When I was little my mom had dozens of bottles.
Some would have food in them, like peppers or garlic. They would have seasoning like salt and rosemary. I'd always want to open them up, the sound of the seal opening making me jump. My mom would then put away in the tall cabinets though, out of my reach.
There were also those bottles filled with sand in ornate ways. Filled up so they were works of art rather than a gift bought as a last minute effort to say you were thinking about someone on your trip. Those I never touched, because doing so would risk the way it looked according to my mother and father.
On occasion I could refer to a beer bottle, lined up on the window with the light streaming through them. A light green tint would have been cast on me when I went into the kitchen the day after, my parents seemingly afraid of the light for a few hours while I entertained myself. The stench of alcohol heavy on my clothes for the rest of the day.
One thing I never thought about until I reached my teenage years was reality. The reality of yourself bottled up, airtight, unable to move or breath. The feeling that everything you were was confined in a little jar that you couldn't open. Your reality locked in a clear bottle so you could have false hope, never able to actually open up.
It was the same with the truth. Suppressing the truth can give you the feeling that you're suffocating. Letting go of the truth can make you feel like you're suffocating in the world. With the truth, good or bad, you can never have a perfect balance. It's either an extreme on one end if the scale, it an extreme on the other.
My mom said that bottles were good things rather than bad. She'd always use the idea of a message in a bottle when she was going to give me a message. Always starting the same way. Saying something had come to my parents attention that they needed to tell me. Something that they'd known about for a while, but just then found of importance.
The last "Message in a Bottle" I received from my parents came in late March. My plans for the summer were starting to be planned and I was about to graduate from high school. I was told I couldn't go with my friends to the Caribbean. I was told I was visiting my grandparents in Georgia, staying in a small town that just recently made the local map.
Ever since, anything bottled up had been carefully tended to. According to society you shouldn't bottle things up inside. My moms reply was that society killed the teenager. I didn't reply, but I knew that was the one time society was right.
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Authors Note ~ Merry Christmas! My present to you is my very first Teen Fiction story! I actually joined this site to write teen fiction. Hell when I joined this site I didn't know who One Direction was, but times have changed :) SO, I've actually posted teen fiction before, but that back when I had 8 fans ... So yep, merry Christmas and I hope you enjoy this! It's only a prologue but I'm excited for this story!
<3
Luce
YOU ARE READING
Bottle it Up
Teen Fiction“I’m Mason,” he said. I nodded, and clicked the X in the corner of the computer screen so that it would go back to the home page. “And you?” he asked, and I looked at him, a questioning look on my face. “Your name,” he added, cocking his head to the...
