Young Writers Society

like a dog. Ruff!*

*Okay. Since atleast one person wanted so bad to see any more of my story I plan to publish I'll do this but as soon as I get it finished this is going down so I can try and actually get it published. Now the prologue is and will still be up so you kinda touch bass with it if you wish. It's here. topic33347.html . You may have to scroll through the summery though. Um... Let's get this on the road then shall we?*

A beginning to the truth

Jesse creaked the door open to his sister’s room. He ran his hand over light switch, turning it on. Everything was how it was left: bed half made, three books stacked on the nightstand, more books on the bookshelves, some completely on their sides, and a whole shelf full of notebooks. Jesse eyed the notebooks as he approached. He ran his finger across them, counting. One, two, four, six, seven, eight, ten, twelve through twenty-four. Just as it had been when he was younger.

He sat down on the white sheeted bed and stared at the notebooks, all lined up in their order. He always wanted to read them. Now was his chance. He got up, strode over to the shelf, pulled one out half way and thought better of it. When he pushed it back an envelope fell to the floor. He picked it up and turned it over.

Jesse, it read. He pulled the letter out and began to read.

Jesse,

Life isn’t so kind is it? I’m probably dead, right? You probable wouldn’t be going for a notebook if I was alive but please, do read them. They will probable teach you of my death. Why it happened, anyways. But know I always love you. Even after death.

Yours forever,

-Jessica

Jesse stood there for a minute, stunned about her likeliness to know he’d go for one of the notebooks. Well, she was his sister after all. He set the letter down and pulled out the first book.

A piece of paper fell from the first page as Jesse opened the notebook labeled #1. He ignored it and read.

A younger cousin of mine followed behind my footsteps into writing. Writing stories of small and big as I did and do now. He died the other day and he was souly remembered for his stories and poems. I felt lost in my own world of fancy. It was my place to get away and then I had to fight for it.

In the end I lost, but kept writing and my cousin was in a major accident. He died before he made it to the hospital.

Jesse picked up the piece of paper that had fallen from the notebook to the floor. It was a poem typed in black. A rose probable mindlessly drawn was in the corner.

White petals fall,

Black petals,

Red petals of all.

Tears fall blue,

Turning red to purple,

From the morning dew.

Blood been spilt,

Black petals crumple,

Beginning to wither.

White stays white,

Raising you to the sky,

As you see the light.

I bid adu,

From a friend to you.

Jesse turned back to the scribbled words in the notebook.

I did not hate my cousin one bit and I still don’t. I’m loosing my footing on were I stand in this life. I feel too much the goody-two-shoes of the family. As I write this I see little Jesse asleep on my bed. He had a nightmare this night, of terror. I let him fall asleep in my arms as I rocked him soothingly on my bed. I pray that he is not ashamed of what is to come in my life and be revealed by these sprawled lines. I have no clue what is too come. Pray it isn’t the worst.

Jesse reread the last few sentences again and gave a frown. His sister had been out of the bed when he had awoken the night he had had the nightmare but he had thought nothing of it. He was confused. He didn’t quite understand. He hadn’t been and never would be ashamed of his sister. How ever could he? He sat down at the computer and started typing up his sister’s story.