I-The Things We Lost to the Cinders

The Things We Lost to the Cinders

It’s funny how fast a day can change. One minute you’re talking on the phone with your best friend, everything’s fine. You just got off school or work, you have a lot of homework or paperwork to do when you get home. You step out onto the crosswalk, forgetting to look both ways. Then, out of no where, you’re hit by a car. Dead. Right there in the middle of the crosswalk, your body lies there on the hard black pavement, lifeless. Your friend is on the other end of the call, calling your name the person who hit you jumps out of the car and looks at your lifeless body, with horror in their eyes, asking if you’re okay. Getting no response, they turn to their phones probably calling 911. Car horns are blaring, while witnesses rush to call as well. But, It’s too late. You’re gone. They still try.

The ambulance gets there. Your friend has finally given up on calling your name and finally hangs up, thinking it’s a practical joke. It’s not. You are watching everything, not believing what you’re seeing. You see your body being brought to the hospital and decide to follow the ambulance. Its too late, you think. Its too late. This is the end. Its over.

Carpe diem…

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I was awoken by the beeping of my alarm clock. I sat up slowly and got out of bed to turn it off. The room is so dark I can’t even see in front of me. I only manage to get to the clock because I know my room by memory. Even then I stumble to turn off the beeping.

When I finally find the button, it switches off and I make my way to the bathroom. I stare at myself in the mirror as I switch on the light. I squint my eyes as light pours all through the room. I turn on the faucet and look up at the mirror, making a cup with my hands so the water can pool into them. My red hair is situated in a bun on the top of my head, and I have dark circles on the underneath’s of my hazel eyes. I move the water around in circles on my face. I still look tired and sleep-deprived. 

Yep, that’s me. Good old Jadea, always tossing and turning in  bed. There’s just so much to think about, to ask about. How could I waist my limited minutes by shutting down my body, when I could use those precious minutes by thinking about the wonders of human existence? Sleep is for the weak, true strength is in thought. 

I decide to stop wasting my time by pondering the meaning of life while looking in the bathroom mirror, and start to be productive. My mornings usually consist of waking up early so I have time to procrastinate while staring at my existence in the mirror while asking and thinking. Then I have to force myself to get ready to go to the hell that is my high school. Honestly, I could probably have skipped this grade and finish school early but my parents wanted me to be a “normal” teenager and finish when most teenagers finished school.

Once I finished getting dressed , I went downstairs and into the kitchen where my brother, Joseph, was being forced to have his knotted, curly, brown hair brushed by the demon that is my mother. I don’t even know how my hair is red. Neither one of my parents have red hair. The only other person in my family with red hair is my aunt Maria. My brother, mother, father, grandparents, everyone, has brown hair. I hate my red hair. It makes my feel out of place, and different.

“Good morning, Jade. Sleep well? Homework finished?” Dad says, the same two questions he asks literally every morning. Sometimes he changes it up a bit and calls my “princess” or “baby girl”.