emma jo_234's Stories

My Voice

2008-07-16T15:10:12Z

I hope

I find

my voice

one day.

My Voice

2008-07-16T15:09:26Z

I hope

I find

my voice

one day.

Astonishment

2008-05-28T22:59:10Z

Dallas shifted uncomfortably beside me, for once the one afraid to speak up.
‘
So I did. Timidly, but all the same.

“Why are you sorry?”

My voice was shaky and soft, like that of a small child who had been caught in his wrongdoing and was fearing punishment. It was all I could do to stand there, looking my father in his bright blue eyes, the hospital room beginning to spin around me.

“Well. Everyone makes a mistake in his lifetime, girls. You’re big enough to know that. Recently -“

I was listening intently, but suddenly something interrupted my thoughts. A small voice seemed to speak up at the back of my mind, and what it whispered astonished me.

We Know Who We Are

2008-05-18T17:00:20Z

We know who we are.
We are brothers,
Sisters,
Lovers,
Haters.
Fighting for peace
Planning for war.
Striving to live – together.

And still we are
Leaders,
Followers,
black and white.
One race, one hope
in a world united yet divided.
In mansions, on streets –
no matter where on earth –
we know who we are.

A History (Of Lies)

2008-05-02T23:20:05Z

In the lobby of the hospital, the officer began asking questions.

“What’s your mother’s name, girls?”

Dallas spoke. Dallas always spoke. “Leigh Ann Johnson,” she said firmly.

“Where is your mother?”

Dallas glanced at me, and I could feel her thoughts.

What do we tell him?

I shrugged discreetly.

Our mother…Dad never mentioned her. It’s been that way for as long as we can remember, and Dallas and I aren’t really sure why.

What we do know, however, is that Dallas and I were born out of wedlock. They never married. Maybe Mom’s dead. Most likely she simply disappeared, around the time we were one, I think.

“Our parents are divorced,” Dallas said.

I stared. “No – “

Dallas clapped a hand over my mouth.

The officer looked baffled.

“Our parents’ separation troubles Hannah,” Dallas insisted. “She likes to pretend that it didn’t happen. She’s in denial. That’s the truth.”

I had enough sense to play along with Dallas, but I had no idea what she was talking about. Divorce?

What is going on?

Let Him Be Okay

2008-05-02T02:08:48Z

Dallas didn’t say much, but I knew she was worried.

Dallas was the strong one, the twin who knew how to cheer me up and calm me down like no one else could. Dallas was opinionated but open-minded, reserved but outgoing. Everyone liked her. Respected her.

I could sense her worries, and that in turn worried me. What was going to happen to Dad? And what, what on earth, was that suspicion involved in his accident? My thoughts bumped along in time to the police car as we sped towards St. John's hospital.

Let him be okay.

I closed my eyes, letting the prayer seep through me. A tear leaked out.

Dallas touched my arm softly. “He’s going to be fine,” she whispered.

“I hope so.”

I swiped a hand across my face, brushing away the tears.

“Officer?” Dallas said abruptly.

“Yes, Miss Carter?”

“What’s the whole suspicion involved with my dad’s accident?”

“Well…” he paused. “We have reason to believe that he’s part of a gang of bank robbers.”

I stared, lost for words.

“What?!” Dallas cried.

I Still Love You [Ana Cristina's Apology Challenge]

2008-04-23T01:47:05Z

this is just to say -

i never told you
that my heart still beats for you
that i still smile when i think of you
that i’m sorry.

and i know-
if i could apologize for
all that i said,
and shouted,
and all that i hurt you,
i would -

i would, i would
a thousand times over –
remember that walk we took
in the park last summer?

do you?

you told me that
whenever we were apart,
i could gaze at that lovely sky
and know you
were thinking of me.

and now,
that sky stretches in front of
me –
and i wonder if you
are remembering, too.

the fights, the hurt.

this is just to say -

i am sorry, and -

i still love you.

Aftermath (A True Story)

2008-04-19T18:46:08Z

I wasn’t sure why I was so upset. I hadn’t witnessed the boy getting burned – I’d been way down the hall.

So how come it bothered me so much?

People around me found the story amusing. A girl asked if she would get in trouble for making a shirt that said, “I Heart Firecrackers.”

But I didn’t find it amusing at all. And my father didn’t either when I gave him a letter that teachers had passed out at school.

And even now it feels like something that belongs in someone else’s life. You read all those newspaper headlines about kids getting hurt or killed at school, and you feel sad and all, but you imagine it happening to people you know and care about.

So now, just like before, I was asking for answers. And I wasn’t getting them.

Cry (A True Story)

2008-04-19T18:13:19Z

An hour later, they let us back into the school.

The seventh grade was instructed to go to their sixth hour classes. On my way, I passed the Unified Arts wing. It was roped off, and I glimpsed policemen, standing and talking with the principal.

In Language Arts, sixth period, my teacher let us talk and play games. Everyone was discussing the situation animatedly – everyone had an opinion that they wanted to share.

Me, I just sat there.

We switched classes at the regular time, and I crossed the hall for Math.

My teacher talked to us about the incident, explaining some things and asking about others. I continued to sit in silence.

Tears welled in my eyes.

Don’t cry.

Please don’t.

People asked me if I was okay, and I said nothing.

Finally my teacher came and sat down next to me, asking if I wanted to talk, if everything was alright.

When I stayed silent, she took me out in the hall to get a drink, even though the teachers weren’t supposed to give hall passes.

And only then did I cry.

Take Me Home (A True Story)

2008-04-19T01:14:19Z

The teachers ushered us outside onto the soccer field. Immediately the entire seventh grade split into cliques, some people informed, others lost, some people scared, others amused. Regardless, everyone wanted to discuss what had happened with their friends.

“What was that?”

“A boy set the school on fire -“

“No, he broke a toilet-”

“I heard-”

In bits and pieces, the real story became clear. It turned out that a guy had set off a firecracker in the boys’ bathroom down in the Unified Arts hallway. He’d sustained pretty serious burns on his leg – he, it transpired, was the same boy I’d passed in the hallway with sparks on his pant leg.

What bothered me most were the people who found the story funny, amusing.

“April 18th is going down in history as Firecracker Day,” declared a classmate of mine.

“Alex,” I said, shaking my head, “You’re crazy.”

I still felt oddly shaken by the events. Minutes dragged by. I amused myself by playing tic-tac-toe with my best friend, but all I wanted to do was go home.

Introduction (A True Story)

2008-04-19T00:14:09Z

It was finally, finally Friday. And I couldn’t be happier. It had been a tough week – frustrating school projects, piano lessons, and my first bad sunburn of the year. Yes, I sunburn in April.

So anyway, I was pretty happy when I woke up today. A glorious weekend was in front of me. I slept in a little, then got up and showered. Dressed. Fussed with my hair. You know – all the usual stuff.

It felt like a pretty normal day. I left my house just in time to catch the third bus that passes by my stop. Spent the bus ride bobbing my head and tapping my foot to some dumb song in my head.

Researched global warming in Geography. Conjugated verbs in Spanish. Practically slept through Chorus.

And then came lunch.

Give Me Answers (A True Story)

2008-04-18T23:41:38Z

Like I’ve said before, school’s nothing but routine, the same stuff over and over, day after day. Most afternoons, I arrive in from recess and get to my fifth-hour class early.

So today was no exception. Binders clutched to my chest, I strode down the hall.

I was nearly at the door to the Science room when I heard it.

A huge shattering of glass, like icicles breaking. I spun around.

A crowd had formed, and they were all jeering and pointing down the hall at something I couldn’t see in the Unified Arts wing.

Smoke.

My mouth dropped open in confusion and panic. A teacher pushed past me. The student with him had holes in his jeans that were covered in fiery orange sparks.

More students flooded the halls.

“What’s going on?” I screamed, but I couldn’t be heard above the chaos that reigned.

“Evacuate immediately!” my homeroom teacher shouted.

Help!

What’s happening?

Why are we evacuating?!

The fire alarm sounded, harsh and steady.

All I wanted to hear were answers.

Poison [A Sequel to my Entry for Elsha's Mirror Challenge]

2008-04-12T15:35:18Z

If I didn’t hurry up, I was going to miss the bus. And yet I stared at the slice of mirror, transfixed as though I’d just witnessed a murder.

And in a way, I had. The murder of me.

Snap out of it.

I didn’t listen to the cranky little voice in my head, even though I knew it was right. Mom would kill me if I had to run back home and beg for a ride to school.

Skip it.

This time a different voice spoke. At first I brushed the thought aside like an irksome fly, but the more I considered playing hooky, the more I wanted to do it. And the more I stared into that sliver of mirror, the more watery my bright blue eyes looked, and the more my thoughts swam and injected painful memories into me like poison.

He was threatening to kill me if I didn’t let him have his way…

The tears fell.

He was smiling evilly, whispering into my ear…

The sobs began.

I tried to escape…

I screamed.

He told me never to tell a soul what happened.

I flung the mirror away. And like my heart, it shattered.

Barely There [Elsha's Mirror Challenge]

2008-04-07T21:11:21Z

A crisp wind pierced my skin as I strode down a narrow side road, quickly so I wouldn’t miss the bus. I closed my eyes, trying to act like I could keep it together.

“Hurry,” I breathed to myself, speeding up.

I eyed the ground, trying to stop my eyes from watering as I marched down the street. The pavement was littered with empty Cheetos bags, soda cans, dead leaves, and….

Something silvery caught my eye, a glimmer of light. I bent down and realized I was staring at a sliver of mirror.

I hadn’t looked in the mirror since…well. Since.

I studied the girl in the mirror. She looked about fourteen. Orange curls and freckles. Bright blue eyes.

My eyes scared me as I leaned in for a closer look. There was something so sad, so lonely, about the eyes in the mirror. They were full of heartbreak, full of terror. There was real pain under the sweet blue. I gave a small cry and real tears came.

I could still see a glimpse of the girl before me, the girl who had never been raped.

But just barely.

On Growing Up

2008-04-05T12:52:45Z

Growing up.

Someone please tell me what it means to grow up. How is it different from growing down? Out? In? Sideways?

Someone tell me, because I’m scared of not knowing.

I pulled my legs a little closer to my chest and wrapped my arms around them. The twilight air felt cold on my skin, but forgiving at the same time.

In kindergarten everyone spoke of what they wanted to be when they grew up. “An artist!” “A movie star!” “A doctor!” A million little voices, confident of achieving whatever they wanted to.

I wondered where those voices were now. Artists? Movie stars? Doctors? Maybe. And if they achieved these long-time goals, did it mean they had grown up? That they, like so many other adults I know, had forgotten what it was like to be a child?

The falling darkness cloaked me like a loving mother. I wondered what the stars would say if they could talk. What do stars fear? Dream of? The history of the universe was imprinted in their minds.

The sun slowly disappeared, and with it my faith.