Story Collection: 1

This is a collection of stories, with multiple genres, that will start of small and grow over time. They might follow on, they might be random, but it's only stories. If you want poems, please read my movella 'Dark Poems' and I currently don't have any non-dark ones. The poems may not be perfect, or much good at all, just little ramblings and things to do for a change.

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2. Missing You

(This is a little one-time story, based on one of the covers here on movellas where a girl is sat on the floor holding a red toy car. Or at least that's what I thought it was. Anyway, as soon as I saw it, I thought of this.)

 

It's cold here-the fire downstairs is much warmer. I want to leave, to get warmer, to be with people who care, but I also want to stay, although, if I do, I know the grief will most definitely kill me. The tiny toy car is clutched between my pale, shivering fingers. There's nothing particularily significant about it. It's the owner that is, though. Memories plague my mind. His laugh, his smile, his voice and that cute little button nose. They're probably covered in dirt now. However, still I remember him as the careless free spirit he was. The door swings open, breaking the mournful silence; a man walks in.

"Oh, sweetheart," he says sympathetically, wrapping his arms around me.

"He was my only son, Dad!" I wail, burying my face in his shoulder.

"I know, I know," he whispers soothingly. He's the only one I can show my emotions to now, everyone else would have me admitted to a mental hospital. I've been mourning the loss of my son for days now, so much so that it was starting to seem extreme. The amount of time was perfectly normal for our family, but the amount of emotion was dangerous...

"Why did he have to go?" I ask, looking up into his soft blue eyes with watery blue ones. For a moment, glances do the talking.

"I don't know sweetheart. Just like I don't know why your mother left us," his tone is bitter when he mentions Mum. They always got on so well together.

 

Until she died in that car crash-the one Dad blames himself for. I kept telling him for months after that it wasn't his fault, but he wouldn't listen. In the end, he did all the grieving, and I kept things going. Now, we reversed our roles. Death had claimed yet another member of my family-I guess I just...snapped. Dad stands and mutters,

"I'm here if you need me," before leaving the room. I'm trapped again. It wouldn't be like this if Mum were here, for many reasons. The most important of them; she understood. She would know what was going on in my head, having lost my twin hours after our birth.

"He was a boy, Raine, a boy."  I remember my mother's soft whisper after she broke the news. Exactly the same thing has happened to her, but she'd recovered. I'm not that strong. That's what I am-weaker than her, not as good as her. I never will be.

 

I reaced for the photo frame on the table before me. An ivy-themed square frames a frozen image of me and Mum in loving embrace. Her smile is like a light in the dark. But even that's not bright enough.

"Miss you," my words are barely audible as I placed my index finger against the glass concealing the picture, and a single teardrop landed on it.

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