Newspaper Story "Many are Called, but Few are Chosen"

    Many are called, but few are chosen. Many are called, but few are chosen.

    Those words lingered in my head. Jencie’s words. Her last words.

    It was the storm. My uncle told me she was old and it was her time. But no, it was the storm.

She lay on her death bed at the closest hospital (60 miles away) with a big gash in her head and broken legs. Her face, so monotonous, unlike how it usually was.

    I turned away to walk out of the room when my uncle attempted to grab my hand to comfort me. I

shrugged away. I don’t need anyone to hold my hand. I’m almost a teenager. My uncle doesn’t think so, but I think I’m stronger than he is. He needs a hand to hold. But not mine.

    I walked through the grey hospital, though the hospital smelling of rubbing alcohol and disinfectant, and down the wide stairway leading to the front doorway. I walked out of the hospital through the revolving door and to the car which was locked. So I sat down by the car and glanced up at the sky, the dark sky with no stars.

    A couple minutes later, my uncle arrived and he drove me through the shimmering city to his apartment, only a few minutes away. It was kind of chilly, but he had a blanket in the car from when he went camping with a couple of his friends. I stepped out of his car and was greeted by a tall building. From there we went inside and took the elevator up to the eleventh floor. I was not ready for this. When we actually got to his apartment, I almost started to cry because the lack of a backyard. The apartment had a sophisticated look to it. The lighting was dim but it was reflected off of the stainless steel in the kitcken.

    “Dede!” My brother’s voice rang through the room.

    “Sam, quiet down. You don’t want to disturb the neighbors,” My aunt was over by my brother. Her voice was soft and kind, but not the voice I wanted to hear.

    “Where’s my room” I said through my sniffles.

    My aunt pointed to a room on the right, “You’ll be sharing it with your brother so don’t take the whole bed.”

    I felt like walking to the room was my death march, on my way to eternal mystery and suspense.

I opened the door and ran straight to the full bed, jumping and landing in the middle on my back.

    I’m done. I thought to myself. I lived off of stories, Grandma’s stories, and now she’s gone.

    I closed my eyes. Maybe it was time I grew up. Maybe I don’t need stories. I can make friends in this world too, couldn’t I? Besides, my grandma’s stories aren’t even real. The people, the places. I’m not a kid anymore.

    Many are called, but few are chosen.

    Those words again. They echoed through my mind and through my body.

    Many are called, but few are chosen.

    I was worn out. All I needed was a long night sleep. Maybe then I will handle my thoughts better.

    I slept.

    Many are called, but few are chosen. Many are called, but few are chosen.

    “I am chosen, I am chosen, I am chosen.”

    “What?” A distant voice sounded. “Hello? Can I help you?”

    “Many are called, many are, are,” My eyes fluttered open.

    “Yes?” The voice was now strong and the figure of a man slowly made its appearance as my eyes adjusted to the light.

    I couldn’t speak. Not at all. I was not in the apartment anymore.

    This is a dream.

    “Then it must be a good one,” The man smirked.

    Did he read my mind?

    I sat up quickly, startled by the remark he made. When I did so, he was already walking away, though the forest with leaves of gold and orange.

   “No, lay down, you’ll need all the rest you can get,” his brown hair was flopping through the wind as he made his descent through the forest.

    This isn’t a dream.