Life Is A Story

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic


A diary entry from a high school girl. Showing her past and will to rewrite her life

Chapter 1 (v.1) - Just Another Story

Submitted: November 11, 2017

Reads: 3635

Comments: 17

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Submitted: November 11, 2017

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*April 4*

 

*Stories are fun to read, right? A place we where we could escape reality, a fantasy. Being the source of our sadness, satisfaction, pleasure, lessons and sometimes, it ignites a passion within us. It's not just a book, they're not just words, it's something, like a dream...*

*The recurring thoughts that are left in our heads in these stories sometimes can leave us bothered. That feeling of euphoria for every happily ever after and the feeling of sorrow for every word taken away.*

*I've always wondered, how are they written? Stories with such emotions and creativity, how? When I read a book, I always imagine a writer sitting down looking at the night sky by a cliff, finding inspiration in the stars or him going every night to an isolated place where it is atmospheric and serene to make his imagination explode. I always thought there was some magic that happens and when they return to society they are holding this brand new world in their hands, a newborn story.*

*To write is to imagine and to imagine is to dream. I'm always taught that phrase by my mom. She was an aspiring author herself although...she never made it.*

*Now I want to follow her footsteps. I wanna show that her ambition, even if she is gone, her dream hasn't lost its meaning. As I stand here, I know that this pen she left me will take me to places she had hoped written. To sceneries, she had always imagined and to the dream, she once, had followed.*

*When I was young, she used to read me a lot of storybooks. I was always surrounded by these stories, reading them every time possible. As I grew up, I became more fond of story books and novels.*

*One day, my mom decided to try it and create her own story. Every night we followed the "ritual". After putting my little sister to bed, we would go out to to the garden, write out ideas under a tree we had grown. It was always fun and made us forget about this life, myself deprived of a father and her low on financial income. It was enough to make us happy.*

*About my father. I've met him but I don't remember his face, my mom told me she left us when I was little and my sister is still in her womb. To me, although he abandoned us, I still want to see the man who once loved my mother, the man she once loved, but when I really did, I'm not sure of how I would feel.*

*It has always been just me, my sister and my mom. Living tightly in this small house that we own, we never hoped for the things in our life to be any different. We are happy, with the way our lives have been designed.*

*One night, we saw a shooting star. All I wished for was for us to stay like this forever. To be just like a pen and paper, working together to write the dream we want to live, and the story we would want to read. I wouldn't wish for anything else. I just wanted us to stay like that, always together, forever, but, I guess fate is not that kind.

*To me, my mom is the best. I couldn't have hoped to be born to any other mother, no matter how rich or influential she may be. She always does her best, under the summer sun and over blankets of snow she'll take care of us.*

*But all that work apparently has to take its toll on her someday. It happened one snowy night. The police reported her as the sole casualty in a road accident. They say, the bus break malfunctioned and hit an overpass. My mom was sleeping. Her head bumped straight into the seat in front of her. We took her to the hospital, but she later died of head trauma.*

*I was fouteen back then. My sister will be turning seven a few days later. It was like life ripped through the pages of our story and left us with a stupid cliffhanger. With the next page seemed devoid of life. No characters, no sentence, no phrase or words. Just a blank sheet with no meaning.*

*Until today, I felt guilty. We know it was because of us. If she had'nt overexert herself, she would've woken up. Days passed after she died, and I continue to blame myself for her demise. I ask "How could we continue?..."*

*The sixteen-year-old me that, now, still holds these feelings. Sorrow, guilt, and regret. But now, I wanted to cherish it once more. To feel the emotions I felt when she was still by our side. In that time when hope was diminishing, but then I realized, we still had a choice.*

*A choice to blame it on this cruel fate that befalls us. To keep the guilt inside us, living under it each passing day. Or to again believe and hope we can still fuel the dreams we thought would perish.*

*And yes, now, I believed again. Joy, faith, and hope. Forever I will cherish the past, I will never forget you mom.*

 

The first entry written by a girl in her diary. Having a willful expression on her face she set the diary's lock and kept it in her bag. On its side held a black fountain pen with a star-like tipped end.

She laid down on bed with hopeful looks in her eyes. As she slowly drifted away, all she can think of are ideas for a novel she desires to write. Unfortunately, in her mind, it was all a jumbled mess. Lost with no direction like falling off a cliff, she sat on her bed and she yelled.

"Aghhhhh!!! What story is worth reading!?"

 

 


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