Quiet As A Mouse (Outsiders Fanfic)

Chapter 5- A History of Nightmares

Note to Readers:  There's going to be some poems mentioned in this one and the rest of this story, and I figured I'd just let you know that I wrote all of them and I'm not taking them from anyone else.  And sorry if you don't like this one, it's probably the worst poem of all of them.  As always, please comment and tell me what you think of my story!  And sorry this one's so short.

        A couple years ago, my grandma made me go see a psychologist after He left me.  I didn't want to of course, and I had stopped talking almost entirely around that time too, so that's probably another reason why she made me go.  The psychologist was your basic irritating shrink that wanted to talk about feelings and all that other junk.  Since I wouldn't talk, hardly at all, he told me I should write down what I was feeling.  I didn't start following his advice until after I started having nightmares nearly every night and woke up screaming my head off. 

        My grandma freaked out as much as I did, but I would never tell her, since she was the only one I would talk to for a while before I stopped talking entirely, what the nightmares were about.  She got worried, but it didn't do either of us any good.  After the first two sessions, I stopped going, unbeknownst to my grandma of course, and I tried my own therapy, writing poems about those nightmares.

        I opened the small notebook up to this one:        

        I walked in the house

        And called, "I'm home!"

        No answer.

        "Grandma?"

        I walked into the kitchen

        No sign of her

        Down the hall

        Into the living room

        There she was

        Sleeping, on the couch

        A book on the floor

        A shattered mug at her feet.

       

        "Grandma,"

        I shook her

        She didn't move

        "Grandma?!"

        Her eyes stayed closed

        I realized

        Her chest

        Wasn't moving

       

        Dread seized me

        The last person

        I loved

        Was gone

        Forever.

        I don't know why I wrote that one down.  That was when my grandma died, a couple of months ago, right before my fifteenth birthday.  I had found her when I came home from school one day.  She had died of a sudden stroke.  I was about to start crying, that memory was almost worse than the one of Him leaving, when Kayla opened the door.

        I quickly forced back my tears and flipped the notebook shut, shoving it under my pillow.  I had never shown anyone that, much less a little girl.

        "Oh my gosh, my brother's friends are so awesome!" Kayla shouts, her face beaming.

        I grab a sheet of paper and scribble, 'Why?'

        "They're all really nice, except for that one with the white hair.  He just looks crabby all the time," she says.

        'Dally?  His hair is actually blond,' I wrote, for some reason feeling the need to correct her, though his hair could easily be mistaken for white in the right light by an 8-year-old girl.

        "No, Sodapop's hair is blond.  He's gorgeous!" Kayla squealed.

        I rolled my eyes and tried to contain my grin because for the next hour I talked, or wrote, to Kayla about her crush on His clone.  I don't know why it had to be Sodapop that she picked to have a crush on, but I had nightmares about it all night.