Join Date: June 2, 2007
Location: New Jersey
My boook :D
Okay, well here is chapter one, please let me know wat ya think. And if you have any suggestions let me kno! btw, the fgfgfg thing is wat i used in Wingdings2 in Microsoft Word, so if you go into that and type them in, thats what im using to seperate my things. lol thanks.
It had been almost six years since the scream had pitched our ears and awoken our pets from their deep slumber. The night air had only just begun to encircle around the moon, and lights had just been turned off; thatâ€™s when it happened. Bridget, the oldest sister had walked into her sistersâ€™ room to say â€˜goodnight,â€™ unknowing of what was waiting for her eyes. The dark liquid dripped and plopped onto the gray carpet, the razor just below her arm, dangling off the side of the bed.
â€œAmy?â€ she whispered in horror at the sight of her beloved sister, Bridget raised her hands and cupped her cheeks; she tugged at her skin and stifled back a scream. A pink Disney radio played an up-beat tune, unnecessary for the occasion, Bridget looked around the room in panic. She spotted the radio and ran to it, her cold hand slammed down onto the power button. Her back turned to the lifeless body on the bed Bridget screamed at the top of her lungs and fell to the floor; the digital clock switched over to exactly ten oâ€™clock.
In the other room, a lamp flicked on and an angry mother stormed out of bed. Mrs. Lark stood at Amyâ€™s door, not yet noticing her youngest daughters position, she yelled, â€œWhat in the world is going on in this room?â€ Bridget sat on the floor and sobbed, she pointed at the bed. Mrs. Lark looked down and ran to her daughtersâ€™ bedside, her dainty hand lay on top of her mouth. It was an unimaginable sight. Eyes wide with fear, Mrs. Lark spoke no words; she simply put out her hand and Bridget gathered herself and handed her mother the cordless phone in Amyâ€™s room.
Red lights flashed and the siren went off, I sat up in my bed and looked out my window; it appeared the white trucks had stopped outside of the Larks house. It hadnâ€™t occurred to yet what could have happened, at-least not until the two men walked outside with Amy on the stretcher. The white sheet that covered her face was stained red near where her arm was tucked underneath; tears welled up in my eyes. I quickly threw on a pair of shorts and ran out to Mrs. Lark, her face was pinched tight and her eyes stared into white space. Amyâ€™s sister stood at the door, she leaned against the side, when I ran up to her all she had done was pat my head and then hugged me tighter than ever. Come to think of it, I donâ€™t think sheâ€™s ever hugged me.
Bridget led me inside the house and sat me down at the kitchen table; she turned on the stove and sat the pot of water on top of the blue flame. Her mother had followed the ambulance to the hospital. Bridget sat across from me and folded her hands together, I could tell she was trying not to break down and cry. â€œJoshâ€ she swallowed, â€œAmy was sent to the hospital because, well, Amy has killed herself.â€ Her words poured out like hot soup, they burned. My stomach twisted into a million knots, I could feel my heart push up into my throat, and cool streaks of tears run down my face.
I opened my mouth to speak, but the teapot began to whistle, it was high pitched, kind of like how I wished I could scream right then and there; I didnâ€™t want to scare Bridget into tears though. She stared hard at me but then got up and poured a cup of tea, â€œWould you like a cup?â€ she asked without even turning around. I nodded as the words â€˜yesâ€™ barely escaped my lips; Bridget sat back down with the prepared tea. It was a terrible night, awkward and scary. Her hand reached across the table as I sipped at my tea, her hand grasped mine. It was warm. I began to sob and hot tears escaped my puffy eyes, â€œWhy did she have to do it?â€ My head fell on the table, and the teacup spilled as I pounded my hand on the table, the phone rang. Bridget left me to attend to the phone; I calmed myself and listened to Bridgetsâ€™ side of the conversation.
â€œOh, Hi mom, have you heard anything?â€
â€œOkay, Ill take him home, al..alright, Ill see you in a few minutes..â€ The phone clicked and Bridget returned to my side, she sighed. I picked my head up, Bridget took my arm and I followed her to the door. She held my shoulders and gave me one last hug, she whispered in my ear â€œIâ€™m sorry Josh.â€ I held her tightly and cried.
That night it was very hard to get back to sleep, every time my eyes closed I could only see Amyâ€™s smiling face. It hurt to see her like that, when deep down she was really hurting; she hid it well. Amy was my best friend, I loved her, and really I did. I was her first best friend, and apparently her last. I lay in bed and ran through all the times I saw her, not once could I think of a time she looked absolutely sad. She was always really happy, at least when I was around. It hurt a lot to think she would keep her feelings like that from me; I never hid anything like that from her, she even knew how much I liked her.
The morning was just as bad as the night; my parents not knowing of last nightâ€™s crisis, I had to relive it by explaining to them what all the sirens were about. My father flipped through the paper as I told my horrible story; thatâ€™s what it seemed like, a bad story. His only input on it was â€œShame, she was a nice girl.â€ I hated him, how could he just sit there and act like it was no big deal? My mother, on the other hand, was more sympathetic than my father. She held me and made me my favorite breakfast, told me it was going to be all right, and even let me cry on her shoulder. She took my hand and walked me over to the Larks house.
Mrs. Lark answered the door, Amyâ€™s picture held tightly in her hand. She invited us in and gave my mother a box of old records she had meant to give her a while ago. Bridget wasnâ€™t awake yet. My mother and Mrs. Lark discussed the funeral and the viewing, and thatâ€™s when I learned what had in fact happened to Amyâ€™s father. As I sat in the living room, I learned many things about Amyâ€™s life. Apparently, her father had also committed suicide shortly after Amyâ€™s birth; so depression did run in her family. (I wish she felt comfortable talking to me about it.) Also, apparently Amy used to see a therapist because of bullying at school. Clues as to why she would want to kill her self. I walked into the kitchen where they talked and asked if I could go up to Amyâ€™s room. At first Mrs. Lark wasnâ€™t sure of what to say, but then she agreed to me going up there.
The stairs creaked as I climbed them one by one, my heart beat quickly, and my mouth was dry; I was scared of what I may find. The door to Bridgetâ€™s room was slightly open, I quick glanced in; she had a very messy room. Finally, I walked down the bright hallway, the sun shone in through the windows and burned my eyes; her door was at the end of the hall. My hand trembled as I reached for the brass doorknob. I swung it open. It looked as if Amy was still living in it. Her bed was messy and the whole room smelled like fresh pennies, it sickened me, I knew exactly why it smelled that way.
Under her bed was a small gray box, it held: a blue diary, three quarters, rabbitâ€™s foot, and a crumpled up version of the flower I gave her when we first met. My fingers grazed the cover of her diary; I couldnâ€™t possibly intrude on her privacy. I just had to know what was in it though. I picked it up carefully and turned to the first page.
The first page talked about her first period, I felt embarrassed to read about it. If she had known what I was doing, sheâ€™d hate me forever. I scanned through the pages looking for my name, and then there it was in blue ink, the first paragraph about me.
Anyway, I met this amazing boy today his name is Josh. Heâ€™s really cute and nice. I think I may actually like him. He gave me this flower he picked today it was pretty. Not my favorite though. He has a really nice smile, and gorgeous blue eyes. Maybe, Iâ€™ll get the courage to ask him out one day.
My tears hit the page; I wish she had told me. I would have been more than happy to date her. I flipped through more pages, reading about how she cut herself and cried her self to sleep every night. By that time I was sobbing and my lip quivered intensely. It was all so sad; I slammed it shut and threw it back to its box. The next thing I picked up was a photo album that sat on her white desk; the pages werenâ€™t filled with photos only drawings of people. Maybe people she made up, or people at school whom she wished she could have had those pictures with. It was all so confusing. A bag in the shape of a kitten head hung off her closet door handle. I picked it up and unzipped its paw print zipper. I peered into the dark bag, my eyes welled with tears again as I pulled out blade after blade smeared with dry blood. I quickly threw it to the floor and ran out of the room.
I ran into Bridgetâ€™s room, but she was no longer in her bed, my heart beat through my chest. I turned to run, but slammed right into Bridget. She caught her self and grabbed my shoulders, â€œWhatâ€™s wrong?â€ I looked at her through petrified eyes and only shook my head. She led me back downstairs and sat me down at the kitchen table with my mom and Mrs. Lark. I stared at the picture of Amy, it was her ninth grade school photo, it was a shame she wasnâ€™t going to graduate with her class as a senior. Her blonde hair draped over her shoulders, and her green eyes twinkled behind glasses that complimented her nice cheekbones. Thinking back now, I donâ€™t think Amy ever wore short-sleeved shirts.
My mother stood from the table with her box of records, thanked Mrs. Lark and kissed her cheek goodbye. We walked back across the street, my mother told me the funeral would be this Sunday coming up. Today was Monday, in one week I would watch my friend, my first love, be buried. I wanted to hold my momâ€™s hand and cry, but her hands were full. I guess you could say it was weird for a sixteen year old to still want to hold his momâ€™s hand; maybe thatâ€™s why I didnâ€™t have many friends either. Iâ€™m mostly known as pussy for it. Oh well.
I wish everything could be wonderful again.