All What was Left

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: True Confessions  |  House: Booksie Classic
I don't think I should be writing a summary about this... It would be better to read it yourself

Submitted: June 18, 2015

A A A | A A A

Submitted: June 18, 2015



“Hurry up! We’ll be late,” I heard my mom yelling at the front door. We were going to one of my I-only-know-you-from-pictures relatives wedding. I’d been searching for my red high heels almost everywhere, but I couldn’t find them. In the wardrobe, nothing. Behind the door, nothing. I’ve searched all across my room that it looked like an enormous monster had been hunting in there. The only place left was beneath my bed… but that’s where I put all what was left of… him.

I extended my hand beneath the bed, afraid to ruin my dress, and reached for the closest box. Lots of worn out scruffy shoes, but still no heels. Another box was full of my childhood toys and clothes, but still no heels. Then another box, a unique recognizable one. But, was this the one? The one that I’d been avoiding for years now? Just to make sure, I had to open it.

Once I’ve opened it, I could smell his favourite perfume, tickling my nostrils. It was HIS perfume. It always had been. I could remember it from the days he used to carry me to my room every night after I pretended to be asleep on the couch. I always did it on purpose, for I adored his smell. I always had. I smiled a little at the memory, but tears incessantly swelled up in my eyes. I tried to hold them back because I wouldn’t be able to control myself: I’d just break down in seconds.

I found an album inside the box and I ran my fingers all across its cover. I could remember this. We made this album together when I was 8. We were willing to capture every moment of our lives and hopefully we’d be able to show them to our children. He never had the chance to. I opened the album and the first picture was of one of our ice-cream contests we used to do whenever we could buy some. He always won because he always bought himself a smaller cone than mine. I could recall that he liked chocolate the most, way more than I did. Now, the urge of crying was overpowering - devastating!

I’d been crying for a couple of minutes now and my face was all covered with the make-up I wore a while ago. I kept flipping through the album, watching every photograph, remembering every memory it brought up in my mind, and laughing, then crying at each one.

I imagined him standing right behind me, with his hand on my shoulder, trying to comfort me. I missed him so much. I always had for the past five years. I look behind me to find my mom’s hand on my shoulder – not his. I forgot to close the door, I assumed. She was on the verge of tears.

“How long have you been standing here?” I asked her, wiling to break the silence.

“Long enough…” she replied with a sigh of relief and a knowing smile on her face. She was crying, though. She handed me one pair of her shoes and brought me up to go. I returned the box to its place, then I looked at it for a while before leaving. “I will always remember you, big brother,” the voice in my head was saying.

© Copyright 2018 A fed up girl 2. All rights reserved.

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