Ashton's Notes

note 10

8:30 AM || An early morning note.

There has been many a theory about stars. Are stars really lost souls, watching over living souls? Like humans, all stars will eventually burn too hot and disappear. We are beautiful, burning and broken and the next day we are no more. The sky, I feel, is like life itself. Life gives you a chance to better the world with our mortal ability to mend and break hearts, and burn as hot as we possibly can. But one day we will burn too hot and life will decide it has had enough of you. Death will come for you, that's inevitable. It is whether life will remember you that truly matters.
I believe the goal here-mine, at least, is to be remembered. We want life-whoever that may be-to keep us close to their hearts. Think of the people who were alive thousands of years ago, yet are still remembered today. That is who I aim to be. Not overwhelmingly famous- simply remembered. Those are two very different concepts.
Fame comes with a lack of privacy, and even in my death, I cherish my privacy.
Of course I wouldn't want to be remembered as a miserable boy who ended his life. I want to be remembered as wonderful, intelligent, and humorous. But who exactly thinks that?

As scribbles of Ashton's dreams print, black and smudged, onto his notebook paper Amelia sits staring at the falling snow outside of her rather large window. The snow truly did look like something from a made up world. It glistened and sparkled against the white background and fell slowly. A mug of hot chocolate caressed Amelia's lips.

Amelia softly hummed a song she'd thought up in her head as a small child. Christmas music played softly, filling her ears with festive sounds. Soon, she knew, her mother would yell to 'turn that irritating music off.' But for now she had the absolute pleasure of listening to Christmas songs.

The ring of a phone interrupted her treasured peace. "Hello?" she murmured tiredly into the telephone.

"Come outside." a raspy voice spoke into the phone. Amelia smiled softly, rolling out of her warm bed and slipping on her white, fuzzy slippers.
"Why exactly am I being forced out of my bed for?" she whispered, careful as to not disturb her mother's rest. The floorboards creaked and groaned under her feet. She looked to her mother's bedroom, paranoia stricken, checking if she had awoken.

"Now I wouldn't want to spoil the surprise. Have you no patience?" the voice on the other end of the phone asked with a playful tone.

"No. I think I deserve an explanation." she argued.

"Explanation ruins fun." the stubborn voice answered. Amelia rolled her tired eyes. She quickly opened and shut her front door, running to see where the voice was hiding.

"Come and help me!" somebody yelled to her. In her front yard was a half built snowman, and a disgruntled boy with a big grin. Tinsel was strung on every tree decorating her front yard, and colored lights lit up the dull, grey skied morning quiet nicely.

"Wow," she breathed, basking in her front yard's new beauty. "How did you do this, Ashton?" she yelled, no longer considering her mother. Ashton laughed, thinking about how damned beautiful she looked.

"With my hands, Winters." he answered, balling up snow in his hands and packing it onto the unfinished snowman. Amelia ran to him, knocking him to the ground. Ashton gasped slightly at the surprise of being jumped on and the close proximity of their faces.

"You're insane." she whispered. A small, barely noticeable, smile appeared on Ashton's lips and he nodded his head. Ashton slowly tilted his head, smothering her lips with his own. Immediately, he could taste chocolate and frost. Amelia kissed him back, tasting cheap mint tooth paste and a hint of cigarette on his tongue. Amelia thought to herself, God, I hope he doesn't smoke. He's too good for a couple of burnt lungs. Amelia pulled herself away from him after suddenly hearing Michael call her a whore in her head.

"So," Ashton awkwardly dragged on. "We've got a snowman to build."

-

"We should name him Frosty." Ashton mused. Together they stared at their snowman, feeling a hint of pride. Amelia grabbed the hat off of Ashton's messy head, placing it on Frosty.

"We have to sing the Happy Birthday song, then he'll awaken." Amelia suggested. They began an exhausted rendition of Happy Birthday. Ashton carefully interlocked the two's hands as their voices created a melody only amateurs could produce. Soon, their singing died down and all that was left was snow falling from the sky and two hands being held.