*Based on a song quote from HSM 1 (When there was me and you). The Quote is 'But wishes on a star just don't come true'*
**The music is the song the quote is from :)**
Wishes On Stars Just Don't Come True.
I’m alone, just as I have been for the past year. Being alone is not a physical thing. It is a frame of mind that, once acquired, is almost impossible to rid yourself of. And in the end, like a black hole, everyone gets sucked in.
The rope swing I sit on creaks slightly as the wind pushes me forward. From an open window in the house before me a hand appears, which shuts the window, to block the cold air of the night reaching the occupants.
Around me the night orchestra plays its music; cats screech like badly crying violins, car horns beep like drums in pain, and owls hoot like forgotten wind instruments. The sounds have been my only friends for the three hundred and sixty-five days spent out here, which are seemingly endless and freezing cold.
One year ago today it was the twenty-fifth of December, 2010. Christmas day. Historically a day of celebration, and supposedly the day Christ was brought into the world to save all humanity.
It had begun like any other Christmas in our small family, with me waking up ridiculously early and pestering my family to wake up too. Even though I was fourteen, I was still so hyped, like I was five. Downstairs, I knew there were piles of presents underneath an elaborately decorated Christmas tree.
This particular Christmas, I had gotten up even earlier than normal, and was extremely bored. To try and hurry up my parents, I silently tip-toed into their room, and snuggled under their duvet with them. The radiating warmth of their bodies reflected the kindness in their hearts, and for a moment, it was sure bliss.
I began to repeatedly poke my Dad’s back when he didn’t notice I was there. He kept on snoring and snoring. Irritated, I went for a different tact.
Mischievously, I began to tickle his enormous feet, finally disturbing him.
“Who’s the tickle monster, then?” he teased, half asleep still, but always knowing how to make me laugh.
“Me, Daddy!” I replied. Smiling, he gently shoved me off the bed and shook my Mom a little to wake her up.
“Herro, who’s that?” she murmured. I grinned and let them wake up properly.
From here, I can see their fuzzy silhouettes painted on the orange canvas of light that glows from the lights of the house. They’re sitting down at the wooden table, but they aren’t moving. It looks like they are both staring at the only empty seat at the table. My seat.
Only a year ago, we had all been sat there, perfectly happily, helping ourselves to the amazing Christmas dinner, for which my mother is famous within my family.
She began to heap my plate with the most delicious and perfectly cooked foods, when I stopped her, almost jokingly, with,
“Oi! Mom, I’m on a diet remember!” she tutted, only half serious, and replied,
“Oh I don’t know, Alexis! One moment you’re curled up in bed with you, and next you’re getting all fussy about your weight. You’re half baby, half adult!” I chuckled at her and punched her kindly and softly on the arm.
As we tucked in, a knock at the door resonated through the hall and into the dining room. For a moment, we were silent, wondering who would possibly be calling at five ‘o’clock in the evening on Christmas day. Dad made to stand up, but I stood up faster and cheerfully told them I would get it.
Upon reaching the door, it took me an awkward minute to fiddle and open the bolt at the top of the door.
When it was finally unlocked, I opened the door a crack, and when I saw the person outside, I wanted to shut it straight back in his face.
The man was in his mid-forties, but he looked tougher than a barrel of nails. A huge scar ran across the entire left side of his damaged face. His eyes were wide open, and very creepy.
“Hello, Alexis,” he said, his voice rough. I moved back slightly, freaked that this weird stranger knew my name. “I need to talk to your father,” I wasn’t sure whether to call Dad or not, but I was scared, and my Daddy had always protected me.
“Dad!” I called, and he was almost immediately beside me, staring at the man, open mouthed. “Dad?” I questioned when neither man spoke.
Without warning, a gun went off, and my Dad narrowly avoided it. I screamed and tried to get between the two of them, but Dad shoved me hard, and I slammed into the wall.
I groaned, and he was suddenly terrified that he had really hurt me. As he ran towards me, the man shouted,
“You can’t save her! You did this, Jacob!” my head was so blurry I didn’t even hear the gun going off until the bullet pierced my heart...
That’s how I ended up here.
Death. The ultimate loneliness. No one to comfort you, just an endless abyss of nothingness, doomed to watch the people of your previous life.
The night before, I had made a wish upon a star in the same night sky above me know. Keep me and my family safe and happy forever.
I look over to the house and see my parents again, and wonder what they are thinking. Do they miss me? Do they think about me? Talk about me? I know full well that every time my Dad looks at the picture of me on the mantelpiece, he thinks that it should be him, buried in a hole in the ground. He thinks that I should be there beside him, eating Christmas dinner.
But wishes on a star just don’t come true...
By Faraday Fletcher