I’m experimenting with writing emotional stories. *grinning proudly*
I’m inviting everyone -who didn’t run away or leave this page after reading the first line, that is- to read my first story!
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I saw her crying today morning, hidden behind the towering rose bushes in fear of being seen by me. She wasn’t a woman who welcomed empathy, so I decided not to meddle. Moreover, I hated to be around weeping people.
She just can’t get over herself. People die. Others have to face the facts and move on with life. She can’t understand that.
Dad died about a month back. He got shot in his stomach while defending his tent during a bolt from the blue attack from the enemies. She cried a lot; I ran away into the woods nearby and screamed loudly until my voice became scratchy. That was it. No more drama from my part.
But mom… she was squeezing tears out of her eyes day and night, crying over his personal belongings from the army, his clothes, and the letters he wrote to her back when they were high-school sweethearts.
Dad always told me that I ‘wasn’t acting girly enough’ whenever I didn’t cry over things other girls sniveled over. I was weird that way. I’m like him, he said. He never cried.
I ignored mom’s weeping and walked back into the house. Sitting on the sofa, I pretended to read the newspaper until my mom came into the living room. Her eyes were bloodshot, but she smiled cheerily at me and went into the kitchen, coming out in a minute with a steaming mug of coffee to sit beside me. “You know sweetie, I’m not your daddy to fall for that.” She said, indicating to the newspaper in my hands.
I raised my eyebrows and said, “I read the news.”
She laughed. “Uh huh, Sure.”
We just sat there, absorbed by our own thoughts. “You know,” mom said unexpectedly, “Your daddy used to be Uncle Will’s best friend. He never showed much interest in me at first, your dad. At least, that’s what I thought! He was always obsessed with his guitar and his books. But then, when we got together, he wrote me this beautiful song and sang it to me. He told me that we would be together forever. It felt like I was flying high up in the clouds, sweetie. We were so happy! But happy… it can never last, you hear me?” her tone became irate, “Happy is like a warning. Never be too happy, for sadness is right around the corner, waiting to eat away everything you have left. You can never trust the existence of happiness. It can die so… so easily…” tears were splashing onto her already-damp cheeks. I closed my eyes, wishing for some sanity. Finally, I couldn’t bear it.
“Mom, will you shut up?! Look here,” I shouted, ignoring her apprehensive eyes, “I’ve been trying to get a hold on myself for the past month and you have done nothing to help me. Get a grip, mom! He’s gone! GONE! No amount of bawling over all the trite promises he’d made can bring him back! I’m accepting that, why can’t you? Gosh, do you just have to make things worse for everybody? I’m fourteen and I’m okay with everything! Stop being such a nuisance and GET A GRIP. Otherwise, I’m just going to have to run away or something.” I stormed into my room and started reading a book.
She was a nuisance. What I’d done was right. She had to know what she’s been doing to me. Dad wouldn’t have wanted her to stop living just because he died.
My mom came in after an hour, her shivering hand holding a small piece of paper. “From… dad. He wrote it right before he- died.” she muttered. She kept the letter on my bed and quickly walked out. I frowned at the letter.
Debbie
I know you can’t stand all your mother’s tantrums, but don’t hurt her because of it all.
I love you so much, it hurts. The bullet doesn’t hurt me as much as thoughts about losing both of you does. I know its clichéd and corny, but most truths are. Accept that and shed a tear or two now. That’s my girl!
Daddy
PS: Leave your mom alone. She just loves me too much.
And that’s when I cried.
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Thinking Out Of The Blog 