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.


28. Entry nine:

Entry Nine:

In my aftermath interviews, a lot of people liked to ask me who I was in love with. I didn’t even want to do the interviews; my face and voice would just freeze up and choke, and my limbs would start to shake and then this cold sweat would overcome me and soon my eyes refused to adjust to all the lights. I mean, I was better than the interviews of the Sommer Sisters, because I was numb to it all. Still, just after the events; we were all cornered into them. Some interviewers where nice, but the rest were just ruthless. It didn’t matter who you got though, because they all just wanted the same thing; more information than the others got.

Did you love her, Eleanor? Were you in love with her? They’d start on me and I’d shake my head. But they’d say what they wanted anyway. We heard you snuck away in the nights together. Is that true?

They were talking about the graveyard. I didn’t answer them because I had nothing to say. I had never been in love with June Bloomer – at least, I didn’t think I had – but a part of me had loved her, I was sure of it. Just the way people loved coffee or chocolate. Just the way people loved when they woke up to see the sun shining through the windows. Didn’t we all, though? I think they were trying to figure out if I was blinded by love. I assured them I wasn’t, but then with a dry theory, they’d move on to something else:

What about Michael then? Were you in love with him, jealous by June’s death?

No, I’d say back. But this question was more Rose’s than mine. I could see it was the next news broadcaster shoving their microphone in Rose’s face, and her eyes squint together like when I had asked her, before the events. Are you mad? She told me then, just as she told the interviews.

Unlike me, they wouldn’t let it go until she stormed off herself.

Anything you can tell us about Ky, maybe? What about the Sommer sisters… By then, I was walking away to join Rose, but they could always run faster to catch up with me, no matter the weight of their camera.

Read the chronicles! I spat out; but it was less of a snap and more of an encouragement. The chronicles then were just a forming idea, but I think it was that moment where I latched onto the promise. If we just gave them everything we knew, every memory and touch and fight, they could fight over it like vultures over a dead carcass, and we could be left alone.

Did you love her, Eleanor? Were you in love with her?

The interviewer’s voice sticks in my head late at night. It was clawing at my attention, something alive and raspy and hungry.

I wasn’t in love with June herself, but I think I was in love with June Bloomer. I Don’t know if that makes sense; but I was so indebted to her, I turned it into love. It was like the sad beginning of a book, where character 1 (Me) is suddenly introduced to a character 2 (June) and is swept away on wonderful adventures. But she was resourceful; the adventures came from things I’d been doing my whole life. You have to owe it to the girl, for turning this place to some grand amusement fair.

Maybe it was more like a renovation project, and she’s flicked her paintbrush, replaced the carpets and turned me into an extraordinary person. There was no real makeover, but inside, I sparkled like a new house. But it’s like a show home; it’s filled with the likes of June and her fun, and then when she left the lights are shut off and I’m useless. One grand show home, with no interested buyers.

It depends on what you think love is, I suppose. Because it’s different everywhere; it’s not the kind of love my parents have. It’s not the kind of love my brother has when he announces he met a girl on campus. I can’t really be certain it’s even something I’ve seen on T.V, or felt when the boy from the Creek Cottage kissed me. All I know is, I think I might have figured out the answer now:

Yes, Delia Dawn, I was in love with June Bloomer. Love as platonic as how the sun yearns and falls for the moon, but love nevertheless.

Rose’s edit: You know, it’s alright if you were actually in love with her, right? I mean, I don’t mind. Okay I do, but not because she’s a girl… but because she’s June. All I’m trying to say is that you don’t need to pretend if you do.

Eleanor’s edit on Rose’s edit: I get it, Rose. But I didn’t. I mean, I didn’t want to just grab her and kiss her or whatever. I just… I’ve just never met anyone like her.

Rose’s edit on Eleanor’s edit on Rose’s edit: None of us ever have. And I sincerely hope we never do again.


(AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'm publishing a floodlood every now and again especially for thefourthmusketeer; who never fails to feed my ego.)

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