The Story of US

Prologue

There was a car, its hood broken. The tiny metal pieces scattered around it. The police said it crashed into the bridge. The familiar silver Volvo was hanging at the edge, threatening to drop it into the cliff.

I saw my father on a gurney, wrapped in a white blanket. His face covered with dried blood. The doctors said he didn’t make it. The crash caused him internal bleeding. I ran to him, pushing my restraining mother away. I held his injured hand, tears overflowing my face.

"I love you." I said.

2 years later

I woke up feeling groggy. My throat dry and my body ached like a boulder had dropped on it.

I sighed and stared at the ceiling. As always, I wake up feeling sad and alone. And it doesn’t help if you only got 4 hours of sleep.

"Taylor! Get up! You’re going to be late." My mothers voice rang in my hurting ears.

I got up and stared at the mirror on the bathroom. A girl with her curly, blond hair wildly on her face was staring back. My skin was pale and my eyes were blue. After brushing my teeth and washing my face, I went back in the room

It was the start of senior year. Great, back to the dump they called High School. I’m so glad it’s my last year there. It’s already in the middle of the semester. This is going to be the worst day of my life. But hell, who am I to choose? I say it every day.

You see I’m pretty much a loner. I spent my days in my dull boring room, listening to music. I barely smile. I avoid people and they avoid me. I have the tendency of talking complete and utter nonsense around people, so to save myself from misery I just seal my lips!! I’m a lone wolf and a sore loser. But in the words of my oh-so loving mother, an Emo girl who cant get over the fact that she’s all alone.

I wasn’t always like this. But I wasn’t a girly girl either. I was simple and plain.

But as they say, everything can change.

I put on my blue t-shirt and faded skinny jeans with a black Converse shoes and a jacket. Then brushed my hair and picked up my bag. I never dress up. I looked at my reflection. There were bags under my tired eyes. Hmm, maybe I can put some make-up on it? Nah, never mind

Somehow my thoughts led back when it was the first day of freshman year. My father was staring at me while I braided my hair. He said, “Sweetie you look so beautiful.” Then I laughed and said, “You’re such a liar!” In his defence he said "Its what parents do, sweet Taylor."

A tear threatened to drop on my face.

"Taylor!" my mother’s squeaky voice echoed through the walls.

I got down stairs and there stood my mother. Her blonde hair curled and she was dressed in a waist high pencil skirt and a loose blouse tucked under it. Her make-up was very complex. It highlighted her high cheekbones and blue eyes just like mine. She looked like a queen working in an office. Huh. She rarely wears this kind of stuff. She must be up to something.

I always get this funny feeling whenever I notice my mothers radiant beauty.

I’m not beautiful.

Two words; low self-esteem

"Taylor, how many times have I told you, be prompt. You’re always late. That will never help you. You are a young lady and in your last year in high school. Next year you’ll be in college and after 4 years you will start a job. You be careful around boys. Teen pregnancy is a very.."

I zoned out. I’d much rather choke myself to death than listen to my mom, Andrea, rant about money, work, boys, and teen pregnancy. She already gave this speech last year.