Here's the prologue of my new story. It's based on a song Kara introduced me to, thanks Kara-you rock! (And thanks to Nat for being supportive along with Kara. This story is dedicated to the both of you.)
Let me know what you think! (And if I should put the rest of it on here or not. And, if you're looking for good writing, check out my friend Nathalie's blog. It's super, like her!) Here it is...
Prologue
Sometimes, when it’s nice outside, I’ll sit under a shady tree and gaze at the sky, wondering what life would be like if I had been born without a second sight. I sigh and look at the big fluffy clouds, dreaming of a normal life out here in the country, filled with happiness, simplicity, and family love. I wonder what life would have been like if things hadn’t happened the way they did, if my older brother hadn’t died suddenly, and if my dad hadn’t left us. If my mother hadn’t become gloomy and depressed, if my other brother hadn’t left soon after, I wonder what life would have been like. Maybe not perfect, but I think things would have been better.
It’s hard, having a second sight like I do. I have to pretend that I don’t see them, but I do. They haunt me night and day, causing me to drop dishes and scare my family. I always tell them I was just not paying attention, lost in another fantasy. Mostly they accept this, earning me the title of the lonesome daydreamer, which I suppose is as close to the truth as they are ever going to get. Sometimes I worry about my sensitive mother; she always seems to know what is bothering me. I worry that she has guessed the truth, that she knows my secret. Every time this concern bothers me, I am extra careful for a few days, sometimes a week. But she never confronts me. One day she will just stop looking at me in that funny way, buying the story that I was just a normal teen, with normal issues that would make me act strange. She once asked me if I had a boyfriend, or if there was anyone I liked at school. I answered with an honest no and shrugged it off. She persisted at first, but when she realized she wasn’t going to get anything out of me, she left it be. She never brought it up again, though I suspect she often thought about it.
As I sit under my favorite tree, as I am doing today, I think about the times before dad left, the times when things were normal, nice even. I think about the times when he would call me Katie-berry and pick me up, swinging me around. I think about how we would both break out laughing. He had the most perfect laugh; it was the sound I treasured most in the world. He would set me down gently underneath this very tree, and lay on his back, staring at the endless blue sky. Sometimes he would ask me about what the clouds looked like, but usually he just lay there, talking about the wonderful life we were all going to have out here, how perfect things were going to be out in the country, with the fields and trees, and good clean air. He talked about how we were all going to grow up in a wonderful house and go on to be successful, happy people with families of our own.
I wonder why he didn’t stay to see those things happen. I wonder why he left if he loved us like he said. I wonder why he told us he would always be there for us if he knew he wouldn’t. Mom never talks about the day he left, but I think about it almost every day. I remember that day, when I came down the stairs from my room and found the note lying on the kitchen table. The table I had sat at day after day, coloring, or just staring out the window. This same table was what brought the news of my father’s disappearance. He said simply that he loved us, but that he had to go. I remember slumping to the ground and hearing someone sobbing. Then my mom was there, desperately asking “What’s the matter?” Then she found the note. I remember how all that day I felt as if I was in a trance. I didn’t feel, I didn’t hear, I didn’t see. I remember blindly finding the tree and lying under it, sobbing. I remember thinking about those talks we’d had under this same tree. At one point, I began whispering “Why? Why? Why?” over and over again. I remembered thinking that if he’d loved us, why would he leave us? It didn’t make sense, then or now. I was ten, and my father had just left my life for what he said was good.
Let me know if you want more or not. Thanks. =)
No comments:
Post a Comment