I have a bunch of notes, but I'll post the rest at the bottom.
Originally, I planned on making this a full story. But because of NaNoWriMo, I had to put it on the back burner. My intention was to write this as a full out story, using this as my prologue. My only rule was not to post it until the story was complete. But, I needed to post something (more on that later) so I decided to post this up. Someday, probably after the middle of December, I will try to come back to this story. My only concern is that I might not want to write at that point (from the writing 'spolosion that comes with doing NaNoWriMo) and I might not want to work on this particular story. So, I might continue this someday, but I make no guarantees. I am not Sears or Home Depot.
Anywho, I wrote this so long ago I don't remember if all of it was beta'd, but whatever WAS beta'd was done by the lovely BohemianBuffalo. Go check out her stories because I'm fail and I haven't yet!
And I own nothing. This, sadly, includes Rob.
Dear Mr. President,
My name is Isabella Black, though everyone calls me Bella. I was born the daughter of a police chief and a scattered-brained woman in Forks, Washington. Today, I turned twenty four. Today, I buried both my son and my husband.
I met my husband in college as a freshman. He was just about to graduate, then he would go on to Iraq. When he graduated, I told him that I was going to Iraq with him.
In one short year we had fallen in love and I couldn't imagine being with anyone but him. I was a small town girl and I had never known what I wanted to do with my life. Maybe be a writer, a scientist, an actress. I wanted to change the world until he changed my world. I would follow him to hell and back if he wanted me. And for some reason, he did want me.
We argued about it for a week, our first ever major argument. He won in the end. He would ship off for training and then go to Iraq and I would wait here for him while I finished college. But I had a small victory here. He could only leave me behind if he married me first, something he didn't expect but was very willing to do.
Our ceremony was done in the town hall, the mayor giving us vows to repeat and our parents crying in the background. Yet, I could never ask for anything more. We were there to tie ourselves together forever, and nothing else. If something happened to him, we wanted to make sure I would get all the benefits. I tried to tell him benefits meant nothing to me if he was gone, but he insisted that I accepted them if it came down to it. I, of course, gave in.
Two weeks later, at the end of our "honeymoon", he shipped out for boot camp. I wouldn't see him for six weeks, he told me. And then we would be saying goodbyes once more.
I went back to school, burying myself in studies to avoid thinking too much about him and losing him and him leaving me here. I couldn't follow him unless I finished college, he told me. I told him he wouldn't still be there in three years. He just smiled whenever I said that, never agreeing or nodding or giving me some hope that was true.
When I stopped to see him at the end of his training, we didn't say much. What could we say? "See ya soon" didn't seem really appropriate at the time. We said "I love you"s and just looked each other in the eyes. Mr. President, you are married. I'm sure you understand that sometimes that's all you need to have an entire conversation. Words aren't necessities when speaking to your true love.
Three weeks after he shipped out, I found myself pregnant. Me. A sophomore in college, a girl who everyone had the highest hopes for, and I was married to a man across the country and an ocean and I was carrying his child.
I told him that night when he called and he was ecstatic. "A baby, a baby," he kept murmuring. "My child, my baby."
William John Black was born on June 3rd, over five years ago. I was just lucky enough to finish out the year before he came. I sent dozens and dozens of pictures to my husband. The pictures of my black-haired, brown-eyed, chubby little angel were passed around the camp to everyone he could find. He was ogled by anyone that would stop to look, including the people in the village they were camping by. I couldn't wait to see my husband hold my son in his arms.
I worked through my next two years of college, my parents and in-laws always helping out with babysitting and the occasional loan. My husband sent as much as he could to help out and I took on two jobs. At night, I was a bartender with my son safely playing behind the bar on the floor. Fortunately, my boss never even knew he was there. The pay was decent and the tips were glorious, if only because I was a semi-attractive girl in her early twenties in short shorts and tight shirts. On weekends I worked at a department store, simply because it brought in money.
My son was two when I graduated. My husband wasn't there.
In my last month of school, I received no contact from him. My experience told me that when one of their own died, nobody could use the phones that day. They wanted a chance to tell the parents before any word got out and I accepted that, as long as he was on the phone with me the next day and I wasn't getting any other calls from Iraq. Yet, he never called.
I was told I couldn't go to Iraq unless I graduated college. There I was, twenty-one and a graduate. I left my son with my in-laws and got on the first flight I could find to Iraq. My husband needed me.
I searched all I could for a week and a half, finally finding him in the small city of Dahuk. He nearly skinned me alive when I arrived and was frantic to see where our son was. I explained everything, told him about how worried I was. He held me close and covered my face with kisses, ignoring the cat calls of everyone else around us. It was one of the best days of my life, seeing him again. Third only to our wedding and William's birth.
Mr. President, have you ever been separated from your true love for three years? It leaves a void in you, something you can't fill. I mean no offense when I say this, but the damned war you keep pushing to get funding for is the reason I had that void.
If, by chance, you've ever felt it, you also know what it's like when they come back to you. Relief—overwhelming relief. They're alive and healthy and happy and they're still yours. They didn't run off with anyone else, they haven't moved on. They belong to you just as much as you belong to them. And for that moment, it's all that matters.
We sent word back and he told me about the bombings and power outages that followed. He was going to call me that night, but it was pointless then.
I asked him when he was coming home. He told me he wasn't sure. He had such a love for the land now, and wanted to help the people. He was torn between doing what he loved and being with whom he loved. So I made the decision for him.
I flew back to Washington long enough to explain everything, packed up what I'd need for William and myself, and went back to Iraq. My husband would leave the military soon, but we wouldn't leave the country. I joined a relief effort and he joined me once he was released. We were almost as poor as the natives in the city, despite the savings I'd brought with me. But we were happy and we were together.
Watching my husband hold my son was all I could've hoped it would be. He loved his son, so, so much. They were so close and adorable together. All the black hair, the tanned skin, the brown eyes staring into brown eyes. It was mesmerizing to me, something I could never forget.
My son was five, my husband was twenty-seven and I would be turning twenty-four in a week. We were working to rebuild some houses after a bombing. My husband and son were working on the other side of the road. William was learning to use a hammer and I smiled at them. I managed to catch my husband's eye and we grinned at each other. Years later, we were still the love sick fools we were when we met.
Then they were gone.
I felt it before I could see it. The vibrating beneath my feet, the heat from the fire. Then I noticed their faces were gone. They were gone. The black smoke took over my senses, only allowing me the occasional lick of fire to keep myself feeling alive.
Yesterday I was released from my own refugee camp. Second degree burns, a broken wrist, and minor concussion. None of it hurts. The only thing that still hurts is my heart.
Mr. President, have you ever been to Iraq? Really been here? In the middle of bombings and fires and fist fights? Have you ever watched a man commit suicide to kill off others? Have you ever come in and tended to all the broken people, listened to their stories?
Mr. President, when's the last time you truly worked hard? Until every bone in your body screams in agony and you would do absolutely anything to just sit for five minutes? But you kept going because you're not the only person on the planet? Because you've got a family to take care of?
Mr. President, have you ever taken a moment to speak to the homeless? The people that can't work, can't eat, and can't be with their families? Have you ever heard them out? Listened to their stories?
Mr. President, do you know what it feels like when you can't say goodbye?
Now, Mr. President, you'll be sleeping in your nice, comfortable, warm bed tonight, won't you? Your wife will be next to you, your children down the hall and your security stationed around the house? I'll be going to bed alone on the dirt floor, nothing but a mattress without springs beneath me. If I'm lucky I'll get a blanket. My son and my husband are down the road under the ground. They were supposed to be thrown in with all the others that died last week, but I couldn't. I buried them in their own little cemetery until I fly back to Washington next week. They'll be coming with me, somehow.
Mr. President, do you see what is happening now? These are your people, too.
And when you pray tonight, I don't care if I'm in your prayers. But I do ask you to pray for the others that died last week, many of them soldiers. And I ask you to pray for William John Black and Jacob William Black, my beloved son and husband. Because we all got a very short forever. And finally, I ask you to pray for my unborn child, who will never know how wonderful it's father and brother were.
Isabella Black
She crumpled the papers in her fists, slamming them into the ground. Tears poured from her eyes as she remembered her black-haired angels, as she remembered the little angel inside her.
She ripped the papers into pieces, hoping it would erase the anger and the hatred inside of her and never succeeding.
She threw the ripped pieces away from her, causing a mini snow storm to appear at her feet.
Bella pulled her knees to her chest, rested her head on her knees, and cried. She cried and cried and cried, hoping she could cry long enough to join her Jake and her Will. She didn't care about the little baby inside her at that moment, knowing it would only be a painful reminder of what she had. And she prayed that everything around her would end someday. The screams outside her window, the fires, the bombs. She prayed it would just stop.
She prayed to be with her loves.
I'm so emo/angsty it even hurts me sometimes.
My Other Notes:
Fandom Gives Back:
I'm sure most of you have heard of it, but if you haven't: The wonderful tby789, ninapolitan, and LolaShoes have banded together with Alex's Lemonade to make Fandom Gives Back, a branch of Alex's Lemonade that's just for us in the twilight fandom to contribute to. Many people that have are in fanfic, but many others aren't. And it's all to raise money for children with cancer. I, personally, have not seen such an out pour of generosity in eight years. If you can, please help out. Donate or bid in the author auction.
The Author Auction:
I, along with hundreds of other amazing authors, have banded together to help raise even more money. Between November 15th and November 20th, you as readers and writers alike, can bid on different one shots, outlines, stories, hotel stays, autographed items, and more from your favorite authors and friends. I've put myself out there to write 3, 2K minimum, rated T, E/B oneshots (I'm an E/B shipper, if this story didn't make it clear. NOT B/J. I just killed him, for God's sake.) for $20 each and I'll have them all done by, hopefully, December 15th. I know I'm a pretty crappy writer, but it IS for charity. And I'm pretty cheap. If you can't find anything else and can deal without having smut, why not bid on the cheap whore? If you really want, I can even get you one of the chapters for this story, since it's T-Rated.
Links for the Fandom Gives Back, their auction boards, and my personal board will be added to my profile.
And with THAT way too long A/N, I leave you to your angst.