Losing Eight Lives

1 | Falling Apart

Hey! Just a quick author's note.

So this story is completed, but could always be better. So, if you're an editor and happen to be reading this, I need your help! Or, if you're just a lovely reader, I need your feedback! Seriously, don't be afraid to tell me if something doesn't make logical sense, or doesn't sound right, or whatever. I'm still learning so it would actually be really helpful.

Also! I looooooove comments! Votes are nice too, but comments are where it's at. So if I made you laugh, or cry, or maybe left your mouth wide open in shock, I would love to hear that. Or anything else you might have to say, I'll love reading.

So anyway, thanks for checking out my book, and hope you enjoy!
- Lauren

-=-=-=-

I always thought, reading stories about the adventures people went on, that it would be so cool to go on my own adventure. I wanted to be special, and go on a journey that changed my life and made me a better person. And I wanted my story to be known. I wanted to be remembered.

Then, I did go on my adventure. I did become special, but not quite in the way I had hoped. My journey was to a dark place instead of a paradise, and as far as I knew, my story wasn't known by anyone.

I realized how fragile my world was when it shattered into a million pieces. Going in a hundred directions all at once. Forcing me to move on before I wanted to. Forcing me to make decisions that I didn't want to make. Forcing me to forgive people that didn't deserve it.

My adventure was definitely a story. A dark one, that reminded me that I'm a whole new species of human.

-=-=-=-

I stare at my house. Or what's left of it anyway. I try to imagine my house still standing. All perfect and pretty again. Not a scratch on it. Everything in it's place like it's supposed to be. But instead I end up just seeing my house as it is. Just rubble and ashes. Shattered glass and splintery wood. Charred furniture and cracked stone. In fact the whole world at this point seems to be just as badly damaged as my house. Damaged beyond repair.

My house is one of many reminders of my adventure. A reminder, that I'm different.

A wave of pain washes over me as I look at it, remembering everything. I breath in the polluted air and kick around a blackened rock on what's left of my driveway. The trees themselves seemed to be suffering from a lung disease. My long hair in a pony tail shifts with the light breeze. Not a bird chirps, not a squirrel scampers, not a creature stirs. If I close my eyes I could pretend I was alone.

I've been told I was different by a few people. But I never believed them. I went on thinking nothing of it. Until my life fell apart, that is.

But I'm getting ahead of myself. I bet you're confused. So, let's go back to where it all began.

Way back.