New Story

Here’s the beginning of a new story I began working on.

I stare at the page I’m holding, my eyes unseeing. In one moment, in one quick tear of an envelope, my whole entire life has shattered. It disintegrated into a million tiny pieces, and evaporated into the breezy morning sky. Was that all it took? One second, one instant, to realize that everything you once hoped for and earned for was an illusion all along?

An illusion. My entire life is an illusion, like a distant memory I cannot quite recollect. The paper in my hands felt as heavy as the stone inside my heart, as the brimming tears in my eyes. Even though, I knew, it was weightless.

The envelope I had anticipated for weeks and weeks was now meaningless, like the work I had put in into getting it. My mother was sitting on one side of me, her eyes sparkling, one hand clasped over her mouth (to keep it from quivering?). My father occupied the sofa, as silent as a monk. Their silence terrified me.

What had I done? Oh God, please tell me, what in bloody hell did I do wrong?

I shook uncontrollably, fiercely trying to wipe away the bitter tears before they even came. I felt everything at once—humiliation, fear, and anger. I felt loss.

“Sestra, don’t cry,” my little brother patted my shoulder. I was paralyzed; I could not feel his soft touch.

As silently as I wept, I sulked away into the shadows of my room.

“Hey, Natasha,” Jessie Lynn, a familiar voice, rang across the hallway.

I shoved the remaining book into the depths of my locker. I closed it shut.

“Yeah, what?” I said, already noticing the gleam in her eye.

“Did you get in?” she said all in one breath, as if she just ran the marathon. Jessie Lynn held a column of books in her hands, which was about twenty feet tall.

Did you get in?

Did I?

I expected this question as soon as I saw the empty, fallen look on my father’s face as he had gave me the letter. As I registered my friend’s incredulous, unsuspecting expression, I wanted to run as far away as I could from this place. I wanted to run from time, chase against the winds of tomorrow.

No, I told myself. I must be strong. It’s OK. If she is truly my friend, she will accept me as I am, no matter what. Her eyes burned expectantly into mine.

I held her gaze as steadily as I could, “I didn’t get in, Jessie Lynn.”

Her eyes widen—instead of shock, I she gives me one of her infamous skeptic expressions.

“You’re kidding, right?” She smiles uncertainly, “You got in, didn’t you?”

“No, Jessie, I did not,” I said. I am surprised at how even and strong my voice is, while my soul bleeds like a withered, battered flower.

Jessie lets out a small, “Oh.” For a second she waivers, unable to find the words I wanted to hear. Her dark brown eyes were a cocktail of disbelief, disappointment, and what was that? Pity. My best friend, Jessie Lynn, pitied me.

During the endless thirty minutes of Geometry class, I sat frozen, pinned to my seat, my eyes focused on a spot in thin air. I mechanically wrote when I had to write, and looked when I had to look, though I could not see.

The only thing I saw were the letter’s cruel lines, swimming in front of my eyes, clogging my conscience. Each word was a dagger piercing my heart. Although, pity, there were so many words, but no heart left to pierce.

Singing..writing…but no skating :(

My singing:

scary lmao.

Two blogs = score!

Yes, because quite frankly 2 is better than 1.

Write & Skate, Inc.