someday_93's Stories

Campfire Council

2008-05-01T15:37:11Z

We had a campfire council that night. That’s when Johnny builds up a big bonfire, an we get to roast veggies. Other kids roast hot dogs, I think, but we’re vegetable-arian. After that, the grown-ups all talk about stuff. And decide stuff. Usually then, me ‘n Jeremiah ‘n Opal run off, but today they told us we better stay.

“Nice hair, Burr,” Eddie said an rubbed his hand on my head.
“Thanks!” I beamed. Rye glared at him.

They asked Eddie if he though public school was a bad thing for us, seein’ how he’s been in it longest. He said, learnin’s good, but prolly if there was some other way, it might be better.

Johnny asked what we thought. No one’s ever asked us kids to talk at council, so I felt real good.
“Well,” I said, “I been thinking we don’t fit in too good with the rest of ‘em, with their blue jeans ‘n all…”
“Would you rather be taught here?” Johnny asked.

So it got decided that Lillyann would teach us. I dunno how good a teach she is, but we’ll find out, I s’pose.

Then we really did get to play.

Cornfield

2008-05-01T15:24:58Z

Sarai didn’t like my hair ’s much as I did. “But ‘Rye, look! Now I can run like the boys, an’ you won’t have’ta brush it every morning!” But she shook her head and muttered about school being a bad influence. I decided it wasn’t the best time to ask if she’d buy me some shoes.

Opal an’ Jeremiah showed up at my tent just then. “Ready to play?”
I ran out before Rye had time to say anything else about my new fashion statement.

“Freeze tag!” I yelled as we crossed the field.
“Nuh-uh! Kick the can!” Jeremiah contradicted.
“We ain’t got enough for kick the can!” I told him.
“Not enough for tag, either!”
“Yuh-huh!”
“What about homework?” Opal asked. She can be a bit of a priss sometimes.
“Screw homework!” I yelled, even though I knew Rye and Lillyann hate that word. I don’ see what’s wrong with it.

The field doesn’t really belong to New Hope, but no one cares. It use’ta be corn, but no one farms it anymore, so us kids play on it. Every here ‘n there there’s some old cornstalks, so it’s awesome for forts ‘n stuff.

Dirt 'n Caramel

2008-05-01T15:15:39Z

The kids at school make fun of my dress. And my no-shoes. I told Jeremiah on the playground. “Don’tcha ever wish we looked more like the other kids? Like, shoes, an my hair goes down to my butt!”
“Nah,” he said. “Shoes just cramp up your feet. But if you don’ like your hair, I guess we could cut it!”

I ran my fingers through my hair. It’s a lightish brown color, like dirt. Lillyann says, like caramel, but it’s dirt. “Okay. You got scissors or something?”

Opal, who’s from New Hope too, and Jeremiah’s age, came out with her purple-handled scissors. “I’ll do it,” she said. “Seeing as I’m a girl, and Jeremiah hasn’t the first idea how to cut hair.”

“Do too!” He yelled, but secretly, I was glad Opal was doin’ it. Snip, snip. My dirt-brown hair fell to the dirt. I reached up to touch it. “Not yet!” Opal screeched. “There’s still one more piece!”

Snnnnnip. “Done?” My fingers brushed my chin-length hair. “Awesome! Freakin’ awesome!”

“You like it?” Opal smiled huge.
“Yeah I like it!”
“Serious?”
”’s awesome!”

New Hope

2008-05-01T14:55:34Z

The other kids at our public school call us the hippies, but we’re not like the flower children or anything. I mean, we dress a little different, like, I have my calico dress, and we all go barefoot, but that’s it. ‘Cept for the tepees. Rose ‘n Johnny made them, I think, when New Hope was just gettin’ started. We don’t got running water and stuff, but it doesn’ matter much.

There’s not as many people here as used to be. There’s Rose ‘n Johnny, but they’ve been here since the beginning. Sarai and Lillyann I live with. One of ‘em is my mama, but I dunno which. Doesn’t matter none. They love each other, kiss ‘n stuff, an’ they love me. Then there’s Eddie. He’s in college down at the city, and Jeremiah is my best friend. He’s eleven, one year older ‘n me, but we get ‘long pretty well good. Eddie calls me Little Burr, ‘cuz my name is Amber. He thinks he’s a stitch in the side, he does.

But this ain’t really my story.
This is the story of what happened here at New Hope, and more ‘portantly, what happened after.

Show You My Heart

2008-04-30T16:08:29Z

I wish I wasn’t crying too hard to write. I wish the tears weren’t obstructing my vision of the page; I wish the blurriness in my eyes and in my mind would go away.

I can feel a pit at the base of my stomach…why? Why won’t it go away? I’m heavy, like a rock in the sea, I’m sinking.

I wish these memories wouldn’t get in the way of today. I wish I could be like the other girls, and run around looking for boys and clothes. I wish there could be a day that goes by where I don’t cry myself to sleep.

I wish I wasn’t crying too hard to write. I wish I could fill up this page with beautiful word-pictures to show you a sunset, or even just a lonely little girl. I wish I could paint for you these memories, little by little, until they’re all out of me, and safely onto paper. But would you listen?

I wish I could pour out all the words unsaid, the tears left unshed. I wish I could show you what it is to live trapped inside my mind.

I wish I wasn’t crying to hard to write.
Cause if I wasn’t, I’d show you my heart.

Clowns

2008-04-27T17:59:19Z

My mommy says that clowns are nice. She says that they make people smile. But I don’t like them. One gave me a lollipop once, but I didn’t eat it, cause it had clown germs on it. I learned about germs in my kindergarten class. My teacher is nice. She let us make hand prints on the wall with paint. Mommy wouldn’t let me do that at home, though.

Once, my daddy wanted me to be a clown for Halloween. He said, honey, you’ll be so cute! But I’d be scary. Ghost-scary is okay for Halloween. But not clowns. The big polka dots look like pits of doom. I learned about pits of doom from my babysitter. She’s in big girl school, and she watches people without enough clothes on the TV. But I told mommy about that, and she said oh dear. And I got a new babysitter.

Clowns are too big. Maybe they should be shorter. My teacher said the difference between people and animals is that people have two legs, but she must be wrong cause clowns aren’t people. People’s noses are triangle. And clowns noses are red.

I don’t like clowns.

Oh, Cassie...[apology challenge]

2008-04-23T20:38:10Z

This is just to say, I wonder what you would have looked like. You would have been fifteen today, did you know that? No girl can ever forget her little sister’s birthday. I know we didn’t always get along, but still, I loved you. I really did.

I’m sorry I didn’t get to see you grow up. I’m sorry that you never got to wear the stupid little cap and gown and graduate kindergarten with the rest of the kids. I’m sorry that you didn’t get to learn addition with the first-grade class; I’m sorry that Mom never got to put your artwork on the refrigerator.

You had those little blond curls. Would you still have them today, if you were here, or would your hair have darkened and straightened throughout all those winters? Would you have been a good speller? Would you have done the dishes when it was your night?

I’m sorry you didn’t get to start junior high, or high school, but most of all I’m sorry that it all went on without you.

Cassie…I know you might not believe me, but I’m sorry. Sorry I killed you.

Concrete Angel

2008-04-22T22:22:49Z

It’s just a small stone—a little angel girl, tucked away in a far corner, where no one will ever see it. There is no funeral, just a scattering of people who thought that they knew her, but had it all wrong. Someone has placed a rose on the grave, but it looks all out of place.

Miste Hope it reads, carved in beautiful scripted letters. Her mother cries in earnest, tears flowing fast and free. No one would guess what went on behind closed doors. No one would guess all the things that happened.

A bird twitters, a joyful song that doesn’t seem to belong. The sun filters through the trees for the first time in days; filaments of gold caressing the cloudy sky.

In a few days, moss will begin to cover the stone, and before long, you’ll be unable to read her name. Amongst the bigger brighter, adorned shrines, no one will notice this, the little girl who tried so hard to be strong.

In a few days, everyone will have forgotten.

No one will remember the little angel girl, the one who walked to school all alone.

And She Flies to a Place Where She's Loved

2008-04-22T22:15:28Z

She looks in the mirror, and tries to squint her eyes so that she looks different.

The bruises cover her body, but they don’t hurt. They never do. She’s numb—no one can hurt her anymore. It doesn’t matter what they do.

Her dolls sit in a line on their shelf, looking down at her. They know what’s happened, even if she won’t admit it.

It’s ‘cause I’m a bad girl, she reminds herself. It’s all your fault.

She wonders what it’s like to be held. To have someone wrap their arms around you, and love you so much that they never wanted to let go. To have someone stroke your hair, and whisper to you how beautiful you are.

She sits on the edge of her bed, refusing to let the tears come through. Other kids might be scared if they were in her place, but not Miste. She’s tough. She can take it. It doesn’t hurt. Right?

She lies down on the bed, still fully clothed, and slips away into dreamland.

But Her Dreams Give Her Wings

2008-04-22T22:05:44Z

She pretends she’s beautiful.

Closing her eyes and watching the pictures behind it, she tries to be somewhere else. She pretends that she’s anyone else, a girl with pretty dresses and a mommy who cuddles her before bed and reads her a story, one with princesses and dragons and fairies.

As she’s struck time and time again, she blocks out the pain with pictures of what she’d like; of what she wishes could be. Her mind floats in these pictures, but deep down, she knows that that girl can never be her.

Because I’m a bad girl. I’m a very bad, ugly, pathetic, worthless girl. And Mommy will make me good. Yes. Mommy will make me good. She knows this is true. She is a bad girl, one who deserves to be punished, because this is what her mother has hammered into her head.

Her eyes squeezed shut, she feels the heat of the stove press down on her as she is thrown against it, then falls to the floor.

One tear falls from her eye, but she wipes it away. She has to be strong.

In a World That She Can't Rise Above

2008-04-22T21:48:05Z

It doesn’t seem like much, the look on her mother’s face, but there’s a whole other language in faces that few people bother to learn. A whole grammar of exclamation points and question marks all in one look.

“Miste!” Her mother calls, and she knows she has no choice but to come. Her mother is in charge, and one of the unfairnesses of life is that she must do whatever her mother says.

“Miste!” She calls again, more commanding. Her sweatshirt flies up as she runs down the stairs, revealing a bruise in the middle of her back.

“Hey Mommy!” The smile is bright in her voice, as though she hopes it can bring a smile to her mother.

Conversely, her mother’s mouth tightens, and the screaming begins.

She has long ago learned to block out sounds she doesn’t like; to let herself absorb them but not truly hear. So she does not hear the words hurled at her; she has built a shield around her, that will keep her safe.

Or at least, this is what she tells herself as she falls to the floor under the weight of the blows.

She Stands Hard as a Stone

2008-04-22T21:35:51Z

It’s a normal house, on a normal street, in a normal city. The daffodils bloom on the front lawn, although beaten down by the rain. The red of the bricks is beginning to fade, now a dull brown. The color of dirt on a warm day.

There’s a difference between a house and a home, but not too many people know that. The difference between the girl who walks home to a mother waiting for her, and the one who has to unlock the door.

She pulls the key from her backpack, twisting it in the lock until it opens. She’s the only girl in her second-grade class with her own house key, and she’s very proud of this fact.

The house is still and empty, except for the sound of the TV that’s been left on and is blaring the news to absolutely no one. She stands resolute at the edge of the kitchen, looking, but not going in. She runs her fingers along the doorframe before taking off her shoes and going up the stairs, careful not to leave a trace.

Through the Wind and the Rain

2008-04-22T21:16:20Z

It was raining. All the children flocking from the elementary school had umbrellas—red, blue, pink, duck print. All accept one.

She was refugee-skinny, with dark hair and huge blue eyes that seemed oblivious to the fact that she was being soaked to the skin by the downpour. Other kids began to climb into cars full of waiting parents, but her wet tennis shoes made squishing sounds as she began to walk the other way, clutching her backpack to her chest. The thunder and lightning that drew screams from the other kids left her unfazed, her eyes never focusing on one thing for long.

She stopped in the yard of a nearby house, and ran toward the swing set, tossing her backpack aside, pumping her legs and dipping her toes in the gray clouds above. After a moment, she returned to the ground, picked up her backpack, and kept walking.

Her slight figure swayed as she walked, the weight of the backpack pulling her down, but she didn’t stop.

Me: Blank [defensive challenge]

2008-04-15T16:22:05Z

I stare at my feet, as though my Converse high-tops are currently the most exciting thing in the world, twirling a strand of hair around my finger. The stitching on my shoes is red. I just noticed that. And the shoelaces are kind of frayed on the ends; the tape I put on is dirty.

Sara: Eva, why won’t you talk? Why won’t you say anything? What happened?

Me:

I’d like to tell her. I really would. But I have to keep my mouth shut. Lock it and throw out the key. I’m standing on a crack in the sidewalk. I think that’s bad luck. I should move, but I can’t lift my feet. It’s as though they’re stuck, superglue prison. Like those dreams where you want to run, but you can’t.

Sara: Eva? What’s…wrong with you?

Me:

There’s a little ant wandering around between my feet. Most people would kill it, but I won’t. It’s kind of cute, actually.

Sara: Please, talk?

Me:

And say what? I kick at the ground, and wonder what happened to the old Eva. The non-broken one.
I wonder what I would’ve said, if it had never happened.

Too Many To Name...But All Loved {nice things}

2008-04-14T16:20:23Z

I love so many people…how can I pick?

One Time, One Chance: The girl who started as someone to exchange silly notes with, but who fast became a best friend and the girl who saved my life. Not to mention a brilliant writer =]

THX _0477: Of course, our amazing head of the LoA…of which I am a proud member. And, he always takes time to take a stab at interpreting my insane dreams, which is cool.

Blusparrow: Without whom, Ficlets would not be quite the same…I know if I saw her, she’d have a beautiful smile, because she’s just that kind of person…and writes beautifully as well.

Kermitgorf/::band baby::: I once wrote a series with these lovely people, as one of OTOC ’s challenges, and I have never had so much fun in my life…I swear I laughed til I cried. Not that that’s unusual for me…being freaky…but it was awesome.

[pens&feathers]: always, always has an absolutely beautiful piece…every time I see she’s written something, I have to go find it ASAP . Pens, never EVER stop writing.