Gothic Literature Story-By Allison

I remember when Jane was a young girl, she was the happiest individual, but yet she was so young she knew nothing of this merciless world. From the first time I laid eyes on her, she illuminated my phantom, as now I am a changed man. From all my years, there are not enough words to describe how beautiful she is. Inside and out, there was no woman to ever live that could be as great as she. All the years going by…how all of them passed so quickly. To this day, I wish I could have been there. I wished I could have been more involved in her life, to not just be an outsider only to hear about her accomplishments. I wish I could have made a difference.

Every year, time was running out and I had control of that time. It was not until a few years after the incident that made her leave. On an unusually dark and dreaded wintery night, everything began to change. Jane was walking home from the shops, as she felt something rushing within her blood. What a surge of anxiety pacing down her spine, filling each vein in her body with a sense of uneasiness. Her muscles were filled with apprehension, causing each step she took on the gravel road to be more wretched. I recall it was the first day it began snowing in the city, as everyone surely awaited for it. Certainly, it could not be too long before it was cold enough to gaze at the scene of little light blankets to embody the terrain. All around the city, everyone loved to see the seasons change, especially when leaves of every color of the rainbow soar with the chilled winds. On this night, it was not the same for Jane.

Earlier in the day, Jane had returned home at around noon for lunch as she always did. She walked to her front wooden door, and stepped inside her house. The fireplace was still burning with the wood chopped from the trees in the woods. To her, the entire environment seemed a little erroneous on this day. In fact, she was right. Jane called for her mother, and what she received was very unusual: no reply. She went into the kitchen, where her mother usually cooks lunch at this hour, but she was not there. Actually, even the table was not set, nor had a she set out a pot to cook with. Everything was silent in the house, and Jane could hear only the sound of her thoughts and the air diffusing as she exhaled out of her nostrils. Peculiar, thought Jane, and so she left. Knowing that her father was at work, Jane assumed her mother had to leave for an urgent errand and would be back to cook supper.

            Jane thought that day would be like no other, but she was in for an unexpected bewilderment for the evening. Upon her arrival back to her house, she had found something even more peculiar: strays of articles and blood leaving a path leading for the unknown. With curiosity, she followed the trail, only to come across one of the most horrific sights she would ever see. Under the beloved oak tree where she would read tales as a young girl to escape from the reality of society, a long and thick rope was attached to it. Dangling by the rope was Jane’s mother. She was hanging tightly as the winds swayed her lifeless body back and forth. Colorless, she was, as everything around Jane was filled with essence and vitality, and her mother resembled to be nothing now as she has vanished forever. Jane saw a note that was held in between the rough fingers of her lost mother. It read: “Things happen for a reason Jane, things happen for a reason.” At that moment, Jane decided that she should take one last look at her mother, as she could not bear to see her like this. And how is this all true? For I was the one who stood inside the house, looking out the front window, and witnessing it all. Even when Jane was walking a mile down the road, I was still standing there waiting. I saw the expression on Jane’s face, her young face overwhelmed with hysteria as her eyes began to inflate with tears of woe and frustration. I continued to view her with an emotionless gaze, as I could feel her heart mutilated, like a glass mirror shattered into endless pieces scattered everywhere. That is how Jane’s heart was exactly, her heart as well as her mind was scattered, lost from reality. The loss of her mother prevailed her to postulate that her own existence had perished as well. What could have I done?

            The incident had left Jane in an alienated state and she could not live her life this way. All of her dreams, hopes and aspirations were not her concentration anymore. All she could do was one thing, and that was to run. Whenever Jane was upset, she went alone, and this was quite beneficial to her in the end. Upon these incidents, Jane left to explore the world, but focused on defining herself and where she should be in her life. She traveled all around, experiencing new cultures and having a wondrous time escaping her true reality. Jane kept in brief contact from time to time, I received a few postcards from her. Each postcard was from a different place where she had explored, and at the end of each postcard read, “The world is full of astounding terrains to which I am grateful to see. Love, Jane” I would wait weeks for postcards, checking from the mail man daily to see if anything had come.

The most remarkable postcard was one that had come on a cool autumn day years later. On one side, there was nothing, no image and no venue. Holding the strange postcard, there was a red arrow. I turned the flimsy card over, to find a tragic image. It was Jane with her head over her shoulder and she was hanging lifelessly from a tree looking tormented and hardened. Underneath the image, read in writing that I have never seen in my life before in flawless cursive was, “Things happen for a reason.” That was it and I fought to not believe what I thought I had just read. Immediately I looked out the window, to only remember of such the tragic incident occurred a few autumns ago and how much pain and abuse that affected me, and more importantly had affected Jane. In uncertainty, I lay the postcard down and stare at it while my eyes filled with spite and grief. I should have stopped her all those years ago, my little Jane. She is gone forever now, as she was a remarkable girl, like her mother, who was capable of anything to alter this unfortunate society. Am I the next to go and pay for society’s consequences? Have I not changed for the better? I am not sure, but the chilled winds blowing in the air around me helped me reason if I am one to blame as I could barely breathe to fulfill my slowing beating heart. …….Jane, how could this ever happen?