Fallen



  Fallen

  J. Dursky

   

  This is a work of fiction. Some of the names, characters, and places are based in reality but I have received written permission from all parties.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any written, electronic, recording, or photocopying form without written permission from the Author, J. Dursky.

  Cover design by J. Dursky

  Models J. Dursky and Ayla Crosby

  Photography by Michaela Dursky

  Copyright © 2015 J. Dursky

  Library of Congress Control Number 1-2511393974

  ISBN- 10: 1500189111

  ISBN-13: 978-1500189112

  This book is based on an actual dream that I had. I usually do not remember my dreams in much detail, but this one really stuck with me. So much in fact, I was telling friends and family about it nearly six months after I had it. A good friend who is a published author himself told me I should write it down. I had never written before and wasn’t even sure where to start. This friend was so supportive and inspirational that I had to give it a try.

  Thanks for all your help Brian Darr, it has not gone unappreciated.

  As long as I can remember I’ve had a recurring dream.  It doesn't happen every night or even every month but it is always the same.  There are times I realize it’s a dream when it happens, sometimes I swear I'm awake. It seems so real. Tonight, it ends the same way it always does.  

  I wake up terrified, jolting from a dead sleep, sitting straight out of bed. I am covered in sweat but it can’t be more than 60 degrees with the window open all night.  Why does this seem to happen on nights I need rest the most? Why can't I see how it ends?

  This all began four years ago, before the world changed.  If I would have known then, what I know now, I may have been able to stop it just after it started.  The thing that bothers me the most is that I didn’t figure it out soon enough.  I had the ability to prevent all of this from happening then, but I didn't know I had it, and more importantly, I didn't know how to use it.

  Chapter 1

  Friday Morning

  I sit up in bed, rub my eyes, and run my hands over my buzz cut to remove the sweat from my head. My hair still stands on my neck.  Not that anyone would notice, it’s so blonde it is almost invisible.  I glance at my phone to see the time, there are only three minutes left before my alarm is supposed to go off to wake me for school. I crawl out of bed and head to the kitchen.  My dad has already beaten me to the toaster.  I have to wait my turn.  

  I see the same breakfast I have before every football game, at least the ingredients to make it. He is making two waffles with butter, peanut butter, and syrup with a glass of milk.  I am not a superstitious person. I just prefer having the same meal before sporting events because I know what keeps me full longest and is high in protein.  My dad waits, knife in hand, ready to butter whatever is about to pop up and burn his fingers due to his impatience.  I have that gene too.  I have a lot of his genes now that I think about it.  We are a lot alike. He was also very athletic.  Back then he viewed sports as fun. I view them as a job... as a future.  

  He is built like I am, only in a smaller package.  He wears the same old grey sweatpants he has had my whole life. I have never been a fan, I prefer something more comfortable like the baggy red gym shorts I wear. He is five feet, six inches tall and about 170 pounds.  He has broad shoulders and a slim midsection.  He does not work out on a regular basis like he used to, but still has chiseled features.  I’m about 35% larger than he is with the same frame.  I’m just a hair under six feet tall and just shy of 200 pounds.  

  Ever since I was introduced to organized competition in junior high sports I have been consumed by them. Not only participating in them but watching them and knowing the history of each. I consider myself a natural athlete. I pick up on things very quickly.  I’d like to say it is the joy of competition, but in my book, nothing is better than winning. It is not about the fans, the fame, or the glory. It is about being in the moment, when everything is on the line and everyone looks to you to do the impossible. I work out after practice, eat right, get proper rest, and never stray from my routine.  With a lifestyle like this, I am bound to get a scholarship to pay for college. Since the first football practice in seventh grade, that is all I have ever wanted to do: College sports with the possibility of going professional. 

  "Ready for tonight?" My dad asks. "Are you nervous?"

  "A little, no more than normal."  I respond.

  "You’ll kick ass, as usual."

  “It's not the game or the team I’m nervous about.  It's the scouts."

  “I’ll see if I can get a seat close to them to hear what they’re saying about you.” He smiles at me.

  I laugh. As routine as this man is, I know there is no way he would give up the seat he always sits in, not even for something like that. He is a creature of habit as most of us are. He sits in the same seat at every home game, in the top row, all the way to the left side. The only thing that has changed recently is the people who sit by him.  

  As the toaster pops up he throws two waffles on a plate, smiles, hands it to me, and says, "You’ll be fine.  Good luck."  

  I take my plate, grab the glass of milk from the counter, and walk into the living room to eat my breakfast.  I pull my food and drink close to me on a TV tray and turn on the TV.  I typically watch some music video channel to try to quench my love of music.  I hit the numbers on the remote to get to the channel I want without looking up.  I lean down to take my first bite and hear the channel come on, but it is mostly static.  I look up and it appears just how it sounds, fuzzy and choppy.  This early in the morning, I don't let much bother me.  I just finish my breakfast and ignore the fact the TV isn’t working. I walk to my room to get dressed. I throw on a white t-shirt before putting on my jersey, it helps cut down on the abrasiveness of the worn nylon. I finish off the outfit with blue jeans and running shoes. I finish getting ready by brushing my teeth, jumping in my truck, and I drive to school. 

  I am always one of the first to school.  I show up early for a few reasons.  First, to get a good parking spot close to the locker room so I don't have to carry my football gear through the school.  Second, to complete any last minute homework I didn’t do the night before.  And third, which is the most important, to see my girlfriend, Lila. 

  She is not the most beautiful girl in school.  She may not be the smartest, most athletic, most popular, or anything specific that makes her stick out of a crowd.  But she is mine, and I love everything about her.

  I call her my unicorn. The thing that no one thinks actually exists, something that is unachievable, a myth. I never thought I would meet anyone like her, not to mention actually be with someone like her.  

  "Good morning Sweetness!" She says smiling. "Hold this!" 

  I look down to see her holding her empty hand out to me. I grab it and interlock my fingers with hers. Most people usually hand you something when they say “hold this,” it is a flirty inside joke we have.  She is so cute. All she wants is for me to hold her hand.  I can’t help but smile when I kiss her.

  Another thing I love about game day is seeing Lila in my jersey. It is not necessarily seeing her in it. It’s in knowing she takes pride wearing it in front of everyone. 

  "Hey baby, how are you? How did you sleep?" I ask.

  "Not bad. Would have been better if you would have come over last night." she said.

  "Yeah, so your mom wakes me up at midnight just to kick me out again?”

  "Well she’s not an idiot. She knows what would happen if you stayed the night. She knows we do, she just doesn’t want me to make the same mist
ake she did, you know that. Anyway, how did you sleep? Did you have that dream again?”

  I take a deep breath and nod yes.

  “I wish you didn't have nightmares like that, especially the night before a game." She says as she kisses my cheek and pulls my arm. Walking across the cafeteria floor to our regular table, I get a whiff of her. I love the way she smells, and it isn’t her perfume. 

  I don’t like to worry her but I tell her I had it again. I have told her about the dream before, never in detail though.  I always tell her it’s hard to remember, even though that’s a lie. I don’t want to scare her.  She clinches onto my arm and pulls me over to a table where a few of her friends are sitting to show me something.  It's a giant white sign with blue letters. The sign says "I love Five.” It is written in her handwriting which is sloppy enough to be a drunken doctor’s signature, written on wet paper during an earthquake.  

  I laugh, "You are adorable, baby.  I love you too."  

  Calling me “Five” caught on during my freshman year. Most of my friends, family, and even teachers have called me that since I got the jersey number. It is not just my number, however. It comes up often in my life, like the name of the highway I live on. A few others usually call me by my last name, Dursky.  

  Standing next to the table, Lila’s friend Nicole has a chocolate bar and offers us each a piece. 

  "Ugh, gross."  Lila says with a look on her face as if she just tasted something sour.

  "You don't like chocolate?"  Nicole asks.

  "Where have you been her whole life?  Everyone knows we don't like chocolate, and on top of that, she is allergic."  I jump in to answer for Lila. 

  Most of our friends and family thinks we are strange for not liking chocolate. They look at us like we are not human half the time, when we decline specific desserts.  Others think it makes us soul mates.  Seems like a silly reason to me.  It takes more than a dislike of chocolate to bring two people together. It is so much more than that.  If having things in common makes two people soul mates, then maybe it is because we are both left handed, our birthdays are three days apart, or maybe it is because of our love for music. I could go on forever, especially about how much we love music. 

  The door on the other end of the cafeteria bursts open. Darr runs inside with newspapers in his hand. He wears his jersey, the same as the entire football team does today.  He is probably the only one who does not tuck his jersey into his blue jeans.  It kind of looks like he is wearing a jersey for a dress since he is so small.

  The year before Lila and I started dating, Darr and I were driving to go snowboarding. On the radio they were talking about the local University’s basketball team. That night they were playing a game against the best team in the country and had to beat them to make it to the National Tournament. One of the commentators mentioned how it was a rivalry game and referred to the opposing team as our “unicorn.” He said the team we are playing always seems to find a way to beat us. It could even be our best year and one of their worst. There is just something about the rivalry that makes it impossible to get the win. He went on to define how to overcome this adversity but my mind went to using his analogy for Lila being my unicorn. It was not exactly the same. She is not some mythical beast, but I never thought at any point, I could ever have her. I explained to Darr how I felt and now with this reference he finally understood. I could see a change in him that went from a typical friend making fun of me for wanting to be with her, to now knowing what she means to me.

  "Did you see this?" he asked me.

  "See what?" I ask, looking over my left shoulder.

  "The rankings!" He says half yelling.  He is always enthusiastic about statistics and analyzing them.  He tells all of the players about their individual stats, how they rank in the state, anyone who is close to setting any sort of record, and the team's stats. 

  I spin in the bench seat and face him.  I can't tell if he is happy about this news or mad.  

  "No, what do they say?" I ask him.

  "They jumped us. With both of us having a bye week last week! That's not fair!" He exclaims.

  "Let me see it." I say. 

  The newspaper has a box in the lower right hand corner of the front page. Across the top it says "Iowa State Football Rankings - Class 1A."  

  As I look down the list I remember being number two last week. Did we drop a spot? Did we only get leap frogged? I start reading the list.  We are number three.

   

  1. Elk Horn

  2. Melcher-Dallas

  3. Twin Cedars

  4. Moravia

  5. Adair-Casey

   

  Should I be mad that our rival, the team we must beat tonight to qualify for state, is now ranked higher than us? To be honest I prefer the idea of being the underdog. I think it will make the team play much harder, rather than having the constant confidence of being the higher ranked team.  

  Number two, three, and four are all from our district.  Moravia has beaten us both making our records 9-1, but they had to play two games without their running back and lost both of those games. Elk Horn has not lost a football game in three years.  All I can think about right now is "this game first." There are still a lot of variables when it comes to who we would play in the first round of state anyway. 

  With teammates, friends, and my history teacher peaking over my shoulder and staring from the other side of the table, the bell rings.  This signals three minutes before first period begins. Lila grabs my head with both hands and kisses me. I love the feeling of her soft skin on my cheeks and ears when she does this.

  I walk into my English class and am greeted by the teacher, Mrs. Flutterback. She has always been one of my favorite teachers. She was an athlete in her day as well. She even gives me a hard time for being the school record holder in high jump and long jump compared to me only being the long jump record holder. I take full advantage of this when I write my papers. If I write something about sports I typically get a pretty good grade.

  Things have been a little awkward with her lately though. She is also a part time bartender and waitress at a local steakhouse. She does well at both jobs. I assume she makes a lot in tip money as well, she is very attractive.

  The last time I went to eat at the restaurant I saw her bartending. I was with a few friends and Lila. I ordered an appetizer of chips and queso. It is typically a thick, creamy dip but this time it was fairly runny. I took a typical scoop of cheese but the chip had an odd shape to it and I dripped queso onto my hand. I switch my chip to my other hand to lick the cheese off my fingers. I do this without even thinking anything of it. The cheese had dripped between my index finger and the next one over, down into the webbing. With my palm facing me, I licked the cheese. As I focus my eyes through my fingers I see her, Mrs. Flutterback. She makes eye contact with me and immediately looked away. At this point I realized what I was doing. I was making a very sexual, symbolic hand gesture while looking in her general direction. I was immediately embarrassed. I told my friends and they could not stop laughing. I am usually a confident person who does not get embarrassed. I am comfortable with who I am and what I do.

  I still have not said anything to her about it. I kind of hope it just goes away. I could apologize and tell her the story but I can never find any time to say something. Lila thinks she either didn’t see it how I did, or she has heard the true story by now and I should just ignore it. She is always more conservative than I am anyway. 

  There are not very many classes on my schedule this year. I took most of my college preparation courses and required credits my junior year.  First period I have English 3, second period is Study Hall, and periods three and four are combined into one long foods class. It is not Home Economics, which involves sewing and things of that nature.  This class teaches me my way around the kitchen, proper measurements, how to maintain heat and timing of many dishes at once.  


  This is a class that Lila really appreciates, especially when I have homework.  After those classes I have work release.  I go to the local window and door factory for three hours a day and get college credit for it. It's a pretty good deal, I have a half day of school, a half day of work, and make $10 per hour.  Fridays during football season, my boss does not make me come into work.  He said if my teacher ever showed up to check on me, he would cover for me and say I had to run an errand to another factory.  Today after all my classes I will go home and get a nap to try to compensate for the lack of sleep last night.

  Chapter 2