Written in October of 2007 as a POV-shift version of the previous story Walking at Night, Alone. For the same class. Technically it's a different story, but I don't know which side of it I like better. You decide.
Often she could be seen walking alone, down the sidewalk of the street that passes the east dormitories to a place next to the bridge which crosses the small stream. She can be observed to stop there, sometimes for a minute and sometimes for longer, staring at the ground and shivering. Sometimes she would sit down and talk to nobody, as though she believed there to be someone listening. Then, just like before, she'd get up, dust herself off, and start walking back the way she came.
She lived in the east dormitories, on the far side of the college. She was a normal, average girl, if a little quiet. She went to all her classes, got acceptable grades, and had a few friends she would spend time with. She was part of the basketball club, though she was not very good at it. She would never really say much, though. People would say it was because of the crash.
It had happened only two months before, on a Saturday evening. Her boyfriend, or so everyone thought of him, had been walking to her dormitory just after dark. Greek Row, the fraternity house street, had been blazing with parties and drinking, so much that if one were to light a match, the whole street would probably go up from the vapors alone. Someone had got into their car and turned the key, and it went downhill from there.
He was struck by the car and pinned to a street lamp, where his body was nearly torn in half. He died instantly, only a few moments from her room. She, having heard the crash, came down from her room to see what had happened, and saw him where he had perished so close to her. She began to run towards him, but then the gasoline tank caught fire and the car exploded, incinerating most of what was left of the poor boy. The driver, needless to say, was also killed, but he didn't matter to her. She had fallen to her knees and stared for what had seemed like days until the police and fire departments came and ushered her away.
Today was just like any other day. After her classes had ended, she had gone back to her dormitory. She started reading her class' textbook, something about physics, until the sun began to set. Like clockwork, she shut her book, set it on the desk, and picked up her jacket. Making sure that she had her key, she stepped outside and locked the door.
A few minutes later, the headlights of a passing car washed over her frame as she walked slowly toward the crash site. It had been a few days since she had come to visit the place where her boyfriend had been killed, so the little wooden cross had fallen over and was covered with leaves. She crouched down and stood it up, dusting the dirt off of it. Stepping back, she breathed deeply, and then sighed.
She began to talk. She talked about what had happened in the past few days, how her and his friends were doing, the new movie that had come out... It was as though she was speaking with a real person, but the conversation was one-sided and sad-sounding. “I wish you were here to do this with me,” she often said while she spoke. Then she'd look up, as if expecting to see him standing there, smiling. Sometimes, sometimes, she could swear that she caught a glimpse of him, just on the edge of her peripheral vision, but when she'd turn, there would be nobody there.
Just like it had started, she dusted herself off, and with a nod and a wipe of her eyes, she'd start back toward her dormitory. The little cross would shake a little in the breeze, but she'd never look back while she was returning. She never saw the shadow, the translucent form that stood next to her every time she came to talk. She never felt the soft caress of the figure's hand on her head, as if to say, “Don't worry.” She probably never would.
But he was there to listen.
On second thought, I think I like this viewpoint better. -ED
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