Ross Taylor
His face was relaxed, but there was something about it, that made me uncomfortable. Something that hadn’t been there before. Something my mind had made up.This is a dream of Mike right? Then maybe describe as a soft and caring person. I don't know this just doesn't seem right.
His smile was a bit too dangerous, a bit too hard and tough.^ Maybe follow same advice.
There hadn’t been one night since he’d passed away, where he hadn’t been there in my dreams. He always visited me in the middle of the night, in one of my nightmares.
His blonde hair was spiky and just as he’d always worn it. And even the cute little cowlick on the left side of his head, was there.
Mike.
His brown eyes were kind and looked at me. I felt as if he was looking all the way through me, and that meant that he could see the doubts too. All I had thought since he’d died. All the misery and sorrow. Every thought I’d had, about giving up and joining him in heaven – if there even was heaven.
If he saw all those thoughts, he would be very disappointed in me. I had always said that I would never come to a point where I would take my own life. But I guess that was before I had to live without him.
But what was the point of living for me, if bad things just kept happening? Wouldn’t it be easier if I just died? Then all the bad things wouldn’t happen.
But of cause, there wouldn’t be good things either.
I could see dream-Mike enter a car, and I knew what was going to happen. He drove carefully and suddenly another car entered my dream. It was driving in high speed and collided with his.
I could hear his scream as he was hit, and it continued even after I knew he was dead.Uh I'm am pretty sure you don't scream when a car collides with yours at a high speed.
“Ross! Wake up, honey. It’s just a dream!”
The words brought me back to reality, where I was gasping for air. I was lying in my bed and I was all sweaty.
My father was sitting by my side in his sweatpants and T-shirt, and was stroking my hair. “It was just a dream.”
But it wasn’t. It wasn’t just a dream. It was reality, for me. I had to live with it every day, every hour, every minute, and every second.nice a bit clique but its fits perfectly
I had to live with the loss of the person who meant the most to me in the whole world.
Mike.
He had died. And every night I lived through it. Over and over again. No variations, the exact same dream.
Behind dad I could see David. He was standing with Melanie in his arms and was looking at me with a worried look on his face.
When I closed my eyes I saw Mike’s face, when he was in the wrecked car. Dead.
I looked up at dad again. He had put his arms around my shoulders and hugged me. “I know.” I just told him.
Over his shoulder I could see David coming against us. Melanie in his arms, were reaching out for me.
I reached out for her too and carefully lifted her out of his arms. “I’m fine honey. Momma’s fine.” I assured her and kissed her forehead.
When I looked into her little sweet face I could mostly see me, but there were also some of Mike in it. Like, the angle of her chin, but her impossible green eyes and nose was just like mine.
I looked up at dad and David. “Just go back to bed. I’ll put her back in her crib before I go back to sleep. I just have to sit here a bit.” I told them.
They nodded and dad kissed my forehead before they both left the room. With the door open.
Before I met Mike they always shut the door behind them, and after I met him, they sure did it. They didn’t want to risk seeing anything, like us making out on the bed.
But since he died they had kept the door open. Maybe so they could hear me scream in the night, and maybe for some other reason I couldn’t figure out.
The whole family had been implicated when he’d died. They’d had to give up so many things. David had to stay home and work, instead of going off to collage. He’s wanted to go to UCLA, and had been accepted. But he and dad had decided it would be best for me if there weren’t any major changes.Naww what a nice brother (:
And for that I was glad. Because David was one of the big reasons why I didn’t curl up in a corner, and cried all day long.
He always knew how to make me smile, how I liked to throw my cereal at him in the morning when he was way to tired to even throw back, how I loved just sitting on the couch, talking about old bands. But since Mike’s death none of those things mattered, and he knew that. But he kept making his weird face when dad joked about him – the face I used to love – and he kept doing all the things, just for me. Because he knew what it meant to me. He knew, even thought I didn’t show it as much, that those things were what kept me alive.
Somehow I wished I could get over him, not forget him, just come to terms with reality. Because reality was, that he’d been taken from me, and every day I wished I could get him back, but I couldn’t. I knew that, but still I wished.
When I’d heard of his death, it was like a part of me had been ripped away. Like I was torn in half and he took one of them with him in the grave.Ok this is really clique and if someone you love dies you first don't believe it, you become paralyzed, maybe something like she was denying it.
I was a half person.
And what was left of me was the sorrow, the pain, and memories of the past, that haunted me, like ghosts.
I can’t go back to that school. Walking down the halls just reminded me so much of him. Made me see the ghosts from all the times we’d walked down the halls, walking hand in hand, not caring about anything but ourselves.
I couldn’t play the piano either – or the guitar. Or even sing. That was something I had enjoyed so much before, and I’d found it so calming to just sit down and play. But somehow, when I sat down on the piano stool I just felt like he was right there next to me and that he wasn’t himself. He was a much worse version of himself, and I was scared of that version.Wait what, there was another version of himself? Maybe if you don't include more information later on, try to explain the flashbacks of when he acted this way. Or if he never did then why she thinks he is there but only a bad version of him.
I was wounded for life. I was bruised, with bruises that would never go away.
I missed him so much. And it filled me with this anger and pain. I’d wondered, what was the point in living, if you had to through so much pain.
Killing myself. I had considered that. That would be a solution, but deep down I knew that it wasn’t. It’s just an excuse for some people to stop caring. ‘Cause when you stop caring, you stop living.
My mom had always told me that. When I was mad and told her I didn’t care about anything. She’d say, “When you stop caring, you stop living. So don’t stop caring yet.” And I would feel better and not be mad anymore.
I got out of the bed with Melanie in my arms. I walked to her little crib next to my bed and grabbed her quilts.
I put it down next to my pillow and lay her carefully down on it. I tugged the quilt around her and lay down on my pillow too.
Slowly I slipped into unconsciousness, but I held onto a memory and focused on that.
It was one of my first day of high school, ever. I was a freshman and no one would notice me.
I was walking down the hall when I saw him. He was standing against a locker and looked like he was waiting for someone. He was the new guy – the sophomore. The one every girl in my past classes had been talking about. And I yet hadn’t seen him. Until now.
His hair was blonde and spiky. He had a cute smile and a dimple on his left cheek.
One of the popular girls left her group of friends and walked to where he was standing.
She leaned up against him in a very seductive and sexy way, which was impossible for every other boy on the school to reject.
But he did. He pulled away from her and met my gaze over her bare shoulder.Maybe say that he politely excused himself and went towards Ross's direction or something because it doesn't explain how he pulled away from her, so shes just talking and he's looking at Ross?
I was completely lost in his brown eyes and the way he looked at me was so hypnotic. I felt that I was being pulled towards him and I couldn’t stop myself.
But other things could. I walked straight into the door of a locker. I fell to the ground and was blacked out for a few seconds.xD
That’s just the way to seduce a cute boy, I thought as I came to myself.
When I opened my eyes, someone was sitting next to me with his head in front of mine.
It was the boy. His face was concerned and his hand was stroking my foreheadStroking sounds too close and weird, maybe say placed his hand on Ross's forehead to like check her temperature or something xD “You okay?” he asked me. His voice was like a million birds singing their most beautiful song.
I sat up slowly and felt my head spinning. “I think so. I just have to come back into my own body.” I told him and laughed.
He chuckled. “Yeah, that was some stunt you made.” He said. “Next time you plan on doing something like that, you might consider hiring a stunt double.”
I laughed. “I’ll remember that. Next time I walk into a locker on purpose.” I said. “I’m Rosalie, by the way. But everyone calls me Ross.”
“Mike.” He took my hand. “Do you think you can stand? You look like you could faint.”
“I’m okay. Just help me up so I won’t fall again. Just in case.” But I knew that wasn’t why. I didn’t want him to leave.
He laughed again. His laugh was even more beautiful than his voice. It was so peaceful and happy.
He rose up and took my hand again. He lifted me slowly up till I stood on my feet. He had his arm around my waist, and I liked the way it felt.
He was tall. Much taller than my 5’2”. And he made me feel so secure and my headache – I had just found out about that one now – disappeared.
I woke up in the morning when dad came into my room and took Melanie to the kitchen to feed her.
I took a shower, and put my hair in a ponytail. I walked back into my room and opened my closet.
I opened a drawer and took out a pair of jeans, and a too big, worn, washed-out Linkin Park T-shirt. It had been Mike’s favorite shirt. He must have worn it more than a thousand times.Ok these sentences sounds like a robot recounting what they did. "I woke up, I took a shower, I opened a drawer" Put linking words at the start of each sentence.
He had bought it when he took me to a Linkin park concert. It had been one of the most amazing days of both our lives. He had bought the T-shirt because I had spilled coke on his shirt, and he had to throw it in the trash.
He had surprised me with two Meet-and-greet passes after the show. I had screamed like a crazy person when he showed me the passes, and I had screamed even more when we walked into the backstage room. Same here too much "he had", linking words.
When it was our turn we got Mike’s T-shirt and both our new posters signed by all six members. And because we were some of the last we also got to talk to them briefly and got a picture with Chester.
I put on the shirt with the faded silver signatures and walked downstairs.
When I walked into the kitchen Melanie had her breakfast everywhere on her face. She sent me smile when I walked in and continued eating with her small fingers instead of her spoon.
David walked into the kitchen then. He was yawning and his hair was wet from his shower. “Morning,” he told us and sat down by the table and started eating his food.
I didn’t eat anything. I just stared at my empty plate and tried to tune out the pictures in my mind.
Dad looked at me with a concerned look on his face. “Not eating?” he asked me.
I knew I was hurting him. That all my pain was his too. When I thought about Melanie, and how I would be hurting if she was hurting, I understood how he felt. And I wanted, more than anything, to save him from that pain.
“I’m taking Melanie to grandma on my way to work.” Dad said and looked at David. “David, give your sister a ride to school.”
School…
Today was my first day at the new school, first day of school since right after Mike had died. I had run out of school as fast as I could that day, and I had never even looked back. But this was a new school, so maybe it would be better.
We had moved from our old town a weeks ago. We had moved from North Dakota, to North Carolina – David thought that was very funny, but with his poor sense of humor, everything was funny.
We moved here because this was where our grandmother lived, and where our mother had been raised.
Our grandmother lived only about 15 miles away and she had been a huge help. She loved to take Melanie and was very happy to help.
After David, dad and Melanie had finished their food, and walked upstairs to my room. I sat down on my bed and stared at the place on my dresser where the picture of Mike and me used to stand.
I’d had dad remove all of them. I had actually asked him to throw them out, but I knew he hadn’t. He had faith that someday I would be back to normal, and on that day, I should have something other than faded memories to remember him of.Nicely done.
I rose up from the bed and went to my guitar locker. I opened the doors and looked at my five guitars. It had been awhile since I’d looked in there.
One of the guitars was Mike’s. His mother had given it to me after he died. She thought I could use it since I played the guitar myself. Another was my father's. His first guitar. He’d gotten it when he was ten years old and used it until it was half broken, and now I’d gotten it as a souvenir. Two of them were my own, and the last one was my mom’s.
It was the one she always played. In every memory of her playing guitar I have, that was the guitar she used. She loved it.
After she died I used to play it, trying to bring her back, trying to play the exact same melody she had, but I never got it. I always searched for a memory to tell me how to play like she did, but it was gone. I couldn’t find the melody, and I couldn’t find her.
I lifted it down from the wall, and went to sit down on my bed. I placed my fingers on the strings, but I couldn’t move my other hand.
“Sounding good?” my dad asked from the door. He was leaning against the doorframe.
I shrugged. “It’s not sounding at all. I can’t play.” I told him and put the guitar down.
He went to sit next to me. He took the guitar and started playing. It was a happy tune and I remember him playing it for me whenever I was sick, or not feeling well.
I remember once, I had asked him what it was about. He had told me that it was about a girl, who lived in a kingdom far away with her family. The girl was very happy, but she was missing something in her life. Every night she would stand on her balcony and search for shooting star in the sky. And everytime she found one, she would wish for a friend. Someone who she could talk to, laugh with, share every moment of her life with. And one day she found that person, the person she would love no matter what, she would help and always be there for. And she was finally missing nothing.
The last chord faded and he looked up at me. “You’ll play again. The music meant so much to you, you can’t just forget it.” He told me. “I remember when you first asked your mother to teach you to play. You played everyday until your fingertips were all torn and bloody. But you wouldn’t stop playing. And soon you started writing your own songs, and she taught you to play the piano too, and you would play your songs on guitar and piano. She was – and would be – so proud of you. And so am I. And you’ll play again, when you’re ready.”
I put my arms around him and hugged him. “Thanks dad.” I said and saying that slowly eased the pain in my chest. “I’m sorry.”
He pulled away and looked at me. “What for? You have nothing to apologize for.”
“I do. I don’t want to hurt you, but because I feel the way I do, I can’t stop hurting you. And I’m sorry about that.” I would have cried, but I couldn’t.
I had cried so much when my mother died. But when Mike died, it was like tears weren’t at all enough to ease the pain. So there were no point in crying, because it wouldn’t change anything. It wouldn’t change the way I felt, or anything at all.
A tear was only a wet thing that ran down your cheek.Never heard that before, this is unique and great (:
Ross Taylor
His face was relaxed, but there was something about it, no comma that made me uncomfortable. Something that hadn’t been there before. Something my mind had probably made up.
His smile was a bit too dangerous, a bit too hard and tough.
There hadn’t been one night since he’d passed away, no comma where he hadn’t been there in my dreams. He always visited me in the middle of the night, in one of my nightmares.
His blonde hair was spiky and just as he’d always worn it. And even the cute little cowlick on the left side of his head, no comma was there.
Mike.
His brown eyes were kindandas they looked at me. I felt as if he was looking all the way through me, and that meant that he could see the doubts too. All I had thought since he’d died this is a sentence fragment. What was all you could think about? You explain it in the next sentence, but it can be combined easily with this sentence. ‘My mind seemed unable to comprehend anything beyond the feelings of misery and sorrow that had been left since his death‘. Or something to that extent.. All the misery and sorrow. Every thought I’d had, about giving up and joining him in heaven – if there even was heaven Another fragment. I can see what you‘re doing here, creating pauses with a purpose, but it makes your sentences come out a bit choppy and even disconnected..
If he saw all those thoughts, he would be very disappointed in me. I had always said that I would never come to a point where I would take my own life. But I guess that was before I had to live without him. This last line is very effective; great job
But what was the point of living for himme, if bad things just kept happening? Wouldn’t it be easier if I just died? Then all the bad things wouldn’t happen.
But of cause typo- course, there wouldn’t be good things either.
I could see dream-Mike enter a car, and I knew what was going to happen. He drove carefully and suddenly another car entered my dream. It was driving in high speed and collided with his.
I could hear his scream as he was hit, and it continued even after I knew he was dead.
I’m going to pause a moment to talk about this first part for a second. First of all, awesome job, really. From reading the description, I was worried that this might be an ‘oh woe is me’ type story, but you do a very nice job with making us sympathize with your character. It doesn’t feel like you’re trying to push all of this information on us, only telling a story. Which is great
I like how you made it clear that the thought of living on without him just seems pointless; maybe you could expand on that and have her think about what her life was like before Mike. She probably hasn’t known him forever.
Also, you give us some detail about Mike, the blonde hair and cow lick, but in the future maybe you can expand on that and give us more intricate details. She was in love, and must’ve noticed little quirks that really add to his character.
Alright, moving on
“Ross! Wake up, honey. It’s just a dream!”
The words brought me back to reality, where I was gasping for air. I was lying in my bed and I was all sweaty.
My father was sitting by my side in his sweatpants and T-shirt, no comma and was stroking my hair. “It was just a dream.”
But it wasn’t. It wasn’t just a dream. It was reality, for me. I had to live with it every day, every hour, every minute, and every second.
I had to live with the loss of the person who meant the most to me in the whole world.
Mike.
He had died. And every night I lived through it. Over and over again. No variations, the exact same dream.
Behind dad I could see David. He was standing with Melanie who’s Melanie? You should make this sentence like ’He was standing with Melanie, my baby sister, in his arms… or something. in his arms and was looking at me with a worried look on his face.
When I closed my eyes I saw Mike’s face, no comma when he was in the wrecked car. Dead.
I looked up at dad again. He had put his arms around my shoulders and hugged me. “I know.” I just told him.
Over his shoulder I could see David comingagainstup to? I don’t see how someone can come against something. us. Melanie in his arms, were was reaching out for me.
I reached out for her too and carefully lifted her out of his arms. “I’m fine comma honey. Momma’s fine.” I assured her and kissed her forehead.
When I looked into her little sweet face I could mostly see me, but there were also some of Mike in it. Like, the angle of her chin, but her impossible green eyes and nose was just like mine. To me, it might sound better like ‘…I could mostly see me; the nose and impossibly green eyes; but there were also some of Mike in it, like the angle of her chin.
I looked up at dad and David. “Just go back to bed. I’ll put her back in her crib before I go back to sleep. I just have to sit here a bit.” I told them.
They nodded and dad kissed my forehead before they both left the room. With the door open.
Before I met Mike they always shut the door behind them, and after I met him, they sure did it. They didn’t want to risk seeing anything, like us making out on the bed. Another suggestion for rephrasing- ‘Before I met Mike, they always shut the door behind them, and after I met him, they definitely made sure they did; they didn’t want to risk seeing anything, like us making out on the bed.’
But since he died, the door was always ajar.they had kept the door open. Maybe so they could hear me scream in the night, and maybe for some other reason I couldn’t figure out.
The whole family had been implicated when he’d died. They’dhad to give up so many things. David had to stay home and work, instead of going off to collage. He’s He’d wanted to go to UCLA, and had been accepted. But he and dad had decided it would be best for me if there weren’t any major changes.
And for that I was glad. , because Because David was one of the big reasons why I didn’t curl up in a corner, no comma and cried cry all day long.
He always knew how to make me smile, how I liked to throw my cereal at him in the morning when he was way to too tired to even throw back, how I loved just sitting on the couch, talking about old bands. But since Mike’s death none of those things mattered, and he knew that. But he kept making his weird face when dad joked about him – the face I used to love – and he kept doing all the things, just for me. Because he knew what it meant to me. He knew, even thought I didn’t show it as much, that those things were what kept me alive.
Somehow I wished I could get over him, not forget him, just come to terms with reality. Because the reality was, no comma that he’d been taken from me, and every day I wished I could get him back, but I couldn’t. I knew that, but still I wished.
When I’d heard of his death, it was like a part of me had been ripped away. Like I was torn in half and he took one of them with him in the grave.
I was a half person.
And what was left of me wasthesorrow,thepain, and memories of the past, no comma that haunted me, like ghosts.
I can’t go back to that school. Walking down the halls just reminded me so much of him. Made me see the ghosts from all the times we’d walked down the halls, walking hand in hand, not caring about anything but ourselves.
I couldn’t play the piano either – or the guitar. Or even sing. That was something I had enjoyed so much before, and I’d found it so calming to just sit down and play. But somehow, when I sat down on the piano stool I just felt like he was right there next to me and that he wasn’t himself. He was a much worse version of himself, and I was scared of that version. I really like the visual you gave of her sitting at the piano unable to play because she imagined him sitting right there next to her. Really great job.
I was wounded for life. I was bruised, with bruises that would never go away.
I missed him so much. And it filled me with this anger and pain. I’d wondered, no comma what was the point in living, no comma if you had to through so much pain.
Killing myself. I had considered that. That would be a solution, but deep down I knew that it wasn’t. It’s just an excuse for some people to stop caring. ‘Cause when you stop caring, you stop living.
My mom had always told me that. When I was mad and told her I didn’t care about anything. She’d say, “When you stop caring, you stop living. So don’t stop caring yet.” And I would feel better and not be mad anymore. This part is also great, I love that you included something from her mom in this
I got out of the bed with Melanie in my arms. I walked to her little crib next to my bed and grabbed her quilts.
I put it them down next to my pillow and lay her carefully down on it. I tugged the quilt around her and lay down on my pillow too.
Slowly I slipped into unconsciousness, but I held onto a memory and focused on that.
It was one of my first day of high school, ever. I was a freshman and no one would notice me.
I was walking down the hall when I saw him. He was standing against a locker and looked like he was waiting for someone. He was the new guy – the sophomore. The one every girl in my past classes had been talking about. And I yet hadn’t seen. no period, just continue the sentence Until now.
His hair was blonde (light blone? Bleach blonde? Sandy blonde? You can go all out with description here
One of the popular girls left her group of friends and walked to where he was standing.
She leaned up against him in a very seductive and sexy way, which was impossible for every other boy on the school to reject.
But he did. He pulled away from her and met my gaze over her bare shoulder.
I was completely lost in his brown eyes and the way he looked at me was so hypnotic. I felt that I was being pulled towards him and I couldn’t stop myself. This is also a very nice and real description!
But other things could. I walked straight into the door of a locker. I fell to the ground and was blacked out for a few seconds.
That’s just the way to seduce a cute boy un-italicize this because it‘s her thoughts, I thought as I came to myself.
When I opened my eyes, someone was sitting next to me with his their head in front of mine.
It was the boy. His face was concerned and his hand was stroking my forehead. “You okay?” he asked me. His voice was like a million birds singing their most beautiful song. Personally, I think the ‘voice like singing birds’ is going a bit overboard x) But it’s up to you whether to keep it or not.
I sat up slowly and felt my head spinning. “I think so. I just have to come back into my own body.” I told him and laughed.
He chuckled. “Yeah, that was some stunt you made.”He said. just continue the dialogue here without a break “Next time you plan on doing something like that, you might consider hiring a stunt double.”
I laughed. “I’ll remember that. Next time I walk into a locker on purpose. comma instead of period” I said. “I’m Rosalie, by the way. But everyone calls me Ross.”
“Mike.” He took my hand. “Do you think you can stand? You look like you could faint.”
“I’m okay. Just help me up so I won’t fall again. Just in case.” But I knew that wasn’t why. I didn’t want him to leave.
He laughed again. His laugh was even more beautiful than his voice. It was so peaceful and happy.
He rose up and took my hand again. He lifted me slowly up till I stood on my feet. He had his arm around my waist, and I liked the way it felt.
He was tall. Much taller than my 5’2”. And he made me feel so secure and my headache – I had just found out about that one now the part in hyphens confuses me. I don’t get what you’re trying to say by it – disappeared.
I woke up in the morning when dad came into my room and took Melanie to the kitchen to feed her.
I took a shower, and put my hair in a ponytail. I walked back into my room and opened my closet.
I opened a drawer and took out a pair of jeans, and a too big, worn, washed-out Linkin Park T-shirt. It had been Mike’s favorite shirt. He must have worn it more than a thousand times.
He had bought it when he took me to a Linkin park concert. It had been one of the most amazing days of both our lives. He had bought the T-shirt because I had spilled coke on his shirt, and he had to throw it in the trash.
He had surprised me with two Meet-and-greet passes after the show. I had screamed like a crazy person when he showed me the passes, and I had screamed even more when we walked into the backstage room.
When it was our turn we got Mike’s T-shirt and both our new posters signed by all six members. And because we were some of the last we also got to talk to them briefly and got a picture with Chester.
I put on the shirt with the faded silver signatures and walked downstairs.
When I walked into the kitchen Melanie had her breakfast everywhere on her face. She sent me smile when I walked in and continued eating with her small fingers instead of her spoon. nawww
David walked into the kitchen then. He was yawning and his hair was wet from his shower. “Morning,” he told us and sat down by the table and started eating his food.
I didn’t eat anything. I just stared at my empty plate and tried to tune out the pictures in my mind.
Dad looked at me with a concerned look on his face. “Not eating?” he asked me.
I knew I was hurting him. That all my pain was his too. When I thought about Melanie, and how I would be hurting if she was hurting, I understood how he felt. And I wanted, more than anything, to save him from that pain.
“I’m taking Melanie to grandma on my way to work.” Dad said and looked at David. “David, give your sister a ride to school.”
School…
Today was my first day at the new school, first day of school since right after Mike had died. I had run out of school as fast as I could that day, and I had never even looked back. But this was a new school, so maybe it would be better.
We had moved from our old town a weeks week ago. We had moved from North Dakota, to North Carolina – David thought that was very funny, but with his poor sense of humor, everything was funny.
We moved here because this was where our grandmother lived, and where our mother had been raised.
Our grandmother lived only about 15 miles away and she had been a huge help. She loved to take Melanie and was very happy to help.
After David, dad and Melanie had finished their food, and walked upstairs to my room. I sat down on my bed and stared at the place on my dresser where the picture of Mike and me used to stand.
I’d had dad remove all of them. I had actually asked him to throw them out, but I knew he hadn’t. He had faith that someday I would be back to normal, and on that day, I should have something other than faded memories to remember him of.
I rose up from the bed and went to my guitar locker. I opened the doors and looked at my five guitars. It had been awhile since I’d looked in there.
One of the guitars was Mike’s. His mother had given it to me after he died. She thought I could use it since I played the guitar myself. Another was my father's. His first guitar. He’d gotten it when he was ten years old and used it until it was half broken, and now I’d gotten it as a souvenir. Two of them were my own, and the last one was my mom’s.
It was the one she always played. In every memory of her playing guitar I have, that was the guitar she used. She loved it.
After she died I used to play it, trying to bring her back, trying to play the exact same melody she had, but I never got it. I always searched for a memory to tell me how to play like she did, but it was gone. I couldn’t find the melody, and I couldn’t find her. This is very sweet and sad and beautifully done. I also like the idea of the closet full of old guitars that has so many memories attached to it.
I lifted it down from the wall, and went to sit down on my bed. I placed my fingers on the strings, but I couldn’t move my other hand.
“Sounding good?” my dad asked from the door. He was leaning against the doorframe.
I shrugged. “It’s not sounding at all. I can’t play.” I told him and put the guitar down.
He went to sit next to me. He took the guitar and started playing. It was a happy tune and I remember him playing it for me whenever I was sick, or not feeling well.
I remember once, no comma I had asked him what it was about. He had told me that it was about a girl, who lived in a kingdom far away with her family. The girl was very happy, but she was missing something in her life. Every night she would stand on her balcony and search for shooting star in the sky. And everytime she found one, she would wish for a friend. Someone who she could talk to, laugh with, share every moment of her life with. And one day she found that person, the person she would love no matter what, she would help and always be there for. And she was finally missing nothing.
The last chord faded and he looked up at me. “You’ll play again. The music meant so much to you, you can’t just forget it.” He told me. “I remember when you first asked your mother to teach you to play. You played everyday until your fingertips were all torn and bloody. But you wouldn’t stop playing. And soon you started writing your own songs, and she taught you to play the piano too, and you would play your songs on guitar and piano. She was – and would be – so proud of you. And so am I. And you’ll play again, when you’re ready.”
I put my arms around him and hugged him. “Thanks dad.” I said and saying that slowly eased the pain in my chest. “I’m sorry.”
He pulled away and looked at me. “What for? You have nothing to apologize for.”
“I do. I don’t want to hurt you, but because I feel the way I do, I can’t stop hurting you. And I’m sorry about that.” I would have cried, but I couldn’t.
I had cried so much when my mother died. But when Mike died, it was like tears weren’t at all enough to ease the pain. So there were no point in crying, because it wouldn’t change anything. It wouldn’t change the way I felt, or anything at all.
A tear was only a wet thing that ran down your cheek.
I can tell a story is good when I can spend a lot of time reviewing it, and through the whole process still be hooked into the story and never losing interest once. This is very good writing, and the pace is perfectly smooth; I like how you take your time slowing things down so that you can describe every emotion and scene to us in detail. It makes every part of this important, and feeling like nothing else is being left out, either.
126,539 Literary Works • 672,938 Reviews
