This chapter is the beginning of the chaos in the girl's life. She dives straight into the events that brought her to her new life, her new self and most importantly, the truth.
The week up to the death was very intense. We knew it was coming but we
didn't know when. I had just started the week previously at a new school,
therefore every time a teacher came into the classroom, my nerves reacted.
I was eventually called out on a Friday, during the
second last class of the day. I had been laughing with my new
found friends, and had actually put the family issue behind me. However, that
happiness was short lived as the principal knocked on our classroom door, and
asked if I could be excused from class. The class went quiet and all eyes
were on me. I felt my face go red and my eyes begin to feel heavy as I knew
what was waiting for me once I’d step out. My mind seemed to be too preoccupied to notice a chair that was creeping out from under one of the desks. I quickly held
my tears back, but as I was leaving, my leg became entangled in the protruding leg, and with that, it
fell with a big thud. My cheeks began to go bright red and embarrassment overcame my nervousness. It felt like an obstacle course getting out of
the room. I was trying hard to act like everything was normal but my fears and worries had replaced my earlier power to act like everything was okay.
I did quickly pick up the chair, but ambled out of
the classroom with my head tilted in a downward position. Once I had managed
to escape the constant stares of my peers, the door was shut behind me and I
was left sharing the silent hallway with my principal. It felt like an eternity had passed
without a word spoken between us. It was the awkward silence that forced my
principal to speak. All he could say to me was that my father was going to
collect me. He never said why he was collecting me or why I had to go home but
I already knew what had happened, and I did not need his words to tell me. He led me in
silence to the door of the two and a half year old century boarding house, with
its cold, grey walls towering over me. An ancient red door, a lot of its
paint had been chipped away. It also had an inscription on it, in Latin,
but I had not been in the school long enough to understand its meaning. What I did know for sure, was that I didn't understand......
He let
me inside and said I should get ready quickly as my father would arrive in a couple of
minutes. He closed the door and left me alone with my thoughts.
I hurried the thoughts out of my mind and slowly walked into the emptiness of my dorm and began to collect my
belongings.
I was uncertain if whether or not I should leave
a note for my new room-mates. I decided not to , as they didn't know
me too well and I didn't want to burden them with my personal issues. I picked up my
hazelnut coloured suitcase and left the quietness of my dorm. My principal, who
had been waiting awkwardly for me, straightened up his back, waited until I was
out of the building before he locked the door behind me . Everything seemed to be
much louder and I could hear everything clearly. Baby birds chirping away, awaiting their meals, the echoes of the cleaner's footsteps down the hall and the background noise of the music room that was just to my right. I quickly brought my
attention back to the matter in hand- getting to my mother. I carried my
suitcase up the concreted stairs and saw that my father’s business van was
waiting for me at the front of the old boarding house. He stepped out of the
van and I could see quickly that he had been crying. He stood there staring at
me, waiting for me to say or do something. My eyes began to give into the
heaviness that suddenly was put on them and I couldn't hold the tears in. I managed
to choke out the words,
“Is he?” before he wrapped his big arms around my
sobbing body and began to shed tears himself.
The drive home was unforgettable. The constant
ding and dongs of texts from my friends was unbearable and I didn't want to
hear ‘I'm sorry for your loss’ when I would be hearing it non-stop once I’d
arrive at the funeral. I switched off the vibrating phone and leaned my body weight against the
cold glass of the vehicle's window. I couldn't bear to look at my father. He and my
mother just recently had a nasty divorce and I couldn't imagine how the funeral would
play out, whether he would comfort my mother as she waved goodbye to her
beloved father or whether he would just drop me there and leave. I shifted the thought
out of my mind and onto my grandfather. Retracing memories with my thoughts and
thinking of all the moments I had with him. I realised that I couldn't remember
much of him and that upset me greatly. I relived the constant hospital visits
and the regular smells of the old folk’s home. Then out of the blue, my earliest and most important memory
of him, came to me vividly.
I have a feeling I was around the age of four.
My mother had just lifted my grandfather from his chair beside the fire, into
his bed downstairs. I tried following her in to the bedroom, but she shut the door before I
could sneak in. I knew what that meant and I didn't want to disturb them. I
slowly turned around and walked back into the living room. After fifteen
minutes of waiting, my mother emerged from her fathers small bedroom carrying a small plastic
bag containing his excrement. She quickly threw away the plastic bag and
began to wash her hands thoroughly. Once finished she returned to the warmth of
the living room and started to settle down for the night. An hour later she
went in to check on him to find that he was suffering from a stroke. She
started crying and ordered my grandmother to call an ambulance. Before
long he was being carried into the back of the blaring vehicle that then drove off.
Once they were gone, my mother turned to me and told me everything was going to
be fine and that I needed to be brought to a neighbors house while she
went to be by her father’s side.
The image of that night flashed in my eyes before I brought my attention back to where I actually was- in the van. We had been driving for about an
hour and we were almost home. My father hadn't said a word to me and I'm glad of that. This had been the first death in my family and I didn't want to
believe it, let alone speak of it. Once we arrived, my father told me to go grab
my belongings and meet back at the van in about a half an hour. I nodded
silently and waited until he was out of sight, before I let myself
into the empty bungalow. Once inside I dumped my
belongings at the door of my small, unwelcoming bedroom. I glanced around t and found my funeral wear hanging on the door of my unflattering wardrobe.
I remembered that my mother and I had bought black ink to dye one of my dresses for the
funeral, however it turned out more English Violet than black. I stared at the
dress, not believing it was time to wear it. A tear slipped down my circular
cheeks and landed on the collar of my school uniform. I sighed and began to
remove my clothing. Once removed, I lifted the delicate dress off the plastic
hanger and over my head. Because the dress was strapless, I zipped it up at my
side and covered my bare shoulders with my mother’s cotton and black cardigan.
I walked over to the mirror which held my reflection and began to brush my
hair. When I had finished, I picked up my black feathered clip and stroked it
through my brown hair until it was in place. When I was finished I began to
pack all the belonging that I would need to bring with me into my small green
suitcase and went to meet my father at the van.
The drive down south towards my grandfather’s
funeral was chattier. My father knew I would not stop
thinking of the death, so he decided to talk to me about school and friends to
distract me. For four hours he managed to make me forget where we were heading and I actually cracked a smile, but it soon faded as we arrived at our
destination.
Lovely vivid descriptions; a pleasure to read. I lost family members when I was a teen and you accurately portray the feeling. When you write more, feel free to send me a read request! Great work.
Wesleygirl, I read both your works with great interest first of all because you are from Ireland as am I, secondly because you are just starting out on this wonderful journey of creating writing that will give pleasure to all who read them and that will endure time.I can see how carefully you have chosen your words and have took the time to allow your imagination to help you.My only tips I can give you are listen to your inner voice as you put the words down, write as you would speak in the character you have created, always show never tell, use others to inhance discriptions and pass on subtle details.And never be afraid to push the envelope of creativity.
Good luck.
Will
A very good story. The lesson of death is hard for the young people who believed life is forever. Teaches us a bad lesson. You create the realness of real place and situation. Thank you for sharing the excellent story.
Coyote
This was an outstanding read, and to be honest, the character was very believable, and reading about whats shes going through left me a little brokenhearted, and that is an extremely rare occurrence. It left me thinking what I could have done to help this girl, knowing well that she is a character in your writing. The usage of imagery in this writing was very well incorporated, and it set the mood of the story to be the same as the main character, which is an amazing connection, and a vital one too!
I honestly didnt want to stop reading, it was really that good!
The mood of the story also moved me a little. You are a very talented writer, especially being that you are only 15 and this is your first work!
For your first writing, you did an OUTSTANDING job!
I do hope to read more of your work soon, I was very well drawn into it, and I dont think I want to be taken out!
Posted 10 Years Ago
10 Years Ago
Thank you for your reviews!! :) I'm glad you read into my stories and see the characters for who the.. read moreThank you for your reviews!! :) I'm glad you read into my stories and see the characters for who they are.
I'm a fifteen year old Irish girl. I love being creative and doing pastel and writing is how I express it. I have only really found the time to start writing, so I have some unfinished bits and bobs.
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