Untitled (working progress)

This is an uncompleted story that I am working on. It is about a girl whose father has died and, on the verge of committing suicide, she finds someone who makes her life feel worthwhile again. Note: Sorry its not in paragraphs, I copied it from my Word document and it took out all the indentations, I will sort this out asap.


1. 1


I looked down at the fierce sea as it thrashed against the sharp forbidding rocks. They were taunting me, willing me. The ardent wind pushed against my back, screaming at me to step forward to my death. No one wanted me here, so why was I so hesitant? This harsh world was not meant for me. I’ve been living my life, waiting for the day that I can spare everyone the misery and hatred that I bestow upon them. So why now, when I had been so sure about my decision, did I stop to find an excuse to stop me from jumping off the cliff? I squeezed my eyes shut. I could feel the adrenaline tingling in every part of my body. Time to jump. I took a deep breath and took a infinitesimal step forward so that I was merely a millimetre from the edge of the cliff. My muscles tensed as I readied myself for the jump when a sudden gust of wind blew my wavy black hair into my distressed face. I spun around agitated, cursing at the wind. Then, I froze. The figure in front of me was definitely not ordinary. Its glistening eyes stared at me intently. Its expression was nervous, unsure. It looked almost translucent, like a ghost. Perhaps it was a ghost? Or a spirit? The figure was male, his straight wild hair framed his heart-shaped face beautifully and reached just below his jaw line. “What were you doing?” he asked uncertainly. I caught my breath and stared anxiously at him, “I-I don’t know.” “Well it looked like you were about to commit suicide.” “Oh,” I said timidly and then asked, “would it matter if I was?” The figure frowned at me in disbelief. Had I finally found someone who cared about me? “Come here,” he said firmly. I found myself stepping forward almost instantly, in awe of the mysterious figure in front of me. He examined my face carefully, trying to read my perplexed expression. No doubt he saw my bloodshot eyes and the dark circles around them. No doubt he saw the tears stained on my rosy cheeks. No doubt he saw my chapped lips quivering as I tried to restrain my emotions. He had seen it. I could tell by the way his sympathetic eyes looked searchingly for the reason for my pain, the reason I had wanted so badly to end my life. “Why?” he said finally. “What do you mean?” I replied shakily. “Why would someone as beautiful as you want to waste their life by jumping off a cliff?” Beautiful? He thinks I’m beautiful? No one had ever described me as beautiful. People think I’m aberrant - a social reject. Not beautiful. Maybe its all in my head, just a strange delusion to keep me from committing suicide. I started to walk away briskly. If I had made him up then surely he would follow me wherever I went. “Where are you going?” he asked with an alarmed expression on his face. I studied him wistfully. Could I really have made up someone so fascinating? I wondered if there could be anyone like him in this world. No one had ever taken any interest in me, let alone call me beautiful. “What is your name?” I asked pensively. I hope you are real. “Tristan.” “Tristan? I don’t think I’ve ever heard that name before.” He must be real. Unless I made his name up too. I eyed him suspiciously. He can’t be real, he’s not even human. But my imagination can’t be that vivid, can it? I groaned, perturbed by my thoughts. Cautiously, I reached out a hand towards his arm. If I hadn’t felt a sudden icy chill I wouldn’t have even noticed that my hand had reached his arm and was now halfway through where his arm was supposed to be. He looked at me with an astonished expression on his face, and before I could ask him how any of this was possible he reached for my hand. “Do it again,” Tristan said eagerly. “Err…ok,” I said apprehensively as I went to put my hand through his arm. My hand wavered towards Tristan’s ghostly arm. I braced myself for the piercing icy cold that was about to come and thrust my hand into his arm. When it came the biting cold cut into my skin, but that was not what made me jump in shock. It was the funny peal of laughter that came from Tristan’s mouth. “What’s so funny?” I demanded as I drew my hand back. “It tickles,” he chuckled, “it felt nice, I haven’t laughed so much since - since, well…” He trailed off on the last few words with a solemn look on his face. For a few moments we stood in silence. I fidgeted uncomfortably and kicked at the ground while Tristan stood there staring at the horizon. I wanted to know more about him. I wanted to know who he was and what he was. I wanted to know why he was so upset. I wanted to comfort him and tell him it would all be fine. But how could I do that? I barely even knew him. Why would he want to tell me? I didn’t even know if he was real or not. “What is your name?” he asked quietly. “Rosie,” I answered. “It’s a nice name, it suits you,” he said and gestured towards my rosy red cheeks. “Thanks,” I said diffidently. He smiled at me as I blushed a darker shade of red and I turned away slightly so that I was looking out at the gloomy night sky. My imagination is too good. How was I able to make up someone so perfect and real? Perhaps I was going insane, but at least I didn’t feel lonely. “Its dark. Would you like me to take you home?” Tristan asked politely. “No, its ok,” I replied. He would probably follow me anyway. He was a part of my imagination so he would be with me wherever I went, right? “Please can I take you home?” he insisted patiently. I paused. I guess it wouldn’t hurt to say yes. “Yes -  and thank you.” I owed him a lot, whether he was a part of my imagination or not, he had stopped me from jumping just in time. At the time I thought it was the best option for me, but maybe I still had a chance to make my life better. As we walked to my house I felt a surge of fear rush through me. I realised that when I got home my mum was bound to kill me for being out so late. I felt my heart jolt as it raced as fast as a tiger in my chest. I looked at Tristan who was watching me nervously and I realised I had stopped walking and was now clutching my chest as if I was about to have a heart attack. I smiled half-heartedly at him and carried on walking. I daren’t think of what my mum might do to me when I got home. When we reached the deep red door of my house Tristan looked at me expectantly. I hesitated. Couldn’t I just run away? I wasn’t welcome here. I looked back down the street. It was enveloped in darkness, except for a few street lamps that glowed dimly in the bitter night air. “Aren’t you going to knock?” Tristan asked courteously. His voice was soft and comforting; enough to make anyone’s worries disappear. “Sure,” I knocked on the door boldly, then cowered away as reality sunk in. This was it. Maybe I should’ve climbed in through my window. The door swung open and Tristan disappeared instantaneously. I looked around for him panic-stricken but there was no sign of him. One minute he was there, and the next he had vanished. He was merely a figment of my imagination. Suddenly, a stinging pain shot through my ear as my mum pulled me inside. I looked at my mum fearfully as she slammed the door shut and glared at me menacingly. “I’m sorry,” I choked out pleadingly. “YOU THINK AN APOLOGY WILL SUFFICE?” mum shouted. Before I had time to defend myself a hand struck my face, and I felt my cheek throb as the fiery pain burned my cheek. I could feel the tears tumbling down my cheeks. I could feel my body shaking. I could feel my heart being ripped into tiny shreds. I could feel my knees buckle as I collapsed on the floor. Worst of all, I could see my mum grinning wickedly down at me. Looking at me disdainfully as if I was a plague-ridden rodent. Why does my mum hate me so much? I could see the blood lust in her dark eyes. She wanted to hurt me. Perhaps even kill me. I couldn’t understand what evoked her. I couldn’t understand the hatred she felt towards me. I had always done my best to win her over. However, my efforts were always futile. I just wish I had a caring loving mum, one that will always be there to love and support me. I have never told anyone about how my mum treats me. There are several reasons: I am scared that my mum will find her vengeance on me; I am scared that no one will want to help me or listen to me; I am worried about my mum. It was a long time ago now. I was only five at the time, so I did not fully understand. My mum had took me out for a picnic out on the cliffs. The view was beautiful up there. Breathtaking. It was a stunning day. The sun shone vibrantly as it warmed my soft rosy cheeks. Flowers were blossoming amongst the grass and the trees, and the birds were chirping cheerfully. Everything was perfect, until we got home. Dad was lying sprawled across the floor motionless. I did not get to see much because my mum pulled me into another room with her hand over my eyes. Then she held me firmly and said to stay where I was. I was an obedient girl and did as I was told, but that did not stop me from eavesdropping. I realised how serious it was when I heard my mum calling the police. I remember her saying someone had broke into the house… that dad had been murdered. Ever since that day the loss of my dad has gradually driven my mum insane. She’s not the same person, but I can’t change that. I can’t reverse the damage. All I know is that my mum is desperate to get her revenge and I am just a tool for her to ease the pain with. I pulled myself up as my mum taunted me, my legs felt like an unsteady tower of blocks, waving wildly as I tried to regain balance. I lurched towards the staircase and grabbed the banister, then staggered up the staircase, ignoring the foul language that followed me up the stairs. When I reached the comfort of my room, I collapsed onto my little bed and cried until my eyes felt sore. Maybe there was no hope. I wished I could change that moment. Stop my dad from being killed. I knew it was pointless wishing for anything, nothing seemed to go right for me. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a glimmer near my door. I looked up fretfully, expecting it to be my mum, but it wasn’t. Standing there at my door was Tristan.  He looked at me guiltily, and then sat down next to me. “Hey, I know I shouldn’t really be here but when I left I heard shouting and well… I came back to see if you were ok and I saw that you were upset.” “Oh.” “I can go if you want,” Tristan said hurriedly, “I didn’t mean to be rude. I mean, I did just kinda walk in here.” “No!” I exclaimed. I could feel my cheeks turning redder, “It’s ok.” Tristan smiled at me sweetly, which made my cheeks turn the colour of beetroot. “Thank you,” I whispered. “Is your cheek ok?” he asked, a worried frown appearing on his forehead. “Oh, that’s embarrassing,” I said, realizing he had noticed my incessant blushing. “What? That your cheek is bleeding?” he asked, a little confused. “My cheek is bleeding?!” I exclaimed. Woops! He hadn’t noticed after all. Or maybe he was too polite to point it out. His hand brushed against my cheek, cooling it down so that it no longer felt sore. I don’t think I had ever felt so happy before! For once, I felt a surge of excitement rush through me. An overwhelming feeling of freedom and love and joy. I had found someone who cared, someone who wanted to see me happy. Even if that somebody was either dead or my imagination. I looked into his dark shimmering eyes and felt a sudden desire to get to know him, to understand who he was. For the rest of the evening we talked about our favourite things, our wants and desires. I even told him about my mum and how I wished that I could make things better, and he told me not to give up hope. He encouraged me to do things I would never think I would ever have the confidence to do, but somehow he gave me the confidence. He made me feel like I could do anything. We got lost in conversation, talking until late in the night. I was surprised my mum did not hear us, although she was probably too drunk. Eventually, I felt my eyelids get heavier and I found myself drifting into a deep sleep. *** That morning I woke up with a start. Lying right next to me in my bed was Tristan, his ghostly shape glinting in the morning light. “You stayed all night?” I exclaimed. “I guess I did,” he said calmly, a smile drifting across his face. I didn’t know what to say, I wanted to have a go at him for watching me sleep but at the same time I couldn’t help feeling honoured that he’d spent so much time with me. So, instead I said the dumbest thing possible: “Did you have a good sleep?” I mean how could he go to sleep? Fortunately, he just laughed it off and went to give me a hug. Now, this was possibly the most scariest and happiest moments of my life. A rush of air fluttered through my lungs as he went to put his arms round me and, bracing myself for the cold, his warm arms flung round me. They’re warm? I looked up at him bewildered, and he simply smiled at me lovingly. Boys are confusing. Especially ones that aren’t possibly real. I glanced over at my clock. Half 8 already? I’m going to be late for school! Hurriedly, I dashed into the bathroom and brushed my teeth.  Tristan followed, befuddled, “What’s the matter?” “Gonna…be late!” I managed to say with a mouth full of toothpaste. “Want some help?” he asked, rather concerned. “Don’t worry!” I said as I flung myself out of the bathroom and into my bedroom to change into a fresh pair of clothes.  Tristan reached my bedroom door to find it slam in his face! While getting changed I thought about all the possibilities of what caused my insanity. Well I must be insane, right? I’m falling in love with some imaginary person I’ve invented or some person that’s dead, which means I can see ghosts. Even more of a reason to get bullied at school. I sighed disconsolately and hauled my school bag onto my shoulder. Time to go. *** I sat in registration on my usual table, by myself - except for Tristan of course. I could see a group of girls glancing over at me and sniggering. I’d made the mistake of talking to Tristan and now they all thought I was talking to myself. It’s always the same, I always do something embarrassing and end up getting bugged about it for the rest of the day by pretty much every other student in the school. Even the nerds would make a sly comment when they saw me. Most of the time I preferred to hide away, to avoid getting teased, but with Tristan it was completely different. I wanted to open up to him and I wanted him to tell me everything about him, he was just so interesting! So far I’d found out that he enjoyed swimming and tennis, but he also loved to be creative - he would sit and play his guitar for hours on end, trying to make his own songs. I thought it was wonderful! I told him about when I used to watch my dad play the piano, and how I had always longed to be as good as him one day. The bell rang indicating it was time to go to lesson and I cautiously got up from my seat; I had a knack of tripping over or something else stupid whenever I got up. First lesson: Maths. I hate maths. Reluctantly, I made my way to the maths classroom with Tristan tagging along beside me. It felt very strange having someone with me all the time, accompanying me to lessons and stuff. The weirdest thing was seeing everyone walk through him, however it was quite funny: whenever someone passed through him they would jolt straight upright as if getting an electric shock, because it just felt so cold! And their faces were hilarious! The variety of expressions ranged from the look of a bamboozled chimpanzee to a petrified goldfish!  I took my usual place in Maths, between Felicia and Carmen. These two were possibly the most popular girls in school - and the most annoying. Felicia was a blonde-haired beauty with sparkly eyes and perfect legs, while Carmen was a slender stunner with sultry eyes and dark flowing hair. The teacher had put me between them in the hope that it would prevent them from whispering about the latest gossip, but that didn’t stop them. Maths lessons usually consisted of them leaning over me and nattering away while my tired eyes glanced towards the window, trying to block them out. This lesson was different. Tristan sat cheekily on my desk, and spent the whole lesson telling me jokes. Whenever the girls tried to lean in and discuss Karla’s horrible new shoes they were drawn back by the icy cold, however they continued to ramble on. I tried my best not to laugh at Tristan but it was just so difficult. He was charming and funny. This was by far the best Maths lesson I’d ever had. But then he did it, he pulled the most ridiculous face and I couldn’t help but burst into laughter. I knew my mistake before I could even pause for breath. On either side of me, Felicia and Carmen were shooting daggers at me. Fiery eye daggers. Oh great, well done Rosie, I thought. “So you think its funny that Ryan cheated on me, do you?” Felicia shouted. “What? No? I wasn’t even listening to you, I -” “Oh shut it, creep! What else were you laughing at then? The voices in your head?” Carmen scoffed, then accepted a high five from Felicia (who apparently found that remark hilarious). “Whatever,” I muttered, defeated. I looked up at Tristan despairingly. He looked annoyed, he stood up, then he grabbed a whiteboard pen from the teacher’s desk. In my head I was shouting at him to stop, in reality everyone was staring in astonishment at a floating whiteboard pen making its way towards Carmen and Felicia. Felicia screamed as Tristan scribbled angrily across her face. As the pen began to drift towards Carmen, she jumped out of her seat and ran out of the classroom, leaving a devastated Felicia clawing at her own face.  



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