Reads: 119  | Likes: 1  | Shelves: 1  | Comments: 0

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: Young Adult  |  House: Booksie Classic

A 163 fern road story. Hazel just had a horrible fight with her dad and she needs to get some air. At this point she is about 14. (I'm sorry it's under the romance tag, because it has nothing
romantic in it. None of the other ones seemed fitting.)

Submitted: February 06, 2018

A A A | A A A

Submitted: February 06, 2018



Hazel’s breath foamed out of her mouth, framing her face before dissipating into the crisp, paper thin air. Her dirty silver snow boots, the hand-me-down ones from her sister, crunched through the delicate skeletons of the dry leaves framing the side of the road. The sky was a harsh blue, the kind of blue that invites you outside before burning the tip of your nose with cold and banishing you back to the house. That’s what Hazel thought at least. Her breath came in short, angry puffs, but her deep set, chocolate brown eyes seemed to be in another world entirely.


She didn’t know where she was going exactly, she just knew she had to run. To escape from her old room that always smelled like oak and mothballs, like someone else who is somehow still her. Her old room, that was a shrine of exactly what everyone she had ever met wanted her life to be, right up until this moment. She had to escape from fern road, with it’s stagnant, thick, sleepy pine smell that seemed to taunt you, coating your world in amber, fossilising it. She had to escape from her sister. Her sister, who was so full of life that it seemed to radiate from her core. Her sister, her parent’s exuberant golden child. Her sister, so imaginative yet so grounded, so full of the willingness to see the beauty in life

that creativity seemed to ooze from her pores. It seemed to Hazel that she was just an inferior version of Iris, that if there was love and the beauty of life to be shared between them, Iris had slurped up all of it, leaving Hazel high and dry.


And yet she felt so much. She felt each leaf on each tree, each life she crushed beneath her feet as she squashed an ant on the way to school. She felt each cutting, offhand remark her father hurled at her in passing, watched helplessly as it buried it’s way down to the core of her bones, weakening her, destroying her. She was determined to walk, to flee the painfully tight strings binding her to her life, her microscopic world, until she felt nothing. Until she could breathe. Until she could stop and focus on nothing but one, ice cold breath of air filling her lungs, like she was drowning. Because she woke up each morning, and went to bed each night, and lived through each day, but only on the surface. Inside she was slowly dying, suffocating. In her head all she felt was the feeling of living without air or logic, of living under water, in glycerin.


This morning, she just left.


It was surprisingly easy.


There she was, stepping to the side of the road to break the delicate ice crystals lacing  the ground left over from last week’s snowfall, and this week’s thaw. There she was, nestled in the middle of an eroded, empty, wind tunnel road. There she was, stopping.


She was standing by an old gnarled fir tree, and the fleecy lining of her sweatshirt felt hot and itchy against her too warm body. She wasn’t sure why she stopped. She didn’t feel like she needed to know why either. The world was still. She felt like she was living in a photograph. The world simply stopped being, held still for her. She felt that if you breathed, if you rustled a blade of grass, her whole world would come crashing around her in shards like blown glass. So she didn’t. she held still, she became part of the photograph. She froze. And in the depths of her lungs, gone unused for so long, a diamond bubble of harsh, cold air bubbled up in her stomach.


© Copyright 2018 the loch nessie monster. All rights reserved.

Add Your Comments: