Alone - Story
Fictional story I wrote...
I feel immensely insane. I cannot repeat all that I have experienced, but I can attempt to summarize.
Sara told me to combine my thoughts together and make a compromise with myself. I cannot. My head pounds more rapidly than my heart and I can never make sense of anything. Sara is my best friend. She's always known better. She's known right from wrong, light from dark, and life from death. I can never tell the difference, for I think of living as dying. I think of everything on its dark side. I've lost myself. I'm in the past and I can never reach the Now. I'm so desperate to die.
I am walking cautiously while Sara is up ahead, free as can be. She shouts, "Alice! Doesn't the breeze feel wonderful?" she laughs peacefully. I force a smile, knowing she'd be concerned if I didn't. Despite the smile, she senses something is wrong. She stops and turns around to face me, her head tilting to the side. "You haven't spoken in awhile," she says quietly. "What is wrong?"
"Nothing," is my automatic response, and I know she'll be disappointed by it.
She isn't. She doesn't prod or question as she usually does. She says nothing, only continues to run, swift as the wind.
When I reach home, the house is silent. The family goes on little trips without me quite often. I am always left alone.
I run to my room, grab a novel from the shelf, and collapse on the bed with the book in my hands. I've never yet found a novel that I could finish. Every book that Mama had bought me was horrid kids' books. I like to read ore complex things. But I'll never tell Mama that. She'd switch me and send me to bed without a scrap to eat.
Mama, who is my stepmother, is quite old-fashioned. Her name is Vivian, but she forbids me to call her by her first name. My Papa adores her and listens to anything she says. She uses him as a slave, but he hardly seems to notice, or care. My book is now on the bed, unread and unloved. I smile out the window, the first unforced smile in some time. Although my family doesn't care about me, Sara does. Sara is the light to all darkness. She clears away sadness as if it is her duty.
It is Monday morning. The family still hasn't returned. I don't bother to worry about this; why should I? They've left me before; I am quite used to it. It's always been a temporary aloneness. I get ready for school, throwing on measly clothing I had bought from the thrift store.
I forget to pack a lunch and run off to the bus stop. My thoughts wander off to a place unlike the world I know. When can I enter a new world? I hate this one. I try not to let my mind overtake me. But someone loves me here. Sara does.
The bus arrives, and I droop my head towards the floor as I walk up the steps and sit in an empty seat. As I stare out the window the trees seem to run by.
Sara smiles, everyone smiles. I am so unlike the people here. At lunchtime I again force a smile when Sara walks up to me. She slings an arm across my shoulder. "I have to talk to you," she says, her voice cold, unlike her blazing smile.
"Okay," I say blankly. My response echoes in my head. Okay, okay, okay. Sara seems uncomfortable and slightly angry. I forget to ask what is wrong. I forget kindness altogether. "Are you going to say something?" I ask rather rudely, and Sara fidgets. "Let's go somewhere else," she pleas. I nod. "Okay," the same word from before escapes my lips. She takes my hand and drags me outside.
"Well," she begins, "I have to talk to you about you."
"What do you mean?" I ask.
"You're never there, Alice," she says sadly. "You're never around. You're with me, but not really. Your mind is somewhere else." I look down at my hands, which are turning clammy.
"I just have a lot of things on my mind," I half-whisper.
"Well, instead of sitting around moping, you could actually say something about yourself!" Sara's voice rises. Her eyes are dark. "You've wasted my time by drowning in your own mess. You haven't tried to help yourself. You're making everyone depressed."
My eyes are turning watery when I don't want them to. "What are you building up to?" I choke on my words.
"Do you know why your family doesn't stay at home when you arrive? It's because you drag them into your personal misery bubble, too."
"Sara ..." I do not know how to continue.
"Just stop, Alice. Stop it. Please." Sara's eyes begin to swim with tears as well, although they are not desperate tears as mine are. They are bitter. "I don't want to hate you, but for years on end you haven't been yourself. Perhaps your depression is permanent. I'm not sure anymore," she shakes her head, tears falling. I wipe mine away.
"Don't say that, I can be good," I plea, "please, just give me one more chance." Sara's voice rises once more, "I've given you so many chances! I don't want to anymore."
She abandons me, and never talks to me again. My mind is disconnected, and I feel more alone than I ever had felt before. It is I at fault.
Two weeks later, I can no longer think straight. My only strength is egotism, a fairly negative trait - swallowing me whole. Nothing can save me, for everyone has left my present life. When will I be able to build a new friendship with someone? My lonely road of life has become lonelier. I can never remind myself of optimism.
It is when I wander around the beach that I see Sara for the last time. She is standing on the top of a bridge. A group of teenage boys are with her and are encouraging her to jump into the rushing water below. They are harassing her, and I feel a pang in my chest. I shout as loud as I can, hoping desperately for her to hear me, pleading for her not to jump. I am clambering onto the rocks, trying to reach the bridge, but once I do, I hear a scream. The scream gets cut off when a loud splash replaces it. "SARA!" I shriek, running to where she jumped. I am unable to shed tears. I am choking on my breath, collapsing onto the ground, begging for this not to be real. I peer over the edge, staring down at the angry river. Please be alive, Sara ... "The water's too shallow," one of the boys exclaim. "She probably smashed her head against something."
"NO!" I shriek, "NO! YOU KILLED HER!" My lungs seem to shrink from screaming. My head pounds violently and nausea takes control of my stomach. Everything goes dark, although I do not remember closing my eyes.
The funeral has passed. Everyone has mourned, written memories, moved on. Sara's parents have returned to their daily events and continued on with their life. I, however, am different. Sara will always be a vivid picture in my mind. I feel her death is my fault, for being so self absorbed and depressed. In some ways, I've learned. I attempt to experience, imagine, discover. I throw my head back and scream my troubles away. I dance through the fields and sing in the forests. I may be elusive at times, when people never know what goes on inside my head, but I'm okay with this. I'm somewhat mad.
I cling onto the past, but I simultaneously look forward to the future. Soon enough I'll be walking in the present.
Sara told me to combine my thoughts together and make a compromise with myself. I cannot. My head pounds more rapidly than my heart and I can never make sense of anything. Sara is my best friend. She's always known better. She's known right from wrong, light from dark, and life from death. I can never tell the difference, for I think of living as dying. I think of everything on its dark side. I've lost myself. I'm in the past and I can never reach the Now. I'm so desperate to die.
I am walking cautiously while Sara is up ahead, free as can be. She shouts, "Alice! Doesn't the breeze feel wonderful?" she laughs peacefully. I force a smile, knowing she'd be concerned if I didn't. Despite the smile, she senses something is wrong. She stops and turns around to face me, her head tilting to the side. "You haven't spoken in awhile," she says quietly. "What is wrong?"
"Nothing," is my automatic response, and I know she'll be disappointed by it.
She isn't. She doesn't prod or question as she usually does. She says nothing, only continues to run, swift as the wind.
When I reach home, the house is silent. The family goes on little trips without me quite often. I am always left alone.
I run to my room, grab a novel from the shelf, and collapse on the bed with the book in my hands. I've never yet found a novel that I could finish. Every book that Mama had bought me was horrid kids' books. I like to read ore complex things. But I'll never tell Mama that. She'd switch me and send me to bed without a scrap to eat.
Mama, who is my stepmother, is quite old-fashioned. Her name is Vivian, but she forbids me to call her by her first name. My Papa adores her and listens to anything she says. She uses him as a slave, but he hardly seems to notice, or care. My book is now on the bed, unread and unloved. I smile out the window, the first unforced smile in some time. Although my family doesn't care about me, Sara does. Sara is the light to all darkness. She clears away sadness as if it is her duty.
It is Monday morning. The family still hasn't returned. I don't bother to worry about this; why should I? They've left me before; I am quite used to it. It's always been a temporary aloneness. I get ready for school, throwing on measly clothing I had bought from the thrift store.
I forget to pack a lunch and run off to the bus stop. My thoughts wander off to a place unlike the world I know. When can I enter a new world? I hate this one. I try not to let my mind overtake me. But someone loves me here. Sara does.
The bus arrives, and I droop my head towards the floor as I walk up the steps and sit in an empty seat. As I stare out the window the trees seem to run by.
Sara smiles, everyone smiles. I am so unlike the people here. At lunchtime I again force a smile when Sara walks up to me. She slings an arm across my shoulder. "I have to talk to you," she says, her voice cold, unlike her blazing smile.
"Okay," I say blankly. My response echoes in my head. Okay, okay, okay. Sara seems uncomfortable and slightly angry. I forget to ask what is wrong. I forget kindness altogether. "Are you going to say something?" I ask rather rudely, and Sara fidgets. "Let's go somewhere else," she pleas. I nod. "Okay," the same word from before escapes my lips. She takes my hand and drags me outside.
"Well," she begins, "I have to talk to you about you."
"What do you mean?" I ask.
"You're never there, Alice," she says sadly. "You're never around. You're with me, but not really. Your mind is somewhere else." I look down at my hands, which are turning clammy.
"I just have a lot of things on my mind," I half-whisper.
"Well, instead of sitting around moping, you could actually say something about yourself!" Sara's voice rises. Her eyes are dark. "You've wasted my time by drowning in your own mess. You haven't tried to help yourself. You're making everyone depressed."
My eyes are turning watery when I don't want them to. "What are you building up to?" I choke on my words.
"Do you know why your family doesn't stay at home when you arrive? It's because you drag them into your personal misery bubble, too."
"Sara ..." I do not know how to continue.
"Just stop, Alice. Stop it. Please." Sara's eyes begin to swim with tears as well, although they are not desperate tears as mine are. They are bitter. "I don't want to hate you, but for years on end you haven't been yourself. Perhaps your depression is permanent. I'm not sure anymore," she shakes her head, tears falling. I wipe mine away.
"Don't say that, I can be good," I plea, "please, just give me one more chance." Sara's voice rises once more, "I've given you so many chances! I don't want to anymore."
She abandons me, and never talks to me again. My mind is disconnected, and I feel more alone than I ever had felt before. It is I at fault.
Two weeks later, I can no longer think straight. My only strength is egotism, a fairly negative trait - swallowing me whole. Nothing can save me, for everyone has left my present life. When will I be able to build a new friendship with someone? My lonely road of life has become lonelier. I can never remind myself of optimism.
It is when I wander around the beach that I see Sara for the last time. She is standing on the top of a bridge. A group of teenage boys are with her and are encouraging her to jump into the rushing water below. They are harassing her, and I feel a pang in my chest. I shout as loud as I can, hoping desperately for her to hear me, pleading for her not to jump. I am clambering onto the rocks, trying to reach the bridge, but once I do, I hear a scream. The scream gets cut off when a loud splash replaces it. "SARA!" I shriek, running to where she jumped. I am unable to shed tears. I am choking on my breath, collapsing onto the ground, begging for this not to be real. I peer over the edge, staring down at the angry river. Please be alive, Sara ... "The water's too shallow," one of the boys exclaim. "She probably smashed her head against something."
"NO!" I shriek, "NO! YOU KILLED HER!" My lungs seem to shrink from screaming. My head pounds violently and nausea takes control of my stomach. Everything goes dark, although I do not remember closing my eyes.
The funeral has passed. Everyone has mourned, written memories, moved on. Sara's parents have returned to their daily events and continued on with their life. I, however, am different. Sara will always be a vivid picture in my mind. I feel her death is my fault, for being so self absorbed and depressed. In some ways, I've learned. I attempt to experience, imagine, discover. I throw my head back and scream my troubles away. I dance through the fields and sing in the forests. I may be elusive at times, when people never know what goes on inside my head, but I'm okay with this. I'm somewhat mad.
I cling onto the past, but I simultaneously look forward to the future. Soon enough I'll be walking in the present.
1 Comment
This is so sad, you're an amazing writer.