I'm 13 and writing a story, tell me what you think so far? and maybe a possible title at the moment?It was dark, and I was lying on the floor. At least, that's how it felt. I was isolated; everybody was gone, and I was the last one alive. I kept thinking, 'If only at least one other person had survived, I wouldn't have to resort to this.' Resort to what? I couldn't take care of myself all alone in the entire world. I had to do something. Ouch, what was hurting my arm so much? A bright light suddenly arrived in the distance. The sun, I reminded myself. How could something so brilliant and hopeful still rise after all of this? I could see it all now—the true isolation, the thing hurting my arm, and what I would have to do. Something so powerful had almost completely wiped out the entire human race; I was the one exception to that. I was just barely the exception, though. My arm was severed, blood dripping slowly from it, onto the ground, pooling around me. It wouldn't be enough to completely kill me, however, and the pain was now too much to withstand. A knife was plunged into the ground a few mere feet away from my body. I edged myself over to it, grasped it in my hands, and knew that this was truly the end. I raised it into the air, barely whispering, "Goodbye."
I woke up to an alarm clock, quickly finding the snooze button. I had been dreaming again. Dreams such as that always happened, and I had grown used to them, even starting to enjoy the idea of what always happened; my own death. As a child, my mother—after hearing about those dreams—had always told me that I had visions, and that I could see the end of the world. Nobody ever believed my mother about things like that, though, so I didn't pay much thought to it at the time. I didn't have my mother's guidance now, as a teenager, and I didn't have my father's. My mother, Rosalind Dahlia Stevens, had been murdered when I was only about seven years old. I had witnessed it before my very own eyes, and nothing would ever make me forget about it. Things like death can't just be erased from someone's memory. My father, on the other hand, had left us only a few months after I was born, leaving my mother and my older sister, Arobella, to take care of me. Arobella was about 17 years old when our mother had been murdered, and she took care of me for about 5 years before she committed suicide. I suppose that she had just decided she had been put through enough for one lifetime, and she hung herself. I had witnessed that as well. I had seen death much too frequently for myself, but I had been stronger than my sister. I had been able to survive on my own ever since then.
I arose from my bed, carefully tiptoeing across my room, trying not to break the silence, even though there was no need to worry of that. It was Saturday, and the time was 7:45 AM. I always woke up somewhat early; it just felt like there was finally enough time when I awakened earlier. Walking through the hallway, I looked over to briefly study an old family photo of my mother, sister, and myself. I sighed, wishing it could be that way now. "I can't hang on to that any longer," I said, obviously talking to myself, which I did quite frequently in all of the loneliness. "It can never be the same way as it was when I was a child, and that's not going to change any time soon." Dropping the matter for the time being, I continued through the hallway, and down the stairwell to the kitchen. Opening the refrigerator, I looked over the possible breakfast choices before deciding to have cereal instead. I took out the milk carton, now halfway empty, got a bowl, and prepared my breakfast. I finished quickly, setting the empty bowl in the sink. I walked back upstairs to my room, absentmindedly thinking of what I would wear for the day. Looking through my closet, I chose to wear my favorite black shirt that read, "Come to the Dark Side, we have cookies!" What was the weather supposed to be like today? Rain. It has been raining so much lately. Rain didn't bother me, though, I actually found it comforting. A pair of my black jeans would be fine for today, not that I cared who saw my outfit. I brushed through my long black hair, carefully letting a portion of it fall in front of my left eye. Finding a pair of my neon green converse high-tops, I pulled them on quickly without thinking about it. Where was my mind this morning? Wandering through old, painful memories? As I had mentioned earlier, I couldn't hold on forever. Some things are just better to let go of.
I wasn't sure what I was going to do today; I went grocery shopping yesterday, so maybe I could just relax for a while today. I laughed aloud in spite of myself; relax all day? As if that would ever be possible for someone like me. That was at least one feature I hated of myself—I could never relax, for ever since losing my entire family, I had always had a strong feeling of paranoia. Hopefully I could somehow find a way to change that, though. The phone rang, startling me in the break of silence that I had managed to keep for a while, at
oops, haha. it was a bit too long to post the whole part of what i've written lol. :D
but tell me what you think of this, anyway! :)
Posted by Freddy.
I'm 13 aswell
And am in enriched english class because I was that good :)
But I'm not reading that whole thing!
summarize
Posted by ♥ Badangel.
I loved it! You're a great writer for only 13! :)
Sorry, but i don't think i can think of any titles lol!
but great story!!
Posted by john c
name it
alone on the inside
Posted by Emily S
I dunno.
Dreams?
Life?
...
Something short I guess...
Posted by Marie:)
Your story is great! keep up the good work:)
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