A Collection of Short Stories

This is for the times when I think of an idea, that doesn't quite expand enough to make a full Movella.

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2. Stained Glass Window

My life was a stained glass window. With bright oranges for the things I enjoyed, like walking down the beach. Purples and dark blues for my father who beat me. Yellow and light blue for my mother who was my ray of sunshine, with tears mixed in. Black for school, which was made hell by the other students. Pink for my pen pal in Scotland and my aunt in Wales. Red for studying, because red was my favourite colour and I loved studying. Silver for books, which were my safe haven. All the pieces were odd shapes, only fitting together if they went in the right place. On the 12th November 2012, my glass shattered.

********

I was never exactly one of the people that you would want to be. I had glasses, my hair was the most boring style in the history of the planet, I was too clever for my own good, and I was hated. Until the 12th November 2012. Until that day, the only reason that people took notice of me was to shove me, trip me up, smack my head into a door, shove my head down the toilet (yes people did that), chuck food at me, pull my chair away before I sat down, etcetera.

********

"Hey you, yeah you. What are you doing in a place like this? Don't you live in a bin? Well that's just where you belong. In the bin with everything else that's rubbish." Shelby Richwood shouted in my face. "Right, girls. Shall we try to knock some sense into that ugly head of hers?"

I knew exactly what they were going to do. My feeble attempts at running away just resulted in me with both arms clamped in the iron grips of Sophia and Jessica. They both dragged me back to Shelby, who pushed me up against a locked door. I kept my face pressed against the cold wood, hoping that she wouldn't do it. Zara came over and yanked my head back from the wood, she did karate and was incredibly strong. Shelby whispered into my ear that I was a "useless idiot who didn't even deserve a burial when I died" and smacked my head against the door. I was so glad that I passed out before the pain hit. I didn't even understand what I'd done.

*******

My mother was incredibly ill, she was in hospital with bone cancer. She couldn't walk without aid, she ached all the time, always looked as pale as death and told me that she wanted to die but tried to live for me. My father hated going to visit her and married her, only because he was given her as a gift from my grandfather. It was an old-fashioned marriage which was pre-arranged and neither partner wanted to marry the other one. I went to visit her as often as possible, getting home from school at 3-30pm, cooked my father's tea for 5pm, did the cleaning up before driving to visit my mother at 6pm. I stayed until 9pm and drove home for bed at 11pm. My days were a mismatch of schedules and glances at my watch. I never had a free moment to myself and avoided my father at all costs. If I ran into him as I was rushing out, I would exit the house twenty minutes later with tears and bruises. No one at school knew my situation at home, they thought that I was stupid, they thought that I was a cry-baby.

*******

My mother died. I was clutching her hand as it rested on her stomach. She was telling me all about her childhood, about my grandparents, who died before I was born. She was telling me how she wanted me to grow up to become a extraordinary woman, with beautiful children, a caring husband and a career that I longed for. I told her that I would try to get those things, in memory of her. I curled up on her bed, laying down beside her, I was still clutching her hand as I wrapped myself up against her side. I fell asleep to the rhythmic bleeping of her heart monitor and woke to the flatlining sound of loss.

*******

Rain was flooding down my windshield in a torrent of water. I had never experienced as much rain in the whole of my existence, my wipers were ferociously working at the waters, I could hardly see a metre beyond my car's bonnet, and I couldn't hear the radio over the sounds of the downpour. It had been nine days since my mother had died in hospital, her funeral had been yesterday afternoon with a total of twenty-three people turning up to the service.

I could see the cross-road ahead, it was a terrible junction at the best of times, and now it was rendered worse by the poor weather. I tried to slow down, but my car wouldn't stop when I wanted it to. The lorry didn't see me. The lorry couldn't stop. The lorry hit the side of my car. My car curved around the front end of the lorry like a smile. Except there were no smiles in this situation. The last thing that I ever saw was the rain still flooding down the windshield.

********

My life had been a stained glass window. With bright oranges for the things I enjoyed, like walking down the beach. Purples and dark blues for my father who beat me. Yellow and light blue for my mother who was my ray of sunshine, with tears mixed in. Black for school, which was made hell by the other students. Pink for my pen pal in Scotland and my aunt in Wales. Red for studying, because red was my favourite colour and I loved studying. Silver for books, which were my safe haven. All the pieces were odd shapes, only fitting together if they went in the right place. It is the 12th November 2012. My stained glass window has been shattered.

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