Young Writers Society

Ok, i took my 'Ivy' story and turned it into this, this is a letter from a mother in one of the stories I am writing. Also subbmitting this for my portfoilo, so crits would would be greatly apreciated

*******************************

Dear Dale,

I remember that Ivy. It was from back in the day when you told me that I was the centre of your world. I still don’t understand how I could have gone from the one thing that you revolved around to the thing that you now hate. It’s a typical love story isn’t it? Boy meets girl, they fall in love then they break it off. But never before has that ivy you planted grown so out of control.

I guess we took it that extra step, we told out parents about each other, we lived together; you said everything was going to be ok. But then the cracks started to show, in your eyes, in my face. Just like this damn ivy has put cracks in my wall. This now withered plant resembles you my dear. It is you. You were the one who did this to me. As I tear down the sharp green leaves I am tearing away every single piece of you from my life. Love isn’t easy when you’re so young, but I thought that was what glued us together so tightly, the fact that we were going against them and doing what we thought was right.

I always told you that I would never wander from your side, yet…the trust just wasn’t there was it? Still to this day, what is it now? Five years? I still can’t understand why that possessive jealous side of you came through.

These leaves have cut across my naked palms, across my face deep into my skin…if it still as how it was back then it could just have easily have been you that did this to me. Each bit I rip off the walls another bit of you comes away, another memory. And now look at me, Ivy tangled around my bare feet, cutting across my ankles holding me here, urging me to write this letter to you.

You…you always used to say my skin was beautiful, it wasn’t embedded in dirt back then. You used to caress my hands so attentively, you wouldn’t now. No, not know my nails are torn, blistered.

We bought two children into this world, Jamiy and Liam. You should see how Jamiy has grown, he is ten now and you still haven’t sent him a birthday card. He was helping me dig up the garden; he was the one who suggested that we cut down the ivy. I look out the window now and it pains me to see the sun shining through. I have grown so accustomed to the green and brown leaves blocking the light. Jamiy says it looks better but I can’t be sure, I just can’t help this feeling in the pit of my stomach.

Do you remember that god awful neighbour of ours? She was the first to stick her nose in the day after you left.

“I heard shouting last night.” Was her first words, not how you are you today? Lovely weather? You know how I always hated people getting involved when it was nothing to do with them. I didn’t tell her anything so don’t get stressed, the police wont come knocking on your door for a good few years as yet. Still, I guess I didn’t have to tell people what happened, it was all pretty clear. You and Liam had up and left. You left me crying my eyes out on that disgusting brown sofa of ours, our youngest son standing at the front door not knowing what to do. Psychologists say that trauma like that in young children can damage them for life, so I will send you the psychiatrist bills when he finally cracks.

I bagged up the ivy, fearful that Jamiy would cut himself on the leaves; you would be surprised by how sharp they really are. I also bagged up your old clothes today, stuffed them into the dust bag with the ivy. I did consider giving them to charity but I couldn’t, the thought of someone around her buying and wearing your clothes worries me. Even someone wearing your things will make me break out into this cold sweat. And I can’t have that happen; I am trying so hard now to build a stable life for Jamiy. But I think I will fail.

It’s strange don’t you think? How I finally found the courage to write to you. It was almost as if that Ivy cutting into my hands again sparked something off. The good thing is that I think I can now finally move on. You may think I sound pathetic, five years and I still fear finding one of your socks buried deep at the bottom of the washing basket. Now the ivy has gone I can see. I am not that kind of person who will hide away behind a stupid plant anymore. So my darling, this is my goodbye to you. I don’t want to remember that day…that fateful day anymore. So I am going to consider this our official parting. I wish you all the best, and please, I do not require a reply; just a birthday card for your son would be nice, thank you.

Yours,

Kerry

P.s. Would you also be kind enough to send some money for my walls, because it was you that planted that stupid ivy in the first place.