It's not really a thing anymore, people being surprised that I draw. Instead they just ask me what I like to draw,how I started, can I draw them, etcetera.
I'm not mad about it.
--
PAPER: Rustles.
RAIN: Patter.
I am almost asleep, my head is drooping. My loose papers rustle on my desk and the rain outside soothes me. It sounds like my very own mini orchestra - a trumpet of thunder and a twang of branches scraping the window, a piano melody of tin-roof and soft-ground, an allegro beat at the beginning, a moderato rhythm by the time I drift off to sleep.
I wake up only because of the red and blue flashing lights against my window.
There has been an accident.
--
GRANT: *Shuffles nervously*
GRANT: So you two were pretty close, huh?
ME, mumbling: Not really.
ME:
ME:
ME: Yeah, we were.
He moves closer to me and I'm grateful because the room is cold. There aren't many people around yet, just out family and a few close relatives and friends of her. Olive was my cousin, charismatic and upbeat. It wasn't her who was driving, it was some drunk who crashed into her.
All I could remember was them telling me she had bad internal injuries, and then she had a heart attack- from shock or something. She died, and I think my last words to her were "see you next week".
And I did. Except I was breathing and alive, and she was not.
ME: I actually don't want to be here.
ME:
ME:I just want to go home.
--
Grant stayed over that night, because I had insisted. He slept on the floor, on a mattress I had laid out for him - my parents were already generous for letting us sleep in the same room, and besides, we were not dating, even if the things he said sometimes made me want to.
YOU ARE READING
If You Will
Teen Fiction"every night, she would look up at the stars she could see, and pick the brightest star and give it a name. meanwhile, he would observe every single one of them, and give the brightest a name; her name." - anonymous.
