A Moment of Pure Night

Written quite awhile ago >.> Enjoy

I sat on my front porch, as my bare feet grazed the quilted rug below my grandfather's old rocking chair. I stared at the white diamonds held by string, floating silently in the clear night sky. My hair lay untouched on my cold shoulder, waiting to be brushed. But I insisted on staying outside, to hear the cicadas chirp loudly to the white moon, to stare blankly at the twinkling stars up above, to waste time sitting on a porch, doing nothing but stare. Stare at stars. Nothing but stars and a moon. My mind wandered behind the old oak tree, and peered out at the glowing lightening bugs, chasing them round and round underneath the warm canopy, with nothing but a jar and small gentle hands. I returned to the porch, my ears picking up the faint sound of a dog's tag jingling loudly on its collar. I shifted a glance to old Betsy, ears perked and tail wagging. It's time to stop star gazing, and return to cold reality.

I opened the back door, as silently as I could, and allowed Betsy to lead me into the dark abyss that was, currently, my own kitchen. The lights had been off since nightfall, and the only sound was coming from the grandfather clock that sat along the back wall. Its sound was of an eerie recollection of memories, a hollow tick-tocking that could only be described as the feeling of nostalgia. I stared at the hands on that clock, my eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness that surrounded us. I tilted my head slightly to the left as I repeated the times table to myself, more specifically the fives column. The wheels don’t turn in my head like they used to, and it requires “special thinking” as my aunt would describe it, to understand and remember things. It’s been this way ever since the accident. The accident that resulted in mama and papa becoming stars in that same night sky.

After about what seemed like forever, I finally came to the conclusion that it was around midnight. This meant that my aunt and uncle were in bed, and I was not allowed to wake them no matter the reason. I crept upstairs, Betsy leading the way. After tiptoeing through the hallway, I finally reached my temporary room, and sighed a sigh of relief. Auntie would’ve been mad if I had woken her up. It won’t be long before Betsy and I are moved to another relative’s house, so it’s best to stay on our host’s good side until pushed into another relative’s unwilling arms.

I lay down on the old bed, its springs reluctantly creaking as I invited Betsy to lie beside me. My eyes focused on the white popcorn ceiling above me, a collection of random dots protruding from the once smooth surface. I never understood the purpose of the so-called popcorn, but trying my best to count them was a convenient way to pass the time.

My parents were writers. I heard they were very good ones and had “great potential” as my grandfather had put it. I’m positive that mama was as beautiful on the inside as she was on the outside, although ever since the accident I had lost all memories of my parents and the life I had lived with them. Papa looked gentle in the photographs I had been given, with thick rimmed glasses and a full head of hair. He matched well with my gorgeous mother when they stood next to each other. I was eight when they both became stars in the sky, and when I lost my ability to think in the same process as “normal children” do.

I don’t know the diagnosis for my condition. I’ve never been taken to a doctor for it, although after the accident the doctor who bandaged up my tiny eight-year-old head said that I was simply in shock. Seven years later, I’m still “in shock” from the accident I can’t recall and the loss of the parents that I can’t remember.

I go to high school like a regular teenager; however I’m put into “special” classes that teach me the things they teach the other students, only at a more understandable rate. I have a regular social life, however my status is low and I can’t keep friends since I’m constantly being put into new high schools. I’m thankful, though, for everything I’m provided with from day to day. The teachers are always nice and my relatives, although unwilling to take me in, try their best to make me feel welcome in their own homes. I feel like a constant burden to those kind people around me. I’m slow, lost, and a wandering teenager with no one to turn to.

Time to relax, a hushed whisper resounded in the depths of my mind as I lay on my bed. Betsy lay there beside me, already fast asleep. Time to relax and stop thinking.  To fall asleep and submit myself to the dreams awaiting me in my slumber. My eyes closed to shut out the world, and into sleep I drifted.

 

Author's Note

Planning on making this a story :o I know I have horrible grammar :) please rate and give good feedback ^-^

Reviews

[Kimmiekit]

completely disregard my previous review xD since the update I've decided that this is a marvelous story! It's almost as if you know what it's like to feel that way which is almost saddening to my heart, but at the same time it just means that's how good you are ^^ keep writing cuz I defiiiiniiitely want to read the rest of her story (you should give her a name, too :3)

[Kimmiekit]

Hmm... I really really like it and I love the concept, but I don't think you should have given the dog a name because the story suddenly went from a glistening story that could refer to any child to a story about a certain person.
In other words while I was reading it I, I was remembering catching fireflies myself as a kid and then I read Ol' Betsy and it suddenly became completely impersonal :/
other than that you did a great job painting a picture in my mind and giving me a sense of nostalgia x3