Crash - Guns N Roses Fanfiction

NINETEEN

(AN: I published a short story!! You should check it out if you want. It's pretty cool. You can find it on my profile under "my works". Dedicated to: @AngusWithoutTheG !!)

I mean, obviously I couldn't just leave all of my personal items lying strewn across the floor. Not that it was me who did it, but the guys felt so awful that they refused to go into the room and look at the mess they'd made (the figurative one, and the physical one.) I was okay with that for some reason. I kind of wanted to sort through everything by myself, and look back on the memories each article held. It was something that I had been meaning to do for a while, and sometimes I would re-read some school papers I'd written to critique it. It was weird, I know.

That was how I found myself staring blankly into the spare room.

I crossed my arms over my chest and huffed. What a mess. Again, not my mess. And again, I should have been very mad, but I was raised to be rather unwaveringly forgiving.

I cursed loudly several times, staggering over and around everything on the floor.

The two totes that had once held it all were still sitting alone inside the opened closet. I gazed at them in wonder. Such small boxes that had been holding so many little things with such large meanings. It amazed me how that worked... but mostly confused me.

I sat down in the middle of everything and set to work. No use wasting any time.

-

I must have spent an hour in there.

I must have had a hundred flashbacks.

An empty box of Cadbury's chocolate "Fingers", with the words, "One last box. For memories. And of course for chocolate, too. -Cassandra" inscribed on it in black sharpie. I decided to throw that out, since her and I weren't friends anymore. Over a dozen letters that had been sent to me by my friends and family back home--all of which I'd reopened to feel that warmth that always spread through my chest when I thought of everyone I left behind, and of how they still cared so much about me and vice versa. An old wooden jewellery box I'd painted purple and yellow with a friend when she moved away--I must have been ten or so at the time. Inside, it protected several pieces of jewellery that either friends or family members had given me as gifts to represent their care throughout the years. A mix tape one of my best-guy-friends gave me when we were in middle school. Plenty of movie tickets from years and years ago--which was clear, their looks were so out of date. I flipped through the pages of a few of my sketch books, wondering about what I could have done to make the artwork look better. I made a few adjustments with a dull pencil I found lying on the floor under the bed.

Those were only a handful of things--but every single one of them sent a spark flying through my veins when I picked it up, remembering the day I got it and the memories that came along with it.

A stack of certificates, boasting about my so-called amazing achievements. High honours throughout middle school and high school, synchronized swimming and judo certificates to indicate me moving up to another level (there were several of those, since I stuck with those two sports for such a long time), my lifeguard certification, some more pieces of thick paper congratulating me on winning some art thing I never really cared about but didn't have the heart to throw away. Medals from the sports I'd played in over the years--judo, volleyball, badminton, lacrosse, soccer, basketball, softball, hockey, skiing, and synchronized swimming would just be naming a few. They all differed in ranking, gold and silver and bronze. Some trophies here and there.

And, of course, my high school diploma and college degrees. I looked those over a little longer than I'd like to admit, pride welling inside my chest somewhere.