I looked at the short story I just typed down on my laptop as I analysed it carefully.
In life, the possibilities of success and a future were very seldom. In my belief, most of it came out of luck. Beginners luck. I think of this matter in this perspective because I noticed in life that those who strive and work hard are not always the ones who succeed. One of the multiple reasons why life was very unfair.
I was not one who enjoyed sharing my stories online or even let people read it, not even my own family, but ever since Ms’ Sparks dazzled me with compliments one of my writings which mistakenly slipped from my notebook and to my luck, she picked it up and read it, she was very… Impressed? What I can surely say is that I was taken aback. I never really thought someone out there thought I was “talented“asMs’ Sparks claimed I was.
Writing to me was an escape, as cheesy as it may sound writing was the only way where I could express myself and talk freely about topics and not even get judged. Not even the slightest. You see my writings were my business, weather I chose to write about my life, drugs, love or even write about animals having sex it was my choice. No one was going to ever read these stories unless I permitted them. Unless they decided to act all sneaky and interfere with my things, then that was something else.
I took out a piece of paper from the drawer beneath me and slid out a piece of pen from my pocket. My handy friend. I doodled down some thoughts for another short story I was planning to write and folded the paper neatly as I hid it in my back pocket. I looked nervously at my computer screen while biting on my lower lip and scratched my cherry red coloured hair. I inhaled deeply as I read out what I typed and moved the cursor to the button send. This was it.
Just like any other normal person, before making a big step in my life, hesitation took over me. My fear of being disliked washed through me as it was filled with agony and dismay that lead to concern and anxiety as it flowed through my blood vessels. The feeling was unbearable and miserable.
“This is a big step you’re making here, my friend.” I would be lying if I said this was the first time I heard this voice. I knew where it came from. “You never know, maybe some out there isn’t even going to like your story. Fuck it, they won’t even read that pathetic shit you typed out They’ll bash you with hate.” The voice indicated me to the possible future. A part of me felt that these rank of possibilities where all true. I mean they were ought to be a reason why negativity is spreading.
I guess it had a point. False allegations happened very seldom in my life. Most of my pessimistic predictions appeared now and then and in a way, they always hit reality and I get to live through the miseries that follow my thoughts. You could basically say I was cursed. If anyone from school even read my story, I would be laughing stock. Hence my life would be a living piece of shit, not that it isn’t or anything, and if I posted the story. I’ll have more shit to cope with.
“Great” I noted sarcastically to myself.
But I thought of it. The vow I made. The future of confidence I may hold if I stuck to my vow. The happiness and joy that would replace the darkness and pour in with rays of sunlight. I won’t surrender to my dreams when not even an ounce of it has been but accomplished. No matter whatever happened, I vowed I was going to do this. Just one story. Just one memory. Just one step.No matter how bad it turned out to be, it’s not like it’s the end of the world now is it?
At least I hope so.
I guess this was my step to forever.
“Sympathy.
In a far point from her bed, the deep end corner of her room, she laid there with her head between her hands while she screamed as hot tears continued to spread all over her face. Agony fills within her.
She was fragile. Broken. Empty.
Swollen wrist, hazy sight, she somewhat wished she was never alive.
Little did she know that there was someone who cared. He saw her sit alone, her head down while the rest out-shined with pride. It broke him a bit inside to know she was feeling empty. It was visible, though she wasn’t his love, she meant something to him and in a way, she felt the same about him.
He approached her house as he knocked on the door. No response. He listened closely as he heard screaming and weeping. He suspected it was her. He knocked once more and as soon as reply was not found, he pushed the door open. He rushed up the stairs and as soon as he tracked down her voice behind one of the doors, he opened her door softly.
He spotted her square legs, covering her face.
He did not speak as she continues to weep.
He walks slowly towards her as he called her name ever so softly.
No response.
As soon as she acknowledged presence in her room, she gasped. She quickly hid her face by the blanket that was within her reach.
“What are you doing here?” she whispered softly as she tried to catch her breath. She looked at him as her eyes were red.
He walked towards her and sat on the left occupied space that was between them.
He sat parallel her position as he took her hands away from her face. “Don’t hide your face.” He told her ever so softly.
He took her hands in his as he looked at her wrists that were bungled with bracelets. He took them off. She was hesitant at first, but he insisted.
He saw her scars. She looked at him awaiting his reaction. When he didn’t speak, she yanked her hand from his light grip. “I like wearing my scars on the outside, whatever you tell me, I wouldn’t care. The scars that are visible are less painful that the real ones in me.” He shook his head softly and asked her one question.
“Why?”
She shook her head. “You wouldn’t understand.” He looked at her and cupped her face with his hands.
“Try me.” he said as he let go from caressing her cheek.
“These scars are but marks. These scars are but agonist doings. It isn’t what I feel.” Tears whelmed up in her eyes.
“Because if I ever printed out what I actually feel like deep down,” she pointed to her chest “In this empty heart of mine…. I would be passed out and dead.” She whispered.
She wiped her tears to avoid it from spreading across her face but it seems as she tried to avoid her tears, the more they fall.
“Don’t cry baby.” He moved closer to her and took hold of the blanket that was lying in her lap and wrapped it around them as he sat next to her.
He cupped the side of her head and placed it on his shoulder and with his free hand he rubbed her back. He took her swollen wrists and ever so lightly placed a few kisses on each scar.
They sat like that as time passes by and finally he said, “They don’t matter,” as he kissed her hand “You’re all that matters to me.”
- Juliette Parks 12/09/2013”
