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anonymousmusing · 5 years

Text

Taped up Papers and Photos

The car bumped down the road as I sat in the back, my head leaned against the window. My so-called parents chattered nervously up front. I reached up to touch the bandage on my forehead, as if to remind myself that this is real. That I was going home, that I had people who care about me. But I couldn't seem to conjure enough energy out of my sleep deprived body to care.

So I stayed quiet, only responding when I had to. I let my eyes wander around. I saw people I couldn't name, streets that didn't have familiarity, and yards I couldn't remember walking past.

Finally, they pulled into the drive.

"Does any of this help?" Michael, the man who I called my father, asked. His brow was furrowed in concern and my I could see my mother, Lindsey, look up with hope in the rearview mirror.

"No." I didn't mean to be cruel. But it didn't help.

My mother coughed nervously, sniffled a bit, and started rattling off. "Oh, well, that's okay, honey. The doctor said to show you some more places and photos and that the first couple things might not do anything. But the best thing is to-"

"Lin," My father cut her off. He didn't seem mad but concerned for her. He placed his hand over hers before turning back to me. "Mia, let's just go inside. Walk around some, get comfortable. Your room is the attic, the door on the far right."

I nodded, squirming to get unbuckled as I swung open the door to let myself out. My leg didn't seem to want to work as I stumbled forward, grabbing the door harshly to pull myself back up with my good arm. Before I lost my balance completely, both of them were there, fussing with me and checking for injuries. After readjusting the sling on my arm, Michael made me get the crutches, lightly scolding me for not using them in the first place. They walked ahead of me, waiting for me before I waved them forward.

"I want to stay out here for a minute, by myself." They look hesitant before giving a sigh. I must've been stubborn at some point for them to give in like this.

Before the door shut, I heard Michael call out, "We'll watch through the kitchen window!" I chuckled slightly before looking back at the front yard. It has a simple garden filled with various flowers and lush bushes line the outside of the house. Some toys lay around and three bikes stood off to the side. My brow furrowed for a moment before I made up my mind.

Using the crutches, I swung myself across the yard towards them, bending best I could to get a better look. Two were mountain bikes, one a bit smaller than the other. The smaller one was pink and black while the other was green and black. Then my brow furrowed once more. The math didn't add up.

"Hey, Mia!" A strange voice called. I whipped around to see a middle-aged man looking up at me with a bright smile. When I didn't respond, he faltered. "I guess I caught you at a bad time or somethin'." When I continued to just stare at him, he started turning. "See ya later then..." I watched his retreating back walk down the street before turning the corner.

I shook my head before looking around. The neighborhood looked like it was safe. Cozy with some kids playing in the warm spring breeze. Parents sat on porches watching them and drinking a refreshing liquid. But that's when I noticed the staring, the whispering. Some pointed.

I turned back to the house and continued up to the door. Once inside, I heard the clattering of plates. As much as I wanted to sit down and eat, I also wanted to go see my room. So I skipped the kitchen and headed upstairs and to the right, where a wooden door sat. It was covered in various papers and writings and splattered of paint. Foam lettering spelled "Mia's Room! Stay Out!" in a rainbow of colors and I smiled.

I pushed the door open to reveal a steep stairway, to which I groaned at. It was covered in the beige carpet as opposed to the hardwood flooring of the hall. I took off my shoes carefully, not wanting to jostle my knee. The plush carpet was nice and soft as I ascended the stairs slowly.

The walls leading up were painted a burgundy color. Sticky notes and various writings were taped haphazardly on the paint. Some were stained with age while others looked almost brand new. The handwriting was different like multiple people were writing things. At the top of the staircase, I turned to look into my room.

The bed was in the far corner, where the roof didn't slope. It had matching burgundy sheets with white accents. Many pillows adorned the mattress, along with an assortment of paper and pencils. I guess I was working on some sort of homework, I concluded after limping over to inspect it. Astrology. I looked up the roof, where flowy opaque curtains hung mixed with fairy lights that also draped over the walls. I imagined it must've looked beautiful with the lights turned off. Photos and pictures also hung around the walls.

That was a theme in my room. All kinds of things were taped everywhere. Looseleaf papers, ripped papers, little slips, photos, posters, drawings. The walls were absolutely overflowing with them, but it gave me a sense of comfort as if I wasn't alone. As if I really was the girl who lived here and taped all sorts of things to my walls.

A bedside table sat next to my bed. On it was various little trinkets and laying down a photo. I reached to pick it up, but I decided against it quickly. It was probably just another photo of me and my family.

The dressers were filled with clothing I liked but seemed off as I realized I couldn't place why I did. I pulled on a pair of oversized sweats and a loose band t-shirt. The faint smell of cologne filled my senses and suddenly I felt calm, protected. Like I was home. I shook my head to rid myself of my silliness.

Probably my boyfriend, or maybe a previous boyfriend.

I looked around again. The room stayed straight for a few feet, before slanting off to about three feet off the ground. A large window laid on the roof, allowing me to see up at the morning sky had I opened the cover. Two stacks of blankets and pillows were stacked on a rug underneath it, and I tilted my head curiously. I walked over and knelt down to sit, naturally going towards the one on the right. I leaned over towards the other pile and the scent of a cologne hit me again while I reeled in.

But then I felt strange, like it wasn't my place. Probably because it wasn't. I was sitting in a bedroom that was supposed to be mine. That I should know where everything was. But I had to go through all the drawers to find the types of clothes I wanted. This room should feel like a home, like I could relax. But I feel out of place and awkward.

My parents sit downstairs, my mother probably crying again because her daughter doesn't remember her. I can't imagine what they'd be doing, or if the 'they' would be a 'we', on a Saturday night. I had no idea if they'd let me out past midnight, or if I would be able to stay the night at my boyfriend or girlfriend’s house. I don't remember what classes I took or who my friends were. I don't remember if I smoked pot or if I was a mother figure to those who did. Maybe I was a goody two shoes who ratted everyone out.

I didn't belong here. I want to scream and rip the blackout curtains over the windows, to flip the matress and tear the lights down. But I couldn't. Because this wasn't my room.

It was hers.

Something beeped behind me. I turned towards the desk on the other side of the room where a simple laptop sat. It was open, and many icons cluttered the homescreen. A picture of me and a boy sat as the background. I tilted my head curiously as I realize I've seen him before.

My eyes scanned the walls before my lungs took a sharp intake of breath. I realized who it was now. It was Ash.

The boy who saved my life. The boy who was my best friend. The boy who made me smile. Made me laugh. Who protected me from the bullies until the very end, literally.

Memories rush back to me as I realize what had happened and I hear myself cry out. Hands grip my hair as images of us flash through my mind. Of us in the park, of him flicking wads of paper at me, of him hanging up another paper on the wall, of us on the floor underneath the roof window. Of Ash walking me to class, giving me an ice cream cone, fixing my bike. Placing a banage on my knee. Pushing me out of the door as the man with a gun pulled it out.

He saved me, went looking for me after I went missing. I spent weeks being tortured by that ruthless man. After everyone else gave up he didn't. When he found me that night he snuck through the basement window with his baseball bat. We waited for the man to return before he swung, cracking on his head before grabbing me and running. But he didn't account for his friend being there that night. So he pushed me out the door, closing it while shouting at me to run.

I never will forget the gunshot and cry as I fled. His pained yowl before another bullet was shot. I didn't look back, I couldn't. But I didn't make it two blocks before knocking on someone's door and passing out from the pain in my body.

I let out a cry openly, tears streaming down my cheeks. He saved me, but sacrificed himself. My best friend, my only true friend, is gone. Because of me. My throat feels raw and only then I realize I was screaming and crying.

I can hear my parents clambering over each other on the stairs. I sob and sink to the floor, my legs no longer able to hold me. My eyes skirt over to the photo on that table as I crawl over, grabbing it and removing in from the frame. I read the writing on the back of it as they finally reach me.

In loving memory, Ashton King, who died saving his soulmate.

#story #storytelling #short story #sad story #sad stuff #amnesia #forget #forgotten #kidnap story #aftermath #tragedy #bestfriend is dead #stories #writing #pencil #ink

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anonymousmusing · 5 years

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Sometimes

Just sometimes

I wonder if you think of me

The way I do of you

With mystical wonder

And unwavering adoration

But also a discreet feeling of emptiness

Where a hole has taken shape

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anonymousmusing · 5 years

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anonymousmusing · 6 years

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Teenage Confusion

As the investigator plopped down into the seat he dropped the unopened letter onto the desk in front of him. His eyes felt heavy as he let out a deep, disappointed sigh.

“This case is impossible,” He mumbled as he dragged his hand over his face. “Clues just keep on popping up unexpectedly and ruining my theories.” With heavy hands, he picked the envelope up and tore it with a finger.

The paper inside was simple notebook paper. Splattered blood covered the page, but left it readable. He held it carefully, not wanting to get the blood on his hands. The investigator then managed to let his weary eyes glide across the page.

Dear…. Whoever reads this.

I am writing this to tell you about what has happened. I, Amelia Smith, am probably dead by the time you get this. Maybe the others are too… Jordan? Ash? Emma? Maybe even Lucy.

The investigator lifted his head with a furrowed brow. His eyes flashed to the board on the wall. The pins holding pictures, the marker and string. All the names were there. Except for Ash…

Anyways, I am deeply sorry for whoever receives this. You see, we weren’t a normal gang. Anything but, really. Led by teenagers, we took over this city with brutal force and refused to give in. You, my sir or ma’am, are digging. Finding out why I am dead, why the violence has gone up. I admire your persistence and bravery, as they did me. But that’s what gets you killed.

Sweat breaks out on his forehead and he looks up. He could have sworn he felt a draft. No, no, he thought. Coincidence.

You see, I made a mistake. I became too brave, too fearless, and too persistent. I pushed my way through boundaries, had a few too many times where I almost got caught. They got sick of the risks. So I was put on trial. Everyone voted against me. Everyone. And I thought I was safe there. Pshhh. They pawned me off first chance they got at the first sight of danger. So I hid. Or I tried to. If I’m alive, I succeeded. If I didn’t… maybe that bunker wasn’t the best choice. Oh well.

Anyways, you are dead. You probably haven’t noticed, but there were probably a lot of people watching you this week. That barista who started a second too long? Watching you. The passenger next to you who seemed to get a little too close? Studying behaviors. That person who just wouldn’t leave you alone? Reporting information. Probably your assistant too.

Long story short, bud, you’re fucked. You won’t survive. As you reach this part of the letter, they are already in your house. Already slinking in the halls, weapons in hand. Already prepared to kill you for getting a little further than most.

Welp, I had a good run, and maybe you did too. Toodaloo!

The man now dropped the letter, looking up to see his door knob turning.

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anonymousmusing · 6 years

Conversation

I love Gay Shippers XD

CW: Okay we'll cut off Kara's relationship with James, that way we can bring in some white guy.

CW: We should probably also get rid of Kat and Lucy and give the gays a new ship so they can't get mad at us.

Katie McGrath: Surprise bitch.

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anonymousmusing · 6 years

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You Were Supposed To Stop Me

She watches in slow-motion as the beam travels through the air. She knows what will happen. She knows what is happening. She lunges herself toward it. Anything to save-

“Gaahhhh!” The scream of pain erupts from her opponent. She just stands there in shock, wondering what she had just done. The hero’s head smacked against the hard floor, a grunt escaping them along with their breath.

She drops the gun. Her breath catches in her throat and suddenly she feels as if she's drowning. She’s there, but she’s not. Her body is numb. Her heart is overflowing. But all she could think was, What have I done?

Now she’s cradling her hero’s head in her lap, tears flowing down her face and splashing onto their suit. “You were supposed to stop me!” She cried. “You were supposed to stop me and save the world and.. and…” She is interrupted by a raspy chuckle.

“But I didn’t,” They said, peering up from half-lidded,tearfilled eyes. “Because I’m no hero. I’m just a kid playing dress up.” Another raspy chuckle as the hero gasps for another breath. “But you? You were the real deal. The villian who wasn’t kidding around.” The girl shook her head.

“You had everything you needed! You had everything prepared and set up, so why,” She sobbed as her hand stroked the other’s face softly “Why am I still here? What went wrong? Why are you on the ground, while I am a mess above?” The hero moved their hand upward, softly touching the spot on her chest where she was hit.

“A laser gun stopped me,” they said faintly. Their eyes slowly started to slip closed and she couldn’t take it. She couldn’t lose another. She refused to lose this one.

“No!” She cried out while shaking their shoulders. “No, please! Wake up! I can’t do this without you! I can’t! I can’t!” She sobbed as she crumpled down, clutching the barely there soul. In the distance, she heard ambulances and police cars.

And as she sat there, bent in half, trying to keep the hero alive, she sobbed. Not just because the world might lose a great hero, but because she might have just lost her one and only brother.

#story #story twist #they were siblings #tragedy #sad #WHYYYY #idk if he lives or not so...

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anonymousmusing · 6 years

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Red Roses

“Ma’am, I'm sorry, but you need to tell me what your name is and what happened.” The officer was nice enough, gently shaking my shoulder to get me out of my daze. I willed my trembling body to move its head to look up at the officer.

“M-M-Mallory Davis,” I stuttered. I rose a single finger towards my apartment complex, tears brimming in my eyes. “R-roses. They were e-e-everywhere.” Red roses. Hundreds of them. They filled my apartment, covered every surface. Blood red in color and I knew, I just knew, who had put them there. “He found me.”

“What?” I couldn't blame the officer, he hadn't a clue of what went on all those years ago. I ran a hand through my thick, curly blonde hair and with trembling fingers I toyed with the black scarf that hung loosely around my neck.

“He found me,” I repeated, and I felt my brow connect and my lips part in confusion. He should not have found me. I made sure to change everything, I made sure to leave no trace of the person I was back then. “He put the roses in my apartment.”

“Yes, but who is he?” The officer’s pen stopped scratching the paper, and his eyes traveled to my hands that were still twisting and turning on the edges of the scarf. All of a sudden, there was a small clatter down the street, and my head swiveled so fast I ended up startling the officer. “It’s alright, it was probably just a cat.”

“Y-yeah,” I shakily replied. I looked back at the apartment, my thoughts raced with possible solutions of how to get away.

Plane? No, too traceable. Train? Never liked them at all. Car? I’d have a license plate, and even if I rented one it could be traced. Bus? Yes! Busses are harder, since companies have multiple and you could go almost anywhere without having to show your identity!

“Erm, Miss Davis?” He slowly rested a hand on my shoulder, but I jumped back, startled at the unexpected touch. I nodded, and he started walking toward his car and opened the back door. “It’s standard procedure, but you aren’t in trouble, as I explained.”

I nodded again, not exactly knowing what I agreed to, but guessing we were on our way to the station. On the ride, my head bumped softly against the glass window, and I swam around in my thoughts.

I landed on a single image. It was of a young man, in his early twenties, wearing an expensive looking suit that was the color of faded algae with pinstripes of a color just a shade darker. His equally nice pants matched and the stark white Oxford shirt stood out among the sea of green. A deep blue bowtie completed his unique ensemble. He was leaning forward, his hair swooped to one side and falling slightly to create a shadow over half his face. His rusty brown eyes always reminded me of a lion’s. The way they watched you, the way they scrutinized every detail they cared to glance at. His sneering smile was wide and showed off predatory white teeth, always ready to go for your jugular. In his right hand, a red rose was poised outward. His left was behind his back, the edge of a metal tip stuck out behind his other elbow.

Oh how I wished I noticed that glint.

Suddenly, I noticed I was sitting in a chair with an unruly brigand being hauled towards the police station’s holding center in front of me. I looked around, confused. How did I get here? When did I get here?

“Miss Davis!” A cheery man said, his balding head and slightly overweight body reminded me of somebody’s grandfather. “This nice man, Oliver, has come to pick you up. He is your fiance, correct?” He eyed the man beside him, who I had not noticed. But now that I have, my hands tangle in my scarf nervously once again.

The algae green suit and pants he wore looked just as spic and span as I remembered. His bowtie was tied and turned to perfection, and he had let the unshaved side of his hair grow an inch longer. His eyes rested upon mine, and his predatory grin widened as he studied my petite frame.

“Mallory,” He greeted with feign enthusiasm. “I hope you are alright, my dear, but we should be on our way.” He snaked an arm around my waist, and I could feel my neck start to sweat.

“Y-yes, dear,” I said nervously. The officer smiled, not noticing my uneasiness. The room started to become intolerably stuffy.

As he guided me out of the station, he leaned down to next to my ear, his breath warm against my skin.

He lowly snarled, “Time to finish our game.”

He reached beneath the scarf on my neck, on my left collar bone. Exactly touching the jagged scar he had left before we to pause our game. It was then when he pulled one of those retched crimson red flowers out of his pocket.

#story #chapter 1 #Red Roses

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