Old memories

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When I woke up, I was in a room. Not just any room, but the room I lived in when I was 10. The bedspread was changed, and the walls were painted over, but that didn't erase the memories that were still buried underneath. I looked around and saw a bookcase, filled with scrapbooks. I opened one up, and pictures fell out all over the floor. Rapidly picking them up, and shoving them back in, I saw a photo that caught my eye. It was a recent photo. Of me. I opened the book up again, and saw more and more photos, all of me.

A photo of me on my eleventh birthday, my first one without dad. I was blowing out the candles, and Cora was in the back round, her arms around my shoulder. When we moved away from here after dad died, everything was going bad for me. I was a daddy's girl, the apple of his eye, as mom put it. I was lonely and depressed. My dad was gone, and so were all of my friends.  I thought I was never going to make another friend again, because I never felt like talking to anyone anymore. A week before my birthday, I was playing with patch, my beagle, when a girl with short black hair and brown eyes came stomping over.

"I'm Cora," The girl said.

She had dirt all over her, and was wearing light blue t-shirt with a bright pink skirt and black boots.

"Your'e going to be my new friend." She stated, giving me no time to say anything.

She pulled me over to her house using an iron grip. She kept blabbering about random things, what people from her class did, the weather, her family. She kept my mind off my father, and she has been my best friend for seven years. Even though I missed my old friends, Cora kept my mind off them, and because of that, I think of her as a sister.

When I lived here, only a few families lived with us. The Sullivan's, the White's, and the Baker's. There was so much room, each family had its own floor, with more rooms to spare. Now, it looked like at least 10 families lived here, at least. I looked out the window, kids were running like prisoners escaping from jail. I looked to the right and saw a pool. I didn't remember that being there.

I clutched the photo book closer. Why did he have recent photos of me? Did mom give them to him? Why did he lie? Why did they both lie? There was a funeral and everything. Who did they bury then? Why did they have to make it convincing for me? They could have just gotten a freaking divorce, it would have been alot freaking easier! More questions were racing through my mind when I heard a muffled knock at the door.

"Gemma? Are you in there? Its your father."

I heard the sound of a key turning, so I chucked the book at the door before he could open it. I watched as all of the photos spilled across the floorboards. These were memories he didn't deserve to keep, if he wasn't apart of them.

"Go the hell away!" I screamed as loud as I possibly could.

I heard the door creak open an inch, and saw his face peering at me.

"Gemma, I just want to talk to you. I need to explain everything to you. I need to make you understand."

He opened the door up more. I could see all of his features now, he looked almost....sad. I didn't care though. I didn't care if he was crying, or begging on his knees, even though I would love to see that, I would not give him forgiveness, or let him explain anything to me.

"And I want to ride a flying unicorn named Pete, and take a ride on a rainbow and steal a leprechaun's gold, but obviously, thats not going to happen."

His face suddenly hardened, and he looked very serious.

"Gemma, don't act like a child. Lets be serious, here."

Rage and emotions I haven't dared touch for years suddenly bubbled up.

"Be serious? Be SERIOUS? You and mom lied about your death. Did you ever stop, and think for a damn second what that would be like for a child loosing her parent at that age, only to learn seven years later, he's all well and alive, living in my childhood home with a fricken town of other people? I had to be put on depression medicine. Depression medicine at ten freaking years old! Why? Why dad? You make me sick!"

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