The Letter

The Letter |Ch. 1

This is the first book I wrote when I was twelve. It lacks intellectual vocabulary and is often grammatically incorrect. The plot is messy at times. For a better read, check out my recent works: The Mail We Never Sent and Our Summer. Continue reading at your expense.

Letter: Hello. I'm sure this is Derek reading, but the police will be involved and all that crap, so I know strangers will read this. Why don't I tell you about myself? Well, I'm Katherine. Or Kat, I'd rather. I'm currently 13 years old and soon would be 14, but if you're reading this, it's because I didn't make it. You'll understand why, as the purpose of this letter is to give you something to remember me by, and a bit of reasoning . I'm from Scotland (where my family still lives) and moved to the U.S with my mom, dad, and Aunt Suzan at a very young age. Why don't I start from the beginning; Mom always told me I would...

June 14th 2005

Kat: 6 years old

As the bright yellow school bus came to a stop in front of my little prairie house, I hurried to my feet and waddled through the narrow space between bench lanes to get off my ride from school to my house.

My shoes made a clacking sound as the bottom of the sneakers collided with the metal of the stairs, and I was off onto the gravel driveway.

I heard the bus drive away in the distance as I ran to my mother's arms: she was waiting for me on the front porch. I went up the porch stairs and she picked me up, holding me close against her chest.

Tears streamed down my cheeks, as they always did after a day at school. I hated school, along with all the annoying kids there. One of them was constantly crying, bleeding or screaming.

Either way, they were noisy.

Except this one quiet girl who didn't tag along to all their stupid games (like me). She was a fine companion, since she didn't require effort to keep around.

There was no way for me to 'lose' my 'friend' or hurt her feelings, for she never took interest in talking to anyone. I guess she wasn't very skilled at conversations.

Like a glass wall you couldn't see through, there was no way to tell how she felt. If she even felt any emotion at all (I thought she was a robot for a month).

She never even told me her name, which I heard later on from the teacher: it was Hailey.

"How was your day?," my mother asked, pulling me out of my thoughts. My feet met the ground again as she lowered me without letting go of me.

"It was okay," I said, wiping my tears with the back of my jacket sleeve (it was spring, but still quite chilly).

I backed out of her arms and noticed her eyes were puffy and red.

I'd never noticed her eyes were swollen and red before. "What happened to your eyes?"

A tear then rolled down her cheek but she wiped it away quickly, probably thinking I didn't notice she was still crying, but it was very obvious.

"I don't know. I must be allergic to something. Let's go inside," she answered in a hurry, then turned around to open the front door.

"Mommy, why are you sad?" She turned back to me and gave me a long glance, studying me head to toe. It seemed like forever until she spoke again.

"I'm not sad," she said convincingly. But I wasn't an idiot. I knew she was lying to me.

"Yes you are, you're crying." She held her breath, not knowing what to say next...

"Guess who's here? Auntie Suzan!," she said, trying to change the subject.

It worked. I loved Auntie Suzan. Mom rushed me inside and I ran to Auntie, leaving my backpack in the front hallway leading to the kitchen. Her eyes were red and puffy too, I noticed right away. But not as much as mom's.