this is a fairly rough version of a short story i am writing. By 'am' i mean i already wrote it and it needs editing. It is not my best, but i though 'why not?'
It was unavoidably spring. The springtime brought a restless fever to Skyline High; a fever of intense heat that moved from student to student prompting each to fly out of their chairs and glide away on the spring breeze whose cargo was sweet spring scents, colorful kites and spring fever. Spring fever carried students out of their nighttime beds and onto the cool green grass allowing the moonlight to spill over them, its pale hue reflected in their shining eyes. Spring fever focused their eyes on spring beauty: the blue of the sky, the shock of flower petals flaunting their colors, the bright sunshine thawing wintered spirits.
Yes it was definitely spring, and all who felt the sweet delight of the slow, friendly breeze and the smiling sunshine were engulfed with the fever until the whole town was paralyzed in it's passionate embrace. The heat made it feel as if one spark would turn the town into a blazing inferno capable of consuming all life with its flames. That spark came in the form of a small note given to Lindsay Osbourne for Gerald Denetso with the words “Lindsay will you go to prom with me?” printed on it.
Ignition.
At Skyline High, the process for asking a girl to prom was much more elaborate than simply asking the question. The tradition started about ten years prior when Joey Long announced his undying love for Brittany Davis over the PA system and asked her to prom. Of course everyone’s natural tendency was to outdo him; and so banners were made, flowers were delivered, and gifts were given. The askings grew wilder as the boys came up with bigger and better ways to ask their dates. The girls bragged to each other about how they were asked even more than who had asked them. The boys grew mare daring in who they asked; the girls didn’t mind so much who was asking them so long as he did it in a spectacular way. Social barriers were broken down during prom; any boy could go with any girl simply by flattering her with a brilliant display of affection. The girls even found a way to incorporate themselves in the game by coming up with clever ways to say “Yes” to their dates.
It was tragically unfortunate that prom occurred in the spring.
The students’ fervor to outdo one another was only intensified by the crippling spring fever they were all taken by. Suddenly the impossible was within reach and every student was invincible. The was the scene into which Gerald Denetso found himself as he placed his unimpressive note on the desk of Lindsay Osbourne.
The student body was in an uproar. The girls, outraged by the simple way Gerald asked Lindsay advised her not to go with him, while the boys rushed to claim their dates before anyone else could. The small flame Gerald Denetso had begun was growing fiercer and hotter as it took possession of student after student. One student who watched the growing fire was Debbie.
Debbie was an average girl who had recently developed a strange habit of staring at the moon or smelling the wild flowers that grew by the side of the road. Her hopes for prom revolved around on person: Marcus Anderson. Marcus Anderson who sat two seats away from her in math class; Marcus Anderson whose grin was enough to coax a smile out of anyone. He was the focus of her growing infatuation which she was tempted to call love as the spring approached.
The most interesting feature of Marcus Anderson was his clone, Marc. Marc was the only clone at Skyline High, as clones were known as possessions of the rich. The Andersons were the only family Debbie knew that could afford a clone. Mr. Anderson, a doctor specializing in abortions, had money to spare, and so when his wife became pregnant, he had some DNA taken from the fetus and made into a clone. Marc and Marcus were both seventeen, both had Chocolate brown eyes and contagious laughs, but Debbie felt an attraction to Marcus that wasn’t there with Marc. Perhaps it was the way his words seemed to go through her, or the way he looked at her as if her knew what she was thinking. There was nothing wrong with Marc; he was terribly fun to talk to and always good for a laugh, but he was still Debbie’s second choice for prom.
Debbie watched as the ever consuming fire grew bigger, but Marc and Marcus remained untouched by the flames. One day the unthinkable happened. ( )
The final school bell had rang and Debbie was walking to her car, taking time to enjoy the warm sun and the spring breeze. She being one of the few whose spring fever had not yet manifest itself in the form of flames, was being taunted by the sun and the wind which were both trying to enrage her fever to the right pitch; but to no avail.
Debbie reached her car and found it covered with streamers of orange and yellow, and filled with balloons of red and gold. A spark was formed.
She opened her car door relishing the faint tingling she felt as the flames spread through her. Balloons spilled into the sky, and the spring wind reached down her fingers to posses them. As Debbie blazed through the confetti jungle she saw a small note on the driver’s seat. It was with trembling hands the Debbie reached for the note and read: “Debbie will you go to prom with me?”
-Marcus Anderson
The spring breeze carried Debbie home.
She flew out of her car, hands still clutching the note. Flowers reached out to her, the sun cradled her, and the wind engulfed her. She was entirely consumed with spring fever as she ran up the stairs and flung open her bedroom door. Her floor was a mess of red and gold balloons and orange and yellow streamers hung from her ceiling fan. On her pillow was a small unimpressive note.
Debbie carved a trail through the balloons while the streamers swayed licking her hair. Her fever was reaching new heights, but the flames were hot and uncomfortable. The tingling had increased to a stinging. Trembling, she picked up the note and read: “Debbie will you go to prom with me?”
-Marc Anderson
She held the identical notes side by side and they both turned to ash in her hands.
Debbie went to school the next day, her flesh a dying ember. Ash flaked off of her. News swept through the school spread by fiery tongues. And Debbie watched the flame blaze.
The afternoon found Debbie making a wreath of flowers in the shade of a tree. Her fire had been smothered by sorrow. As she finished her wreath she looked up to see two figures standing over her with smoldering eyes.
“We’re sorry about asking you at the same time.” This was Marc. His eyes made it look as if he were suppressing a smile.
“We thought it best not to tell each other who we were going to ask.” This was Marcus. He really was smiling, and it made Debbie smile too.
“We know you don’t want to have to choose between us, so we will choose for you,” Marc’s eyes smirked, “If that’s ok with you.”
Debbie nodded fingering the delicate petals of the crown.
“Great, meet us at the rodeo grounds this Friday at eight,” and they were gone, their hair glistening in the sunshine.
Marc and Marcus took care of all the preparation for Friday night. All Debbie had to do was show up and claim her date. All week she imagined the scene. She would arrive at eight to greet a single figure holding a rose in the moonlight. She would walk up to him greeting his smile with one of her own. Their hands would slip into each others and as they danced slowly, he would whisper to her how wonderful prom was going to be.
The thought filled her with warmth.
All the while Marcus and Marc had another idea of what Friday night would be like. They worked furiously, inviting hordes of people to come Friday night to witness the event. They sprayed their gasoline all over town. And the fever stricken people were absolutely taken by the idea.
Skyline high was ablaze with the news. The sun pounded its heat relentlessly, and the wind blew frantically, and every student waited for Friday night.
Friday night finally came. And the moon it brought was enough to make anyone’s fever rage. Debbie drove through the town staring at the cloudless skies and imagining what the night might bring.
She could feel the heat before she reached the rodeo grounds. It hit her like a gust of wind, and as she got closer she saw the inferno.
The rodeo grounds were filled with people; all of whom had been infected by a screaming, raging, fever. The heat was blinding.
The people rippled and roared like a fiery ocean. Young entrepreneurs sold overpriced candy and soda, people made bets and exchanged money; all eyes were on the two figures standing in the center of the dusty rodeo grounds. They had chosen the rodeo grounds because cleanup here would be easier than on the football field.
Marc and Marcus stood staring at the immense fire they had built. Each was doped up on adrenaline and painkillers stolen from their father. They silently pulled out knives; the only silent onlooker was the moon.
Debbie stood in shock as Marcus and Marc lunged at one another. A stab in the arm, a gash in the leg; each time that flesh and knife connected they had the effect of flint and steel.
Sparks flew like fireworks in the night sky connecting with the gasoline soaked bleachers to create eruptions of flame. The heat raged to a furious pitch, each onlooker standing and shouting. Debbie was bound by fire and fever and fear and flames. She could see nothing as tears crept out of her eyes slowly dissolving the bonds that kept her. She ran to her car as her fever broke; everything a haze, everything perfectly clear.
The fire swelled and escalated to an unbearable degree. In the end there was only one casualty.
“Will there be a funeral?” Debbie sat in her front room in a black dress.
“Of course not sweetie,” said her mother “he never died.”
Her father walked in, “Oh Debbie you look beautiful. You ready for the big night tonight?”
“But Mom he did die!”
“We went through this honey, remember?” her mother said “Marc and Marcus were the same person; the same DNA. They were identical."
“Well that doesn’t mean his life wasn’t important. What about identical twins?”
“Debbie,” her father answered sternly “Enough of this!”
Debbie raged, “No! It’s not right that someone can just have their life taken away and nobody cares about it!”
“Now you listen to me!” her father reprimanded.
Just then the doorbell rang.
“I think that’s your date Debbie,” her mother said. “Now don’t cry dear, you mascara will run.”
Debbie opened the door revealing a single figure with a rose in his lapel. He stared at Debbie as if he didn’t know what she was thinking.
“You look beautiful,” he said.
“Thank you,” said Debbie.
He offered her his arm and she took it knowing that she took the arm of a killer.
