this is the life!

Dedicated to all the preteen girls out there who need help.

a story i wrote, ya like? February 4, 2007

Filed under: Uncategorized — emilyishere @ 4:12 am

here’s a story i wrote…

ya like? actually, it’s not done. but ya like what ya see so far?

The gray-brown mist floated airily around the lake. It covered the murky waters of Lake Carrie in an ugly fog. The bushes rustled, the wind blowing slightly through their branches. Mother had died. She was gone. The reality of it shocked me, and sent my flying to my bed, my mind frozen, my eyes locked on nothing. They couldn’t cry, I couldn’t yell. I was frozen. Frozen in time. “She’s gone, Carrie,” said Dad, walking up. “She’s not,” I whispered. Suddenly I felt the capability to scream. “She can’t be!” I yelled, leaping up and running out of the room. Looking back now, I don’t know why I ran or where. I just whipped right out of that room and zoomed outside into the deep fog and buried myself in it. I just wanted to live there in the fog forever, not living in a real world, just wrapped in damp air. I remember Dad coming out, putting his arm around me. “Carrie…” I don’t remember anything he said, I just remember pushing his arm away and crawling to the very edge of the lake and dipping my hands in it, despite the icy coldness of it. She was gone. And she wasn’t coming back.

What would this world be if we couldn’t suffer together? Days later, I sat in my room, playing with my thumbs, happy to be getting away, and at the same time sad because I wasn’t sure if Mother was going to follow us home, or at least her ghost following us. I wasn’t even sure if she was a ghost or an angel or just nothing, just sitting there, lifeless, in her coffin. Death is just so confusing. She’s an angel? No, some people say, she’s a ghost. She’s a ghost? No, other people say, she’s just dead, Carrie. At some point in the afternoon, I sat there, just staring into space, not knowing what to do with my life without Mother. She had always just been something that was there, part of my life, something that I never actually considered could fall away and not come back, like lost toys.

“Carrie,” said a broken voice from my door. I looked up. There was Mary Jane. She was so beautiful. Her long, wavy black-haired locks twisting down from her tan face and her rosy lips and unreal eyes. Her perfect figure that was most flaunted by red. Now she wore black, her least-favorite color but the color of mourning. Now her face was pale. Her lips were white and her eyes were red and swollen. “How can she be gone?” she whispered, and then threw her arms into mine. She hugged until both of us had finished crying. We sat on the bed, cross-legged, her lying down next to me, both of us lying on pillows. “I remember when she convinced Dad to buy this place,” said Mary Jane. “It was such a nice day, it was so fresh and great. Mother said that she had found the best price for a little cottage and a little lake. Dad laughed. ‘Yeah, right!’ he exclaimed.” Mary Jane went on. I remembered that day.

Mother had walked in briskly, her eyes smiling and her hair flowing behind her. “What’s my dream?” she had asked my faster, slipping her arms around his waist (he was bent down over his woodwork.) “To have twins,” Dad responded. “Nope!” she smiled. Mary Jane and I looked up from our homework. “It’s to have my very own lake and my very own cottage!” Dad laughed. “Really, Caitlyn?” Mother nodded. “And I found the best price for one! And guess what the little lake is called?” Mary Jane and I leaned on our elbows, ready for the most exciting name. “Lake Carrie.” I squealed, stood up, and grabbed Dad’s arm. “Please, Daddy? Oh, please?” He laughed. All of us were silent as Mother whispered the price to him. His eyes widened. “Remember! This is a lake and just the sweetest cottage!” Dad sat down. “Ahem,” he began, “I’ll think about it.” All of us laughed.

The next weekend, we had all gone to see it. It really was just spectacular. I loved every inch of the land. We bought it three days later. Ever since then, we had gone every summer.

“Mary Jane?” Mary Jane turned over and looked at me. “Yes?” she asked, wiping a small tear from her cheek. “She’s here. She’s with us, wishing she could just hug us.” And the sobs began again.

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