Short Stories.

A few shorts I wrote down when I felt like it. For now, it's completed, but if I had a gorgeous idea, then I'll add to it. Thank you for reading.

Thank you. Muah.

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3. Heaven

My father traveled a lot when I was young, but I still loved him. Whenever he would come back, he would come to me and ask me playfully how much I missed him. My answer was always:

"I missed you as much as the skies and Earth!"

To the little me, that was the biggest thing I knew. I still didn't know about the consuming fear, or any other ugly emotions. The biggest measurement unit I knew was, the skies and Earth.

***

I only knew you for three years, specifically the first, and it was at the end that you left. Sometimes, I sit at night, still unbelieving that you went away.

Year seven was the best year. It was the year I met you, the year you loved my jokes, the year I loved hearing your laugh at my jokes.

We quickly grew close, and started confiding secrets and embarassing childhood memories to each other. You had a fight with one of your friends, and I stood by your side. 

"When you start to walk far ahead, people start talking behind your back," you used to say. 

You said I had flawless skin, I said you had beautiful, long hair.

I had what you didn't, and you had what I didn't. I had short, uncontrollable hair.

One day, in French, you sat next to a boy I have to grown to like but never told you. I guess I was young, ignorant, and behaved foolishly, but at that moment, there was a sense of feeling inside me, burning like anger, but not so quite. It was a different emotion, one that today I would recognize as jealousy.

I sat next to a different girl, Sophie, who was normal, and was one of your friends as well. The teacher gave us a sheet, and since I was excellent at French, lots of people turned around to me to ask for questions. I was expecting my crush to come ask me something too, but he was too pre-occupied with you.

I felt small hatred towards you, which ignited my next words. I started talking about you, with Sophie, and talking about your flaws and mistakes. It was bad of me. It was something I should've never done, and something that transformed me into a monster.

The next day, I had forgotten about everything, and we were sitting in History class having so much fun. Me making jokes, and you laughing at them while the teacher prepared a presentation.

"You'll cry as much as you'll laugh," you would say, but I never fully believed it until that moment.

During the presentation, Sophie slowly leaned into your ear to tell you that I talked shit about you. The look of betrayal on your face broke me. I was devastated when a small thought rang in my head. The thought that I broke our friendship with my own doings.

In the next lesson, we were assigned into a group. You were in mine, and I struggled to apologize, but my mouth was locked. And my heartbeats were so loud that I couldn't hear the teacher asking me a question until he came face to face with me.

At that moment, I found my voice, and when I talked with it, the sentences came out shaky and undeciphirable.

With this new voice, I was going to say sorry, but then things went from bad to worse when the fire alarm rang.

On the way to the field, I said sorry. Over and over again. But the hurt must've been raw, and the knowledge that one of your closest friends have betrayed you must've been hurtful, because you slapped me in the face.

I took it in, calmly. Because I deserved it.

Days passed, and I deleted your number. Because I didn't deserve possessing it. Less than a week after our fight, you came to me and told me you forgave me. At that time, my happiness... my gratefulness was as much as the skies and Earth. 

But I guess not everything healed quickly, because we weren't like before and before we could fix it, year seven finished and the summer holidays started.

With no number, no email, there was a loss of contact.

Year eight started, and we were placed in different classes. At first, me and you would say hi in the hallways and talk to each other in break and lunch. But then you found someone better than me, and I befriended another girl. Quick enough, all we did was avert our eyes if we ever caught them together.

It was a neutral year, and year seven was always the best, but it was definitely -most definitely- better than the next year.

In year nine, me and my new friend, along with you and your new friend became one class again. I thought we would go back to being like before, that this year everything would change. The former was wrong, but the latter was very right.

The days became non-chalant, just a string of labeled time held together and looped like a routine.

Then came twelve of January, where I was sitting on my bed, my laptop on my stomach stalking your twitter page and trying, with all my courage, to post a tweet on your wall. But then, my blackberry vibrated and I received a broadcast.

R.I.P Summer and her mother.

I read the words, but they held no meaning as they began to bounce inside my skull. My head started to ache, and my heart plummeted when I finally made sense of what was happening. But I still couldn't believe it. It was impossible. The most popular girl in school couldn't have just died like that.

I called people to confirm, I checked my friend's status' and read that message a billion times before a small part of my heart started to prick. It was the one that I lost, along with you.

I went to my sister and cried on her shoulder until my eyes were red, and my voice was thick. I hit my chest, scratched at my face and pulled my hair to get me out of this nightmare, but I was still here. I was still here in a world where you weren't.

You were a good person. You and your mother. And as I'm writing this, tears are constantly pouring out. I was always left behind. You were always ahead. Even in death.

I'm sorry I was a terrible friend. I'm sorry I never apologized. I'm sorry I never realised how precious you were until you left. I miss you, and I want you back.

Maybe I never told you, but I loved you as much as the skies and Earth.

_______________________________________________________________________________________

A/N: This is a true story that happened with me. I wrote this as a final action of letting go. Summer was only fourteen when she died in a car accident with her mother, and was eleven when we first met. I remember her telling me that she wanted to be a singer, and to be famous one day, but I guess in its irony, her accident was written all over the newspapers.

Maybe it wasn't the way you wanted, Summer, but people recognize your name now.

Thank you for reading.

 

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