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My Tierd Tragedy

Short story By: neena731

This is not only a short story but also the beggining of a novel. After im finished my first novel this will definately be my second. Comment and let me know what you think.

Submitted:Sep 10, 2011    Reads: 14    Comments: 1    Likes: 0   

June 5, 2011

Have you ever been tired? Most people haven't.Most people assume they know what tired is. They've felt the need to sleep or rest, but that's not the definition of tired. Or at least not mine. To me tired is not just being physically exhausted. If it was I could take that. I could take anything but this.

Tired is something you feel inside. Something that literally eats at your insides and consumes your mind, body and soul. Until every inch of you that can feel is exhausted and you feel the need to collapse from the mere act of living. When you're tired of life. Of all the things that weigh on your mind and spirit so heavily, until you get to the point where sleeping is just not enough.

Sometimes it seems like I've been tired ever since I can remember, but if I had to pick a date I would say December 4, 2003. It was the year I had turned seven. For eight years. I've been tired so long I was tired of being tired.

When the people came and asked how come I did it, I simply told them because I was tired. Thats when the questions came pouring in like waterfalls and they begged me to explain. But I didn't. I didn't feel the need to elaborate. If they've ever truly been tired they would understand.

* Flash back, August 18 2002

I'm flying. I'm untouchable and suddenly no one can touch me. I'm invincible.

Now I'm falling. My stomach drops inside of me and I close my eyes waiting for the hard fall I know will come. But when I open my eyes my dad's there holding me. I'm saved by the only one I know who's better then superman, the Hulk, Even Batman. But not Spiderman..... None's better then Spiderman. Even though I always tell him he is since he's my dad.

June 5 2011

Looking back I long for the innocence that consumed my thoughts then. Long for someone to catch me. I was falling and I was afraid when I finally hit the bottom, there would be no one there to catch me.


My parents were in love. Not just any type of love. The kind of love that made people green with envy. Love that made people question their luck and wonder to themselves " Why not me?"

They had met in 9th grade. The year my dad had been found of his bright red leather jacket and my mom had spent hours trying to get the perfect voluptuous curls she had seen in the videos. Sometimes I tried to imagine them. Walking through the halls hand in hand. My dad standing out in his bright leather jacket and my mom curls stiff as a board looking as if she had done the ozone layer plenty harm to get them.

When we went out people smiled at us and flooded us with compliments. We were the perfect family in and outside our home. My mom and dad would spend hours imitating meals they had saw on cooking shows. I would play in the back ground while they talked and laughed. When it was time to clean up I would always help with the utmost pride. Whenever they praised me for throwing away something or putting a dish in the sink,I gave them a big Colgate smile and bassed in all the glory.

They laced my curly black hair with silky pink ribbons, dressed me in pretty dresses and shined up my best shoes when we went out. By the end of the day my shoes would be scuffed from running and my dress would be soiled from playing and jumping in puddles. Being an only child my parents meant everything to me. They were not only my parents but my, playmates, my first friends, and my teachers. They were my world. They were invincible.


On December 4, 2003 my mom died of Breast cancer. No one really told me she died. I just knew. No one had the "she's in a better place now" talk with me. My dad never said that. I think as far as we both were concerned she was gone. We would never see her again. No amount of explaining or rationalizing would change that. She was gone forever. Forever seemed like a pretty long time for someone who was invincible.

When my mom died my dad and I were lost. For a seven year old who belived your dad was invincible things were pretty hard. The worst thing is to look in your dad's eyes and see defeat. Thats when I knew I was hopeless. The person who was supposed to guide me couldn't even guide them self. Without my mom I was becoming dead inside. My soul was tired and I was falling apart. My dad wasn't very good at picking up the pieces. How could he when he was already broken?

A month had passed and I wanted to collapse. Every day I came home from school my dad and I just sat together broken and crying. I rode in the elevator to my fith floor apartment. When I reached themy floorthere was a notice at the top of my big white door. It read EVICTION NOTICE. I didn't know what that was but didn't care. My intense curiosity had died with my mom. I turned the cold silver door knob and slowly entered my apartment. My small footsteps seemed to echo more loudly then usual on the hard wood floor. As I entered the living room silence rung through my ears and somehow seemed louder then fireworks. Ever since my mother's death I had come home every day to see my dad sitting still on the couch. I had stopped expecting decent meals and snuck lunchroom food in my bag for my dad and I. We would both stare into space eating the cold stale tater tots or sometimes apples. Today something was different. The couch was emty. I walked out of the living room entrance and into the hall that led to my room. A funny smell filled the air. I stepped into a pile of dirty clothes in the middle of the hallway and momentarily stumbled over a boot sticking out from them. I look down and notice the clothes soaked in blood and an object making the clothes rise underneath. My heart drops to my stomach and my breath catches. I force myself to breathe again and slowly pull the clothes off the object while tears run down my face.

What is underneath isn't real. It's simply a figment of my paranoid imagination. I tell myself this as I stare at the image and Hypervinalate .It can't be real. Except it is. His black curly hair is matted to his forehead and soaked in blood. His skin is so pale you can see every blue- green vein that no longer pumps blood to his heart. His eyes are rolled back so only the whites show. I turn around and bang my head on the white wall trying waking myself from my nightmare but when I turn back around the image is still there. My heart twist inside my chest and the last bit of life inside me dies. I vomit and pass out exhausted and tired. So tired. I lie there next to my last hope, next to my hero, next to my dad.


This is the nightmare that fill's my headevery night. Torturing me and never letting me forget. Remembering a dead and broken seven year old spirit and never letting me heal. I wake up screaming and banging my head on the wallpulling at the clear tubes sticking in my arms. The doctors and nurses come to stick a needle in my arm. I try to fight them off kicking, punching, and screaming. I try to stop them. Because once they stick me I will slip back into my nightmares and the worse thing is I won't be able to wake up.


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