Get your own Booksie page | Edit

Booksie Home

Home | Publish | Read | Writers |


Booksie Address:
Country: United States
Favorite book: Clockwork Angel by Cassandra Clare
Member Since: May 21, 2012

Featured Writing

This user has no featured writing.

Writing Portfolio

None Listed

Here's a glance at my style. If you don't like it you don't have to stay.

(This is a true story*)

The wind flows through my hair, not trapped by a helmet. A feeling of pure joy makes me smile as I speed forward on my dirt bike. There is nothing like this feeling of freedom and happiness. This is something that conquers all. These moments are what get me through the homework and long hours of school. These are the moments I live for. It is getting dark, but that is okay. I will go for just a while longer.

The scene is a play by play. The car honks, much too late. It keeps coming, as I race to get out of the way. I will the bike to go faster than possible. It won’t do it. The car tries to stop. The lights get brighter and brighter the closer it gets. I know that I won’t walk away from this, but hopefully I will eventually. I close my eyes, praying for a miracle.

The car slams me to the ground, pain erupts all over me. I am in pure agony. I have felt pain before, but not like this. In slow motion, I see my family racing too me. My mother looks like she just saw me die, but I am not dead. I don’t want to die. I am too young. Thirteen is not old enough to go.

As if in a book, my life plays before my eyes.  I watch my parents marveling over my first breath. They smile with joy when I walk. The first time I road a bike passes by. My first day of school zooms past me. All my birthdays are apparent. I am laughing with my friends. I am crying with my family. I am groaning over girls. Every moment passes by in a few minutes, present time finally finds me.

Someone begging me to wake up calls for my attention. I struggle to open my eyes. The pain starts all over again, but I focus on my family around me. My mother is crying over me, my father holding her close. I try for words. I tell them each my love for them. I am not sure if it is real, or my mind.

The pain that held me captive starts to ease. My family above me seems to cry for me silently. I feel detached from everything that is going on around me. The chaos I know should be apparent seems unimportant. I am by myself in a world that is not my own. The sensation is odd.

A man dressed in a white robe is above me. He smiles and beckons me forward. I stand to meet him. My family doesn’t move. He is handsome and perfect. I take a few steps and take a closer look. I trust him immediately, as he says a greeting. He wears only the brilliant white robe. It is dazzling with his chiseled features.

He offers his hand to me. I want to take it, but I need to tell my family that I am okay. They must know that I am fine. They don’t seem to notice that I have stood. They ignore the man I seem to know from somewhere. I hesitate, turning to stare at my family. A feeling tells me to go with the man.

I look away from my family, who still cry over nothing. My father shakes the air, like something is there. I notice a pool of blood surrounding the place where I had just laid. I touch my body where it had hurt most. Nothing stains my hand. Looking at myself as best as I can, I notice my perfection. I too wear a white robe. I guess I do belong with this man.

My family, again, takes my eyes. Now I see what they see. I lay their still, dead. My body is contorted slightly. A person I don’t know stands to the side, crying into a cell phone. Then, I know my life is through. I walk all the way to the man. He smiles and warmth intrudes.

“Are you coming Garrett?” The man says. I take his hand and he leads me off.




*RIP Garrett<3 We love you!


White23Demon has 5 Fans


You must be logged in to register.

About | News | Contact | Your Account | BooksieSilk | TheNextBigWriter | Self Publishing | Advertise

© 2013 TheNextBigWriter, LLC. All Rights Reserved. Terms under which this service is provided to you. Privacy Policy.