A Collection of Stories

Candy Wrappers

DISCLAIMER: before you read the next three chapters, please PLEASE, do not judge this book or these writers abilities to form a good short story just off of these first few chapters. This was the beginning of the book, and as we know good things take time.
     Our writing has improved and WILL KEEP improving. We just needed a few rough starts to give us a kick off.
     So I beg you, cringe through the first few and keep on trucking. It will become something more, something you will enjoy to spend your time reading.
   I thought for a long time about un-publishing my first ones, but for the sake of memories and remembering where we came from We decided to keep them up.
    As ole' Hitch once told me, "you can't really know where you're going, unless you know where you've been."
    Enjoy,
    -blue

     His name was Travis. A starting five for our schools basketball team, charming green eyes, failing FACs class, terrible cook, and third row, third seat in AP chemistry, right beside me. I did have an A in that class, I did take notes in that class, I did finish my homework each and everyday before the bell even thought about ringing, ending fourth period. That's how it was supposed to be. That was until Travis tied a note in the midst of my pony tail with the haunting words that started everything, can you refrian from biting your lip please? It's severly distracting my train of thought. How am I supposed to memorize the periodic table when the only thing that I can focus on is your pretty little face? This is how the next three weeks would go, I would do small things to try and steal his attention, win a note from Travis, once he would write one to me - always with a cheesy pick up line like, Hey are you feeling okay today? You look like you're suffering from lack of vitamin me, or do you have a map? I just keep on getting lost in your eyes, which was a lie because I had the most boring brown eyes; they never could hold the amount of wonder and amazment that Travis' did; they could never sparkle as bright as his estatic sea green ones. He would write them anyway, one each day, and stick them in the depths of my hair. Our relationship started to grow as my chemistry grade started to drop. I was hooked on Travis; he was like a drug and I was the addict- I could never get enough of him. He was intoxicating and I was breathing him all in.

After two months he would pick me up at my front doorsteps, charm the pants off my parents, and take me on lavish dates under the stars. I wouldn't talk much; I just listened - just listened to his poetic voice talk about how he wanted to marry me. I would tell him he was crazy - we were too young to think of such grown up things, and he would just grab my cheeks, squish them up so my eyes were squinted and my lips were puffed, "Well I'm not letting you go anytime soon Jean Louise so you might as well get used to my 'grown up talk' - you're going to hear it someday." Then he would kiss me, not hugrily, or lustfully, but softly - just enough to make his point. He was in it for the long run, and I wasn't going anywhere.

Travis had a fetish - a fetish with candy wrappers. He would collect them and keep them in the cupholder of his rusty, red, old Ford pickup truck. "Look at them Jean Louise, everyone thinks that they're trash because they have no use for them anymore. But look how they sparkle in the light, all the bright colors, they're all unique, they're beautiful." he once told me after I asked him why he hadn't throw them away. I didn't respond, I just kissed him. Hard and long. He was those candy wrappers, he was beautiful, bright, cheerful, happy, he was high on life and he was never coming down. I took a long look at the wrappers, in the midst of all the colors, the greens, blues, pinks, silvers, I saw Travis' sparkling eyes staring straight  into mine. I haven't thrown a candy wrapper away since that day, no one would if they could just looked into his eyes and understand, just understand that Travis was never actually talking about candy wrappers, but something so much more deep that the only way to truly understand was to relate it to something as innocent as a candy wrapper.