From Heaven To Hell

Old Memories

The weekend went by surprisingly fast. After my day exploring the town, which only consisted of me checking out two shops-but was progress nonetheless, Sunday didn't seem to hold too much excitement. Besides doing a small jog around the neighbourhood, I mainly just did some reading to catch up on my subjects for school.

And now it's Monday-my least favorite day of the week. For good reasons too, like going back to school and struggling through the boring day. It meant dragging myself out of bed and trying to look presentable, which was kinda hard. I mean, I just got out of the shower and was horrified by the face reflecting back at me.

The fogged up mirror showed the dark purple bags underneath my dark brown eyes, from my recent nights of tossing and turning. Nightmares plagued my sleep regularly, making it hard to find the will to go back to sleep once I woke up. They started just Saturday night, after seeing the black blur in the trees. Screams and the feeling of something chasing me filled my head as I tried to sleep.

Quickly drying out my long brown hair, I put on the clothes I had laid out last night. I stare into my reflection one more time and force a smile onto my face. ''Stop stressing.'' I whisper to myself. Grabbing my school bag and my phone, I head downstairs.
The kitchen is silent, just like the rest of the house. A white piece of paper hangs on the fridge by a little magnet in the shape of a small frog.

Had to go to work early today, wanted to move some tables and seats for better feng shui. By the way, I'm starting the tutoring lessons tonight so I'll be home late. Left some money on the counter for food.
Love you,
-Mom.

My mother is the queen of whimsical ideas and it doesn't surprise me when I read the letter. One day moving furniture to help the "flow of energy", the next she's signing up for some weird yoga class that takes place in a pool. After throwing the paper away, I grab an apple and head out to my hand-me-down car.

When I turn into the parking lot for school, a expensive-looking car nearly crashes into the rear of my car. The person behind the wheel rolls down the window, giving me a dirty look before noticing who I am. Pretending I don't see her, I drive on past Chloe and park in an open parking spot.

Fearing the late bell, I walk quickly to the school entrance and smile at the feeling of sun on my back.

Finally, some sun. I was beginning to think this place never got any of it.

Checking my schedule, I head in the direction of my first class.

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Throughout the day, I ignored both Chloe and Noah. Although, I guess you can't really call it "ignoring" if they don't really want to be around you. I already knew that Chloe was trouble just by Emma's warnings. But Noah- well he was just someone not to mess with, based on my own experience with the guy. In fact, if I never saw him again, I wouldn't be too sad.

By the end of the day, I just wanted to go home and be alone. Not that being around Emma wasn't nice, I just felt drained for some reason. Like I had used up all my energy just writing down notes and passing from class to class.

Shrugging off the loss of energy, I head out to my car and slide into the warm interior. The weather was fairly bright, which would be nice, if only I wasn't cooped up in a busy school all day.

I start to drive home when I remember that mom said she wasn't going to be home till later. The thought actually gives me some relief. If mom saw my appearance now, she'd be worried.

As proof, my neck slowly droops to my shoulder as I fight to keep alert. I feel like I haven't slept in days. Which is kinda true, because I've only had a couple hours of sleep throughout the past few nights. The bright sun makes me jolt every couple seconds, helping me keep from falling asleep.

Soon, I park my car and unlock my front door. The house is just as quiet as this morning, giving it an eerie feeling. I tug off my bag and lay it next to the table where I set my keys down.

Conscious of the silence, I turn on the T.V. for background noise.

With the steady stream of noise from the television, I head into the living room, dragging my feet as I do so. Jumping up and down a couple of times, I shake my head and keep myself from closing my eyes. I spot a cardboard box that still needs to be unpacked and, not knowing what else to do, heave it into my arms. Across the top, in heavy Sharpie lettering, the label reads Photos. Shrugging my shoulders, I take the box into the kitchen and fetch a pair of scissors to cut off the tape.

After unfolding the top folds, I peep into the opening. Piles of photos with my family in varying stages of our life are haphazardly tussled in a mess of shiny pieces. I look at the one at the top, which shows me when I was only 6, with two chestnut braids going down the sides of my neck and a little petal pink dress on over my cobalt blue swimsuit. My mother is kissing my cheek with her eyes closed, while mine are fixed on the camera. Both of our beaming faces look entirely overjoyed. My dad is rushing into the picture, his sandy blonde hair a mess and his grin lopsided after trying to fit into the camera shot before the timer on the lens clicked. I smile, remembering that day.

My parents and I had gotten up really early to go to the beach-almost an hour drive away hoping to build sand castles and find some baby hermit crabs. The morning air was crisp and the sea sent a lovely fragrance to my nose. I had built two big sand castles before it even hit noon, with my parents' help of course. Afterwards, my dad took me on a short walk to a little souvenir shop where he had bought me a little bracelet with little shells dangling around the sides. Later that day, we enjoyed ice cream and hot dogs for lunch. By the end of the day, I had a sunburn along my cheeks. That night the stars never looked brighter.

Staring at the picture, I wonder when it got so hard. When I stopped being worry-free, and when I started worrying about my future. Where I would go to college, what job I wanted, and what grades I needed. When I started holding my mom as she cried herself to sleep, and when I stopped having a dad. When I stopped being a kid.

I ignore the other pictures, putting them into careful piles, not bothering to put them into sorted groups. The pictures of Dad are too plentiful and seeing his face makes my chest hurt. Reaching the bottom of the box, my hand bumps into a thin book. Curious, I pull out the weirdly soft object and examine it.
The leather cover is worn smooth by use with a matching cord wrapped around the jacket.

I unwind the tie and open it to the inside of the front cover. Underneath a flowering script that says Return To, is my mother's equally beautiful writing, signing her name. I flip through the fragile papers, revealing more of my mom's writing in long paragraphs, with dates at the top of every couple of pages. A diary? In all my life, I'd never seen my mother sit down and focus enough to write more than a couple sentences at a time. She could barely do it as she painted and yet, a full book of her thoughts rested in my hands.

Knowing I shouldn't invade my mother's privacy, I set the worn-out leather book on top of the counter. I instead focus on the piles of photos next to my knees. Grabbing a plastic container, I pack the mementos away, placing the container on a high shelf in the small closet next to the stairs.

Dusting off my hands, my eyes return to the small journal on the countertop and I feel my interest in the object increase -No. 'How would you feel if someone read your diary?' Objections cloud my mind as I consider reading just one page. Letting my curiosity win out, I grasp the book and take it to my room.
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