the back seat and listened to a rather new invention you may know as a walkman. Mother was knitting in the front passenger seat, which I could never figure out how she could knit in the dark. Father was an excellent driver and always aware of his surroundings; except on this night. What I can remember, I remember in sharp piercing flashes just as vivid as my hand before me. What I cannot remember I think I should be glad I forgot. I remember seeing two bright round circles coming toward us rather quickly. I could see father’s face in the rear view mirror; it had gone as pale as a ghost. Silence… I saw mother screaming and yet I could not hear it. I could not hear the screeching of the tires or the sound of the impact.
My eyes open slowly and I feel cold droplets of rain falling upon my face. I am lying on the ground just a few feet from the wreckage. I feel so cold and yet I know the concrete is hot. It’s August, but yet the ground feels like December. My head turns slowly to the side and there I see my mother’s face. Her eyes are as empty and cold as the feeling that I am having. Her blue eyes look like doll eyes staring at me with no emotion. As my sight clears I look a little further past and see the rest of her still in the passenger’s seat. It appeared that in the wreck the seatbelt had decapitated her. Father still sat in his driver’s seat, he face crushed in by the steering wheel. And yet here I lay, still alive? I thought hard and remembered seeing the windshield as I flew through it. I am surrounded by tiny twinkling pieces of glass and yet I am alive and I feel no pain. Perhaps I am paralyzed? But then how would I feel the cold asphalt below me? Not thinking, my hand reaches up and touches my forehead. Which brings two conclusions; first, I am not paralyzed, and second, I have no open wounds. Perhaps I died and… and… then my thoughts are interrupted by the sound of rushing footsteps, there must have been six or seven people.
My mother’s head is picked up and put into a bag and then one man comes over to me with a worried look. It is a paramedic. I am not in my right mind so I am happy because he can sew mother back together. He pulls up my wrist and I blink at him as he makes a familiar Catholic gesture on his chest. I ask him what is wrong and his face falls to as pale a white as new satin sheets. He looks at me and says, “How are you alive? You have no pulse?” I look at him a moment and wonder… What exactly happened during those parts I could not remember…?”
FIN