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Not All it's Cracked Up to Be

Short story By: Kale Youngblood

grandma rosie.

Submitted:Nov 29, 2009    Reads: 113    Comments: 4    Likes: 3   


"Honey, Life is never what it's cracked up to be". My grandmother is holding my hand now, she gives me a smile. But I know of who she is thinking of. I know just as my heart aches, so does hers. I know when she thinks of her little Alexandra, her eyes feel with tears. It must hurt, to have one of your children die before you. I wonder though if it hurts even more that her only daughter died before her? This I shall never know. It is a question beyond questions. Beyond my grandmother's own answers. Beyond her will to love. But whatever the reason all is the same. A never changing cycle. I look up to my granny now, "Grammy, Love isn't what's cracked up to be". I arise from my mind slumber and make way to my bedroom. My grammy's voice breaks the cold air, "Now that my dear Kallen is where you falter. Love isalways what it is cracked up to be, maybe even more. But I am old, and I know that love can break you beyond reason. Till there isn't anythin left of ya. It can bring a King to his very knees, and a Beggar to new heights. The heart can be broken my young one, but it still keeps a beatin just the same. I want you to know that my dear. I stare into the olden eyes of my Grammy, I see her. Somehow she has made her way to me. She binds her strong arms around my waist. I hug her back. She pulls away slightly and looks into my face. "You look like your mom, you really do sweetie." I stare at her in my moronic confusion, "But Grammy, I look nothing like mom." Structure dear Structure, and you are like her more than you care to realize Kallen." I can feel my throat burn, I bite the side of my cheek. Hard. We're seperated now, she strokes my cheek. "It's okay to cry my dear."I can't cry grandma. Why is that? Because then I'm just like them, I choke. Who might them be? Like Millie? Your dear Daddy? Me? Who Kallen?"I have to be the Strong One, Grandma. No, Dear one. You don't, no one ever asked you to be. They didn't have to ask gramm-"Goodnight Kallen, sleep if you are able. Dream beautifully, I love you sweetheart. Always. I stare at my Grammy in slight annoyment. But as quickly as my annoyment came, it's as easily gone. "G'night Grammy, I love you too." I am in my room now, Willow and Boat lie on my king size, plenty of room for all of us. I turn out my light for the night. I will try to sleep, it may not happen. But I'm willing to try. I stare at the high ceiling, thinking. "It would be easier if I had that dimwitt Scarlett O'Hara's brightsided mind. I wish I could think tomorrow was another day. Well it is another day, but not another day I wish for." I fell asleep early that night, but awoke about three or four hours later. I guess in the end it doesn't really matter. All that matters, there were no bad dreams. I know I've got a long way but in my mind that'll forever be my start. On my road of reclamation.


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