Meanwhile Story

Meanwhile… By Mariah Neuhauser

Buzz! “Who? What? Where?” I questioned as my mind still had yet to recognize the fatal breaking of silence that the alarm clock brought to my sounded sleep. Sometimes I wished that it could be energizing music, filling my mind with bliss while eroding my predawn melancholy thoughts. I hurriedly got dressed and ready for my highly anticipated day. I scampered up the stairs to the non-angelic noise of my parents arguing with my brother about not doing his homework. “What else is new?” I thought to myself. I chowed down on my used-to-be-scrumptious-but-now-it’s-all-cold-and-clammy scrambled eggs. I ate as the chorus of nonstop yelling continued. I could care less as this would be one of the most important days of my teenage life – I actually smiled, for reasons unknown. “Let’s get ready to rumble!” My mom cheered as she went to the start the car in her usual morning apparel, dawning bed-head, comfy slippers, and toasty pajamas. All three of us – my mom, brother, and myself – scrambled into the car, late as usual, like the scrambled eggs that used to be on my plate. The fog invaded the air above as we drove along the icy road of “Winter Wonderland.” Only a small fraction of water on the lake ahead of us never froze. I peered

in awe at how the fog transcended over the lake, giving it a mystical feel, to otherwise generic Destitute Lakes. We pulled into the north side roundabout at school with no time to lose. I drastically catapulted my way into school, just moments before the bell rang. The bell notified all that those still left and put on the wayside in the hallways (corridors of chaos and confusion) would thus result in the careful inspection of peering, jeering eyes as your useless, nervous and otherwise embarrassed self entered your Prime Time room, careful of your classmate’s reaction at your sudden tardiness. Sure enough, my enthusiasm detached as I entered Prime Time with a plastered smile on my otherwise sound-asleep face. As I sat in my chair, I soon entered a zombielike state as I had left my emotions in my backpack, and could only depend on their arrival in Language Arts class – my favorite class of the day. As Prime Time scooted by, I strolled on to Language Arts: Hour 1. I entered the classroom, only to find Mrs. Daly standing in the middle of the room, dawning an extraordinarily strange ensemble of cowboy-like attire: green, alligator skin boots, a purple leather cowboy hat (with matching gloves), and pink leather chaps – the whole shebang, complete with a lariat just long enough to wring someone’s neck if they rebuked. “Today, class, we’ll be writing about how Chuck Norris invented the lightbulb,” Mrs. Daly implied. “But, but, Edison invented the lightbulb, can’t we write about him?” I questioned. “What are you talking about? Everyone knows that Edison was just a crock; a puny-little-no-good-dirty-rotten-history-book-placement-stealer that wasted his time

messing around with his phonograph of lies – it’s all a setup,” she replied. “And hear me out, kid, never ever insult me in front of these little angels again, or I’ll lasso you faster than you can say, ‘I’m not worthy.’ Now, pipe down and listen up – you could learn something for once in your ill-gotten life,” she sneered. I stood there shocked beyond human knowledge; never in my life has Mrs. Daly ever said anything cruel or downright ridiculous. I kept my thoughts to myself. I knew for sure that I’d find a way to evade from this nasty world of lies and turmoil. All of a sudden, I got pulled into a vortex of surrealism. I witnessed history flash through my very eyes; thousands of years of mystery lay right before me. My mind tried to grasp the reason as to why my life bore so much happenstance, yet I couldn’t grasp it strong enough. I peered through a sudden opening in the massive continuum of time and walked through the illuminating lights of centuries; I was frightened beyond belief, but I walked through the barrier and suspected that something was up immediately. I soon reached what appeared to be a hallway. I strolled down the long corridor of desperation that seemed endless and never-ending to the human eye. I just waited for someone to jump out of one of the rooms and yell, ‘Gotcha!’ but I continued on my trek to nowhere, with not a care in the world. All of the doors were identical; red and silverplated with iron knobs. I progressed to a door unlike the other doors. There stood a white, gold-plated door with a sparking, greedy golden knob. I slowly opened the door and scanned the look and layout of what lay ahead - A staircase upwards to yet another door. “Is this some kind of trick?” I thought.

I made the same mistake that any other human being would make in any situation; curiosity took the best of me and I just couldn’t help myself – greed and engrossment overtook my present sense of thought. I now regret this decision. I carefully crept up the stairs, wary of what lay ahead. I discreetly, oh, so discreetly, opened the door as if Death was lurking in the shadows behind the door, greeting me with a nod of approval on the other side. The door opened and, to my surprise, I soon reached an open area full of people screaming bloody murder. The floor that my very feet were on seemed to shift to and fro, leaning over to the right and to the left, nearly throwing me off balance, and making me quite nauseous. I realized that I was on a ship, but how did I get here? I arrived at the aft of the ship. Looking down over the white-capped water, I noticed that the very ship that I kept getting lower and lower. It took me awhile to put two and two together to come up with a conclusion that the ship was indeed sinking. I waltzed to the nearest person and asked them where we were and why we were sinking. “Oh, my dear, don’t make such a fuss. The Titanic was built to float on the great Atlantic. I don’t see what all of the commotion is about the ship hitting but a mere ice cube. Blast!” An old lady replied, as she covered herself in her heavy jacket and stepped back and forth to help keep herself warm; “It is quite nippy out, though, perhaps you can be a fine young lady and fetch me a cup of tea before I turn into an ice cube myself. Now, run along, miss,” she declared. I could care less about fetching tea when, in but a few minutes. The ship would call the rocky, cold-hearted bottom of the eerie and unwelcoming Atlantic “home.” I read the history books; I knew the facts – I had to get off of this ship as fast as possible.

Suddenly, the ship started to moan and groan as the aft lifted off of the whitecapped water. Panic and chaos erupted with a sudden triumph of fear and agony. I quickly grabbed on to the bars of the aft as the legendary orchestra trio played on. I was shocked as to how I had actually gotten myself into this mess. Sooner or later, we’d sink, and there’d be nothing left, except for the lucky survivors that would share their bittersweet moment with those back home. Those that did not come back alive would never be able to tell the story of this fateful first, and last, voyage of the Titanic. It was such an awful predicament. I couldn’t make up my mind as to whether I should try to turn this tragedy into a miracle, or just keep to the history books. A battle of Morals vs. Destiny took place that night, and I rode on the Destiny ship. I knew that what I was doing was morally wrong, but how would this affect history to come? There would be events that’d be altered; events that wouldn’t even happen if I did help those whose destiny was to be a part of the atrocious casualty list that would soon splatter newspaper headlines everywhere. I wept as I kept hold of the bar; there were lots of people suffering, and I could do nothing to help. I soon looked over at all of the fateful people that were soon leaping off of the ship. I had to get off of this ship soon, or I’d be one of the casualty counts, too. My heart kept ticking, my brain grew into a blob of nothingness, and my hands shook with agony. My eyes were wide open and filled with terror – never had I experienced anything so horrible, so excruciating, as I had experienced that night. Death grinned at all of the with a dark, mad smile, as we’d soon say goodbye to the only world that we had grown fond of; the only world that we could call “home.”

I held onto the bars as hard and as strongly as my grip could manage as if my life depended on it. The ship groaned and leaped with great force as it shook like a dog that just got done swimming in the cold ocean. It rose higher and higher – this was one theme park ride that I didn’t want to ride. My body grew numb as I wasn’t dressed for the occasion. Higher, higher; the aft lifted up out of the cold icy abyss as if the ship were in flight with God as the pilot. “Fasten your seat belts, passengers, we’re about to reach our destination – Death,” we’d all hear over the loud speakers. I seriously wanted off of this psychotic ride. It felt like some one-way ticket to despair, and I WANTED OFF! The night air shattered with the noise of the terrified passengers crying out for those that they had loved and lost. The ship soon snapped at the middle of the large contraption of a ship. The ship started to descend with great anticipation. The anxiety and cries of the passengers whose fate would soon be met grew. With one large jolt, the ship shivered like the passengers who had left their coats in their roams and their life jackets in their closets – unused and unwanted. With one large gulp, the deep blue sea swallowed the ship as a whole, leaving some of its victims gasping for life as they, too, were swallowed by the force of the “unsinkable ship.” That was the end of it. I couldn’t think, move, or remember anything. I started gasping for air as the ungrateful whirlpool regurgitated me, spitting me out like an angry student that didn’t like carrots in their salad. I swam around as terror and agony struck the

night air with force and clamor. I soon found an end table that lost its legs in the forceful clash of Man vs. Nature.