The Collected Accounts of June Bloomer

Across newspapers and television, seventeen year old June Bloomer is being shredded across the country for the cataclysmic events she caused in the quiet town of Johnston's creek. However months after the horror, in that forgettable village, June's only four friends are determined to tell the truth of June from the causalities they received first hand and nothing less.

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6. Entry four:

Entry 4:

It takes me days to write a single entry, and each weighs down a heavier hand that can’t seem to type something light. It’s a task to write the words when every part of your body forbids it. There’s stiffness in my arms, an ache of my shoulders and a numbing sensation in my fingertips. The little joints and digits that make up my hands seem to click to their own rhythm, and refuse to follow the path I try to tread across my keyboard. Every word is a clumsy collection of choppy verbs and adjectives, tumbling onto my screen with little prose style or meaning. Whenever I have to write I see her in the faint blue glow of my laptop, or her smile glinting in a far say mirror even if I know there is no chance she’ll ever sneak into my bedroom and place her hands onto my shoulders. I would act surprised but I would have known all along; because the faint giggle she erupted with would travel faster than she could.

Still, it’s time to type and it’s time to remember. I know the rambles I write like this will be cut out by Rose in the editing process so it makes it okay to write them. Its okay to write that you’re not okay and that’s it’s hard to write and that with every little beat of your heart you feel a coil strangle around you as though your organs themselves are trying to hold you back. Even if there is only Rose to read this, it’s enough to feel as though I won’t drown in this all alone.

Maybe the reason behind the difficulty to remember is because the memories themselves know soon they won’t be able to timeout from June. Some the memories will become so vivid and uncomfortably close that I won’t be able to switch the feelings on and off.

Rose will be better at this than I am. “Michael Eaton, you should write commiseration cards.” She’ll say teasingly, but in the nicest humor she reaches.

I suppose now would be a good time to talk about my friends. In ways I could almost thank June for the bond she gave us. When it happened we all knew there was no drifting apart in future years. There was no easy way out and friends hardly seemed like an adequate term anymore. They were the sinking lifeboat that was only half certain to bring us back to any sort of shore. Who could pull you out of your misery if we all welled in? My heart had shattered but it didn’t mean their casualties were any less painful, any less real.

Love is not the only causality, any one of our group could tell you that. If you just wait long enough; they will.

It was Rose that had her trust betrayed. The kind of trust people have to work for from day one in order to even stand on the same footing. Rosie has many positive traits deep-rooted into her tough-love persona but tolerance of unknown, and especially in people, is not one of them. It took Rose many forced barriers to climb so she could even try to even acknowledge June without a snarl. Within seconds of the mild bliss, Rose tripped and fell.

 Ky had found a subject to study that didn’t mind his looks and only fed his curiosity. Ky was always one for interesting things; the secrets of every student were locked away somewhere in his head until he’d need it and he was constantly begged by the local newspaper to work for them part time. He’d submitted one or two pieces, but he decided until he stumbled across a stellar piece every year or so, he wouldn’t feed them a single line.

It’s actually a little funny, now I come to think of it. Finally the story Ky was looking for was the story he couldn’t bear to write. “I’ll write my section, Michael. But only for this.” The newspapers backed off, but he could feel cameras on his bag before he flashed. We’d all become twisted C-list celebrities, dizzy with the attention when all we wanted to do was curl up in a ball and forget about everything.

Eleanor was robbed of a friend. In hindsight it didn’t look as though it was a large deal considering she managed to have a thoughtful and sweet friendship with half our year group. One was a tiny blip in circles of hundreds. What hurt most for Eleanor, or at least from what she told me, was the fact she was finally forced to admit the world could cheat her. Eleanor Green has the gift, or arguably curse, of utter faith in optimism. It was easy to find something tender in June. She was soft to look at, almost as though she blurred and frayed at the corners. 

Tender is not always soft though. Sensitive does not always translate to soft. June had too many open nerves, tender to touch and unhealing in pain. Eleanor would learn that as we all did.

Together, we solved the mystery of June Bloomer when it was too late. The boyfriend, the enemy, the friend, and the eyes and ears. You can probably guess who is who. Was the blood on our hands, when we could have noticed the signs she flashed at her? I think part of the reason we are writing this is to prove our deepest fears wrong. However, I'm only four entries in and I want to burn the book. Burn June's memories and a beginning that would lead to an end. The story has to live somewhere though, and I'd rather trap it in a book than let it fester in my soul.

The story continues as this ends, but going back is a struggle I'd rather ramble than cut to the chase. All I need to say is that the authors of this book are good people - good being a generalized term, I suppose; because it's like saying grey doesn't exist when you start to call people good or bad. But we were normal people by any standards. People people. We're not the stars of a drama, or a collection of sob stories. We are ordinary and real and we deserve to have our story heard. 

And now... back to June. Let's hope we all make it to the end.

Rose’s new edit: I like this better. You can sugar-coat me and the group all you like, just enough with the June metaphors. She’s just a girl, remember?

Michael’s new edit for Rose; Just a girl…. Got it.

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