Promises: Rework

[WP] You notice one day that you are compelled to keep every promise you ever made. The news shows the world in a panic as is everyone else is forced do to the same. It seems that that people with too many conflicting promises go comatose, including many elected officials.

*****

One day, society woke up, and every promise anyone had ever made in the last five years, and any afterwards, had to be fulfilled. It didn't matter how big or small, a promise was now law. Some people tried to fight against the feeling, the supernatural power that made them do whatever it took to make their word become reality, but it was futile. Those who resisted too hard lost their minds, or, worse, their lives. Stress induced heart attacks, as they were diagnosed, were now the number one leading cause of death in every country.

The world called it Compulsion. Religious folk said it was the hand of God that propelled humans to keep their word, while Atheists struggled to come up with an answer for the phenomenon. Regardless of what you believed, the fact that the force was there was undeniable. Even little kids began to watch their tongue, lest they be bound to someone for life, all because they jokingly promised not to break their heart.

I was lucky enough to not have been able to speak when Compulsion began. Others had to remove the word 'promise' from their vocabulary, particularly difficult for some such as politicians, but people like me, those who had been babies on the fateful day, never even were taught the word. Like all words parents don't want their kids to know, the adults pretended the word didn't exist. And, like all words parents don't want their kids to know, we found a way to learn them anyway.

Back in first grade, on the schoolyard, all of us for the first time saw the power of a promise.

"Come on, Brett," Jennifer said. "Say it. What's the worst that could happen?"

There were ten of us in a circle, all picking on Brett, who stood in the middle. He had a stutter, which made him the target of our hatred. Anyone different had to be eliminated, it was the law of us kids.

"O-O-Okay, J-j-jennifer," Brett said. "W-whatdya want m-me to say aga-a-a-in?"

Everyone's heart stopped as Jennifer spoke. Even though only half of us knew what word she was saying, it was an inborn fear. Deep within my gut, I wanted her to stop. She didn't.

"Say you promise," Jennifer said, "to eat all the sand in the sandbox."

She smirked as Brett opened his mouth.

"A-a-ah promise t-to eat all the s-s-sand in the s-sandbox."

Suddenly, the bell rang, marking the end of recess. Everyone began to go inside, disappointed that the fear/fun was over, but one student remained outside. The teacher called his name, but Brett ignored her. As she approached him, she saw he was shoveling sand into his mouth, one handful at a time. From the windows of the classroom, we all watched as an ambulance showed up to pump his stomach. The image was burned in my mind.

"How'd you get him to do that?" somebody asked Jennifer.

"It's called a 'promise'," Jennifer responded. "I learned it from my Dad."

Years passed, and the business with Brett seemed to be forgotten by most. As the class entered adolescence, promises were used for fun.

"What are you, a pussy?" someone said during a game of spin the bottle.

"Fine," the other person said, "I promise I'll fuck Mrs. Howard."

He never did end up having sex with the science teacher. Instead, he landed himself in jail, slowly losing his mind. His fingertips were ground to bloody stumps as he clawed at the floor, trying to escape and fulfill his word. The power of a promise was not to be toyed with.

I stayed out of most of the trouble. I had never made a promise, despite endless ribbing, nor did I plan to make one. I got through high-school without feeling Compulsion. It never appealed to me. Just one misspoken word, one error in intention, and I'd spend the rest of my days trying to carry out some ridiculous claim. No thank you.

In college, there were close calls. Fueled by alcohol at a house party, my lips began to move faster than my mind, and I got as far as the 'i' in promise before I managed to stop myself. Not all was bad that night though, for it was the night I met the love of my life.

"Jennifer?!" I said. Okay, maybe 're-met' was a better choice.

"Anthony?" she replied, all grown up now. The little girl from first grade had been transformed into a beautiful woman. I instantly found myself lost in her deep brown eyes. My younger self threw me a life preserver from the shore, though, as I snapped out of my trance remembering the thing she had done to Brett.

"Sorry, you got the wrong guy," I said, as I walked away, not wanting anything to do with her, even if she was hot.

"No, it is you, isn't it?" she said, as she got between me and the door. "From first grade. I remember. I was forced to switch schools for what I did..." Her fiery tone died down and she looked at the floor as she said those last words.

I was so drunk the words poured out. "You mean what you did to Brett? Made him say that promise, made him go to the hospital? Yeah, that was fucked up. Now get out of my way, I don't want to talk to you."

I tried to walk past her, but she didn't budge. From behind her eyes, I could see something hurting. Tears found their way on her cheeks.

"Wait," she said, as she sobbed. "I've been holding it in for so long. Too long. Please, just listen to me. I've been looking for someone from that class, anyone. Just listen, please."

"Okay," I said. "I'm listening."

"That thing with Brett... I know what I did was terrible. And I know anything I say to you right now won't change what happened. But I want you to know that I've felt terrible ever since that day. At home, my Dad, the one who taught me what a promise was—never mind. That doesn't matter. I've tried to find Brett, to apologize, to right my wrong, but it's like he disappeared."

"His family moved away shortly after you were transferred," I told her. "I doubt he'd want to hear from you, anyways."

Her face winced as I said that. Maybe I was too harsh. "Ah, I see," she said, "but still, I won't ever forgive myself. I'm here, in college, studying to become a speech pathologist. I want to help those like Brett, kids with stutters. It's the one thing I can do for repentance."

It might have been the alcohol, but for some reason, hearing that moved me. I looked into her crying eyes and I figured out what I had seen before, the thing hurting inside of her. It was a young Jennifer, alone and afraid, regretting the things she did that day. A little girl who made one mistake and now was being punished for the rest of her life over it.

Before I knew it, I wrapped my arms around Jennifer and held her tight. She cried and cried into my chest, and I rubbed her back, telling her it was okay. We stood like that for awhile, until the party ended and we were kicked out.

We began dating the following week. A little quick, sure, but we were crazy about each other. I couldn't believe how much she had changed from the devilish girl she used to be. She was beautiful now, both physically and spiritually. Her long wavy hair landed perfectly on her shoulders, her eyes, as I've said many times now, were a beautiful, deep hazel, and the rest of her, well, I'd get too excited if I began to describe it. I'm not sure what exactly she saw in me, but the attraction was mutual.

We graduated together and began our adult lives hand-in-hand. She helped kids with speech disabilities while I worked behind a desk doing work that nobody really cared about. When we'd both get home for the day it was always like the first time. The spark we had never faded.

She told me the news on a day like any other. We were cuddling on the couch, watching a show.

"I have something to tell you," she said. "It's serious."

My heart jumped. If Jennifer said something was serious, that meant it was. "What is it?"

She got up from the couch and came back with a folder. She handed me translucent sheets of paper.

"The sickness I've been having," she said, "well, you can see it there."

I held one of the xrays to the light and, in yellow marker, an arrow was drawn that pointed to something. The arrow had a label.

"You have to be joking," I said, unable to accept the word I was reading. I looked up at her from above the xray. "This is a joke, right?"

She was crying. In an instant, she drove her face into my chest, just like that one night at the party so many years ago.

I held her tight as she wailed. There was nothing in my stomach but despair. In the background, the sounds coming from the TV were distorted and warped by the reality I was fighting against. We stayed like that all night, in silence, until the sun peeked through the windows. Then we passed out together, exhausted.

"We can try chemotherapy," the doctor said, "but..." he breathed in a deep sigh as I rubbed Jennifer's hand in mine. "The cancerous tissue is very large. In past circumstances like these, the results have been poor. That's not to say this is the same as past circumstances, but just be aware."

Jennifer and I looked at each other and nodded. We were going to fight back, no matter how futile.

The chemotherapy was brutal. She struggled to eat and drink. The full-bodied woman she once had been disappeared and a new, gaunt body took its place. Her hair was gone, and she rarely had enough energy to do anything besides lounge around the house. I hated to see her like that, withering away. But still, we fought.

Sadly, a losing battle only goes on for so long.

In the hospital bed, she was barely recognizable. So skinny and frail. The outside looked different, but inside she was still the sweet girl I loved so much. The gaps between the heart-monitor's beeps became longer and longer. The time had come, and we both knew it.

I squeezed into the bed with her, and she laid her head on her chest, while I put my arm around her shoulder.

She could barely talk, she was so weak, but still she was warm, and with her body against mine, I could feel her glowing spirit.

"I can feel I'm going," she whispered in a dry voice.

"Shh," I said, as I rubbed her shoulder with my thumb. I couldn't hold back my tears. "Don't talk, Jenn. I'm here with you."

She slowly turned her head up to look at me. Her once deep-brown eyes had become so light now. With every passing moment, they lost more of their color.

She smiled as I cried. "It's okay, Anthony," she said. "You don't need to cry. Don't waste tears on a dead woman." She coughed.

"My goodness," I said with a morbid laugh, as I tried to wipe away the tears from my eyes, "what am I supposed to say to that?"

"Nothing," she said. "You don't have to say anything. It's really close, now."

Knowing that I was about to lose the love of my life made my eyes well up more, but I didn't want her last moments to be like that, so I resisted. The beeps became fainter and more distant.

"One more thing..." she said, so quiet I could barely hear. "Let me be a little selfish before I go." I looked down at her and nodded my head. "Please," she said, "tell me you'll never forget me."

I held her tight, just as she always liked.

"I'll never forget you," I began to say, but it was too late. I felt her leave as the heart-monitor began to play a constant tone. I took a deep breath, ready to face the barrage of despair headed my way.

Before the sad feelings came, though, to no one but myself, since I was alone in that room now, I said the words that I had never said before in my life, the words that would ensure I'd never forget her.

"I promise."

*****

THE END