Post by Dawnsky on Aug 6, 2014 14:09:37 GMT -5
So, I sat down on Monday and wrote an entire short story in one sitting (it took about 3 hours), which is unheard of for me. It's also the first story I've both completed and liked, so I thought I'd post it on here. Please feel free to comment and make suggestions for improvements!
I’m a burden.
The thought has plagued me for weeks now. I try to shove it down, to block it out. But there is simply no denying it.
My poor mother. It tears at my heart to see her bent over the finances, despairing as she tries to figure out how to make ends meet. She’s doing it now, sitting across from me at the tiny kitchen table in our shabby apartment. She has a part-time job four days a week – Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, but it’s at McDonalds, and the pay is abysmal. She was beautiful, once upon a time, but long years of working and job-hunting and worry lines have taken their toll.
She goes job-hunting every day, except for Sunday, because Sunday is the Sabbath. She was lucky to get the McDonald’s job, though. She’s almost given up hope, and so have I. Ever since Dad died, we’ve struggled. Why would it get any easier now?
I’m a burden on her, I know it. I know she loves me, but I’m expensive to feed and clothe and send to school. And often at the cost of her wants. My clothes may be ragged, but compared to my mom’s they might as well be the best brand-name in the country. I wish I could help her, but I don’t know how. I’m not old enough to work. I’m only 14.
I stand up and give Mom a hug.
“What’s that for?” she says, surprised.
“You just looked like you needed a hug,” I say. She smiles at me, but I can see the tiredness in her eyes, the worry lines that age her face beyond its years. “Thank you, Sophie.”
I’m a burden.
Maybe it would be better if I were gone.
I immediately rebuff that thought with my usual arguments: things could get better – maybe Mom will find a job, and besides, my friends need me – if I didn’t help them all the time they’d flunk school, and it would be breaking the fifth commandment. This completes the vicious circle my thoughts keep going through. But –
You’re still a burden, a voice whispers in the back of my mind. Angrily, I shove the thought away and bend over my homework again. I’ve got to finish this tonight, or not only will my assignment be late, but Taylor’s and Sara’s will be too.
But you’re still a burden.
“Here you go,” I say, handing my math homework over to Taylor and Sara.
“Thank you so much, dear,” Taylor says. They get out some paper and started copying it while I explain the problems to them.
“…so once you subtract 4 from both sides you should get…” I trail off, suspicious. “Are you even listening to me?”
“What? Oh, yes, dear,” Taylor says absentmindedly.
I sigh. To be completely honest with myself, I knew they didn't even care about the explanations. They just wanted to copy my work.
“You know, maybe I shouldn't let you guys copy my work all the time,” I say. “Why can’t you just go to the tutoring sessions?”
“Oh, but dear, that’s what friends are for, helping each other,” Taylor gushes at me.
“Besides, it would be embarrassing to have to have tutoring,” Sara added. Both of them being finished by now, they pack their bags and get ready to leave.
“Well, see you in Biology,” Taylor says. “We've got to go.”
I watch them head off, stopping to talk to a pretty girl called Kayla. All I know about her is that she’s the new girl and that she’s rich and smart. No wonder Taylor and Sara want to make friends. I am a little jealous. I know I shouldn’t be. But I am.
“What are you doing?” Taylor asks me as I try to sit down next to her at lunch.
“Sitting with you,” I say. “Like I’ve always done.”
“Haven’t you realized yet?” Taylor smirks. “We don’t care at all about you. We just want your grades. My dad told me he’d ground me for the whole summer if I get another D. Sara’s going to have to repeat a grade if she doesn’t get her grades up. We had to do something. But frankly, we don’t need you now that Kayla’s moved in. She’s smart, pretty, and rich.”
“You just make us look bad,” Sara chimes in. “Look at you! Old ragged jeans, a T-shirt that looks like it belongs in an antique shop. And you wear it almost every day. And you’re a goody-goody Catholic. You just don’t belong.”
“I see how it is. You just care about how you look to others,” I say, struggling to muster a voice of utter contempt, fighting to hold back the tears. I turn and flee. The girls’ laughter follows me out of the cafeteria and down the hallway.
I take refuge in the school library, one of my favorite places to go. I love delving into the pages of a book. It has been one of the only bright spots in my life recently. But books can’t help me now. I lose myself in the rows of shelves, checking that no one else is here, and only then do I allow the tears to flow freely, though I stifle the sobs. I don’t want them to find me.
Thoughts race through my head.
I’m a burden.
Even my “friends” don’t need me anymore.
I’m useless. Useless!
Should I do it? The thought scares me. But it would take the burden off my mother. She’d miss me, but at least she’ll have an easier life without me to care for. I run through the same arguments again, the same arguments I’ve been using against myself for weeks. But now there is a trump card. My friends aren’t my friends anymore. No one needs me, and I have no one. What is there to live for now?
Finally, I make up my mind. I will do it tomorrow. I’m done. I give up. It’s over.
I just hope I don’t go to Hell for it.
I feel a strange, calm clarity throughout the rest of the day. Now that I have made a decision, I can finally relax and enjoy the last few hours remaining to me.
I don’t bother to do my homework when I go home. There’s no point. This last day is for me and me only. I relax and watch television for most of the afternoon, treating myself to some Snickers, my favorite candy. I also play my flute for the last time, reveling in the music I make. When Mom gets home and questions me about my homework, I tell her it doesn't matter, and she’s too tired to press the point. She trusts me to get it done.
I insist upon eating dinner together, and we talk. I almost wish I could tell her everything, in these last few hours I'll have with her, but I something holds me back. She tells me about her recent attempts to find a job, and I tell her about my school life. It's all inconsequential, and that's fine with me. I just want to talk - about anything, everything. We haven't talked like this in a long time.
She laughs as I tell her about a prank someone played on my English teacher. Mom looks so young when she laughs…
After dinner, I go out. I want to see all of my favorite places one last time.
First I stop by the library and return all my books. One less thing for Mom to do when I’m gone. I look around at the place that gave me so much comfort during the hard times, and think about all the unfinished stories I am leaving behind.
I go to a few other places – the bowling alley, my school, but I save the park for last. It’s getting late. I’m the only one there. I collapse on a swing and sink into memories. The memories of better times, when Dad was there and everyone was happy and I was too young to worry and I thought nothing bad could ever happen, and then suddenly I am pumping my legs, pumping hard up and down, swinging higher and higher and for a second I feel the old freedom of swinging, the feeling that I could fly away and escape from my problems. But of course I can’t, and suddenly the tears come, slowly at first, then flowing freely, and I’m crying harder and harder and the swing comes slowly, slowly to a stop. Back to the ground. Back to cold, hard reality.
I get off the swing. There is nothing here for me now. It’s just another memory. I go home and go to bed, wishing it was over already.
My alarm clock rings at 4:30, but I am already awake. I can’t sleep. I wanted to get up early anyway. I want to see the sunrise one last time.
I pen one last note to my mother:
Dear Mom,
I am going to kill myself today. When you read this note, I will already be gone. Please don’t blame yourself for my death. I’m doing this for you, not because of you. I know you love me, but I’m just a burden. I just make it harder to make ends meet. I want you to be able to have a life outside of me. Without me to take care of, you might even be able to go back to school. Besides, I have nothing else to live for. My “friends” told me yesterday that they never were really my friends. They were just using me. And I’ll get to see Dad again. I love you, Mom. I’ll miss you.
I sneak into Mom’s bedroom and place the note on her bedside table. I lean over her and give her one last kiss. “Goodbye,” I whisper, my voice choked.
I go into the tiny bathroom and get the pills and a glass of water. I set them on my bedside table and look out the window. The sun is just poking its head above the horizon. I go out on the tiny porch to watch.
I drink in the sight of the sunrise, watch as its glorious colors spread across the sky, staining the clouds a gorgeous lilac. As my life ends, another day begins. Just like normal. The world goes on. After all, I wasn’t important. Just a poor girl in the poor sector of Los Angeles. Suddenly, I’m scared. Am I really doing the right thing? Do I really want to die? I remind myself why I’m doing this. It’s enough. I get up and go to my room. It’s time.
But the first thing I notice when I enter my room is that the water and pills are gone. In their place is a note. Mom must have woken up and seen my note. I open it and read silently.
Sophie
Please, please, please don’t kill yourself, my dear daughter. You are not a burden. I love you. You are my life. I would be so lonely if you died. I wouldn’t have anything to live for. I’ve never found much interest in a career, and even if I did have a good career I would want a family too. And even though you’ve lost your friends, you can always make new ones. Please live. For me.
I start crying again as a sense of mingled relief and horror builds in me. The note is like a bucket of cold water dumped over my head. I can’t believe what I had been about to do. I didn’t want to die! How had I managed to persuade myself that there was nothing to live for? What about my books, my Chess club, my flute? I love the flute! And if Mom hadn’t woken up and seen the note…I shudder to think that if it hadn’t been for that stroke of luck, that small chance, I would be dead. Or maybe it was God’s divine intervention. I don’t know.
I barely notice Mom coming in until she grabs me in a big hug, holding me close and rocking me back and forth.
“Thank God! I can’t believe I almost lost you,” Mom says brokenly, and I realize that she is crying too. “I love you. Don’t ever forget that,” she says.
“I love you too, Mom,” I say, and we hold each other close until the sun has fully risen.
A Burden
I’m a burden.
The thought has plagued me for weeks now. I try to shove it down, to block it out. But there is simply no denying it.
My poor mother. It tears at my heart to see her bent over the finances, despairing as she tries to figure out how to make ends meet. She’s doing it now, sitting across from me at the tiny kitchen table in our shabby apartment. She has a part-time job four days a week – Monday, Wednesday, and Friday, but it’s at McDonalds, and the pay is abysmal. She was beautiful, once upon a time, but long years of working and job-hunting and worry lines have taken their toll.
She goes job-hunting every day, except for Sunday, because Sunday is the Sabbath. She was lucky to get the McDonald’s job, though. She’s almost given up hope, and so have I. Ever since Dad died, we’ve struggled. Why would it get any easier now?
I’m a burden on her, I know it. I know she loves me, but I’m expensive to feed and clothe and send to school. And often at the cost of her wants. My clothes may be ragged, but compared to my mom’s they might as well be the best brand-name in the country. I wish I could help her, but I don’t know how. I’m not old enough to work. I’m only 14.
I stand up and give Mom a hug.
“What’s that for?” she says, surprised.
“You just looked like you needed a hug,” I say. She smiles at me, but I can see the tiredness in her eyes, the worry lines that age her face beyond its years. “Thank you, Sophie.”
I’m a burden.
Maybe it would be better if I were gone.
I immediately rebuff that thought with my usual arguments: things could get better – maybe Mom will find a job, and besides, my friends need me – if I didn’t help them all the time they’d flunk school, and it would be breaking the fifth commandment. This completes the vicious circle my thoughts keep going through. But –
You’re still a burden, a voice whispers in the back of my mind. Angrily, I shove the thought away and bend over my homework again. I’ve got to finish this tonight, or not only will my assignment be late, but Taylor’s and Sara’s will be too.
But you’re still a burden.
----------
“Here you go,” I say, handing my math homework over to Taylor and Sara.
“Thank you so much, dear,” Taylor says. They get out some paper and started copying it while I explain the problems to them.
“…so once you subtract 4 from both sides you should get…” I trail off, suspicious. “Are you even listening to me?”
“What? Oh, yes, dear,” Taylor says absentmindedly.
I sigh. To be completely honest with myself, I knew they didn't even care about the explanations. They just wanted to copy my work.
“You know, maybe I shouldn't let you guys copy my work all the time,” I say. “Why can’t you just go to the tutoring sessions?”
“Oh, but dear, that’s what friends are for, helping each other,” Taylor gushes at me.
“Besides, it would be embarrassing to have to have tutoring,” Sara added. Both of them being finished by now, they pack their bags and get ready to leave.
“Well, see you in Biology,” Taylor says. “We've got to go.”
I watch them head off, stopping to talk to a pretty girl called Kayla. All I know about her is that she’s the new girl and that she’s rich and smart. No wonder Taylor and Sara want to make friends. I am a little jealous. I know I shouldn’t be. But I am.
----------
“What are you doing?” Taylor asks me as I try to sit down next to her at lunch.
“Sitting with you,” I say. “Like I’ve always done.”
“Haven’t you realized yet?” Taylor smirks. “We don’t care at all about you. We just want your grades. My dad told me he’d ground me for the whole summer if I get another D. Sara’s going to have to repeat a grade if she doesn’t get her grades up. We had to do something. But frankly, we don’t need you now that Kayla’s moved in. She’s smart, pretty, and rich.”
“You just make us look bad,” Sara chimes in. “Look at you! Old ragged jeans, a T-shirt that looks like it belongs in an antique shop. And you wear it almost every day. And you’re a goody-goody Catholic. You just don’t belong.”
“I see how it is. You just care about how you look to others,” I say, struggling to muster a voice of utter contempt, fighting to hold back the tears. I turn and flee. The girls’ laughter follows me out of the cafeteria and down the hallway.
I take refuge in the school library, one of my favorite places to go. I love delving into the pages of a book. It has been one of the only bright spots in my life recently. But books can’t help me now. I lose myself in the rows of shelves, checking that no one else is here, and only then do I allow the tears to flow freely, though I stifle the sobs. I don’t want them to find me.
Thoughts race through my head.
I’m a burden.
Even my “friends” don’t need me anymore.
I’m useless. Useless!
Should I do it? The thought scares me. But it would take the burden off my mother. She’d miss me, but at least she’ll have an easier life without me to care for. I run through the same arguments again, the same arguments I’ve been using against myself for weeks. But now there is a trump card. My friends aren’t my friends anymore. No one needs me, and I have no one. What is there to live for now?
Finally, I make up my mind. I will do it tomorrow. I’m done. I give up. It’s over.
I just hope I don’t go to Hell for it.
I feel a strange, calm clarity throughout the rest of the day. Now that I have made a decision, I can finally relax and enjoy the last few hours remaining to me.
I don’t bother to do my homework when I go home. There’s no point. This last day is for me and me only. I relax and watch television for most of the afternoon, treating myself to some Snickers, my favorite candy. I also play my flute for the last time, reveling in the music I make. When Mom gets home and questions me about my homework, I tell her it doesn't matter, and she’s too tired to press the point. She trusts me to get it done.
I insist upon eating dinner together, and we talk. I almost wish I could tell her everything, in these last few hours I'll have with her, but I something holds me back. She tells me about her recent attempts to find a job, and I tell her about my school life. It's all inconsequential, and that's fine with me. I just want to talk - about anything, everything. We haven't talked like this in a long time.
She laughs as I tell her about a prank someone played on my English teacher. Mom looks so young when she laughs…
After dinner, I go out. I want to see all of my favorite places one last time.
First I stop by the library and return all my books. One less thing for Mom to do when I’m gone. I look around at the place that gave me so much comfort during the hard times, and think about all the unfinished stories I am leaving behind.
I go to a few other places – the bowling alley, my school, but I save the park for last. It’s getting late. I’m the only one there. I collapse on a swing and sink into memories. The memories of better times, when Dad was there and everyone was happy and I was too young to worry and I thought nothing bad could ever happen, and then suddenly I am pumping my legs, pumping hard up and down, swinging higher and higher and for a second I feel the old freedom of swinging, the feeling that I could fly away and escape from my problems. But of course I can’t, and suddenly the tears come, slowly at first, then flowing freely, and I’m crying harder and harder and the swing comes slowly, slowly to a stop. Back to the ground. Back to cold, hard reality.
I get off the swing. There is nothing here for me now. It’s just another memory. I go home and go to bed, wishing it was over already.
----------
My alarm clock rings at 4:30, but I am already awake. I can’t sleep. I wanted to get up early anyway. I want to see the sunrise one last time.
I pen one last note to my mother:
Dear Mom,
I am going to kill myself today. When you read this note, I will already be gone. Please don’t blame yourself for my death. I’m doing this for you, not because of you. I know you love me, but I’m just a burden. I just make it harder to make ends meet. I want you to be able to have a life outside of me. Without me to take care of, you might even be able to go back to school. Besides, I have nothing else to live for. My “friends” told me yesterday that they never were really my friends. They were just using me. And I’ll get to see Dad again. I love you, Mom. I’ll miss you.
Love, Sophie
I sneak into Mom’s bedroom and place the note on her bedside table. I lean over her and give her one last kiss. “Goodbye,” I whisper, my voice choked.
I go into the tiny bathroom and get the pills and a glass of water. I set them on my bedside table and look out the window. The sun is just poking its head above the horizon. I go out on the tiny porch to watch.
I drink in the sight of the sunrise, watch as its glorious colors spread across the sky, staining the clouds a gorgeous lilac. As my life ends, another day begins. Just like normal. The world goes on. After all, I wasn’t important. Just a poor girl in the poor sector of Los Angeles. Suddenly, I’m scared. Am I really doing the right thing? Do I really want to die? I remind myself why I’m doing this. It’s enough. I get up and go to my room. It’s time.
But the first thing I notice when I enter my room is that the water and pills are gone. In their place is a note. Mom must have woken up and seen my note. I open it and read silently.
Sophie
Please, please, please don’t kill yourself, my dear daughter. You are not a burden. I love you. You are my life. I would be so lonely if you died. I wouldn’t have anything to live for. I’ve never found much interest in a career, and even if I did have a good career I would want a family too. And even though you’ve lost your friends, you can always make new ones. Please live. For me.
Your loving mother
I start crying again as a sense of mingled relief and horror builds in me. The note is like a bucket of cold water dumped over my head. I can’t believe what I had been about to do. I didn’t want to die! How had I managed to persuade myself that there was nothing to live for? What about my books, my Chess club, my flute? I love the flute! And if Mom hadn’t woken up and seen the note…I shudder to think that if it hadn’t been for that stroke of luck, that small chance, I would be dead. Or maybe it was God’s divine intervention. I don’t know.
I barely notice Mom coming in until she grabs me in a big hug, holding me close and rocking me back and forth.
“Thank God! I can’t believe I almost lost you,” Mom says brokenly, and I realize that she is crying too. “I love you. Don’t ever forget that,” she says.
“I love you too, Mom,” I say, and we hold each other close until the sun has fully risen.
