My mom always said, "When life hands you lemons make lemonade." Lemons were supposed to be the bad. I was supposed to turn it into something good. I've always done just that. But now it's hard to make things positive. I'm stuck in a small shack with no one to count on. My mom is long gone and my father well I don't want to get into that.
I'm sat at my desk, thinking of my next project. I jump when I hear a gun shot outside. Ruining my peace of mind. I roll my eyes and shake my head. It's World War III. And I'm trying to get through it with a smile on my face.
I stare at my blank sheet of paper, not an idea coming to mind. I let out a sigh of frustration and push my rolling chair away from my desk. I get up and walk to the fridge, opening it to find little food. I grab an apple and slam the fridge shut.
I take a bite into the apple and lay on the dirty thing I call my couch. I stare at my TV, that was one bright and colorful. But now it just sits in the corner, gathering dust. The electricity went way down when war started. I only get little, and it's barely enough to survive on. My fridge is starting to go out and my food is becoming rotten. I frown at my apple, taking another bite.
I finish my apple and throw the core into the trash. I look out the window covered with boards. My eyes scan the outside world, covered with trash and dead men. I close my eyes.
"Come Lindsay." My mother said, holding out her hand. I giggled and grabbed her hand. It felt so large in my little 3rd grader hand.
Mymomlookeddownatme. Oureyeslocked, herbigbrowneyessparkling. Thesunhittingthemjustright.Herblondehairflowinginthesmallbreeze. ShesmiledandIsmiledback.
Shelookedawayandbeganwalking. Iwalkedwithher. Ourfeetmovedinsync. Ididn'tquietknowwhereweweregoingbutIdidn'tcare. Iheldmymotherhandtightly. Wearrivedatapark. Ismiledandjumpedupanddown.
Ilookovertotheswings. Inoticeabenchnexttothem, andtheresatmyfather. Ismiledandlookedupatmymomasshenodded. Iletgoofherhandandrantomyfather.
"Daddy!" IcheeredasIjumpedintoahug. Iheardmyfatherlaughashehuggedmeback.
"Hibaby." Isaidtwirlingmyblondehairinhisfinger.
I had my motherstraightblondehairandmyfather'semeraldgreeneyes. Ilookbackandmymother'sgone. I let outasmallsigh. Itwasmydad'sturntohavemefortheweek. Myparentsusetobehappy. Weusetobehappyfamily. TheydivorcedwhenIwas 5 nowI'm 8 and trying to pretend this is normal. Nothing's normal.
I open my eyes. I feel a small, silent tear roll down face as I walk away from the window.
"I'm tired of being alone. I don't want to be alone. I have to do something" I mumble, sitting once again at my desk. Thinking of a new project. She finally got it.
