Seven

Reads: 547  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 3

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Reddit
  • Pinterest
  • Invite

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic
The First Short Story in the Seven Series. Hannah doesn't believe in love, until "Seven" teaches her what it means to love someone.

Submitted: April 09, 2014

A A A | A A A

Submitted: April 09, 2014

A A A

A A A


Do you ever just want to die? And I don't mean like the whole "suicide" thought, but sort of like you just wanted to not exist? Or you look at all of your friends who are getting boyfriends and enjoying life to the fullest and then there's you, just kind of placed there for decoration?

Yup, that's basically me. I feel like sometimes I can't experience love. What is it? Can I really have it? Or am I just going to be single and unloved while my friends were off having their fun?

I guess I don't really care. I mean, who needs a guy anyway? They're just little accessories that girls show off to their friends. It like the "cool" thing to have. In return for the boy being a trinket and all that, the girls make stupid decisions. I mean, can you really ever win in a relationship? Nope. So, I've just decided not to worry about it, since my existence isn't all that important.

I lean my head against the window of the bus. I get carsick really easily so riding a bus is probably not my mom's smartest decision ever. I gaze out at the world passing by. It almost reminds me of a hourglass; I just see life slipping away and my very existence dispersing into the afternoon rays. I feel my camera bouncing up and down on my lap as the bus sways from side to side.

My eyes slowly close and I relax to the wind that is blowing through the cracks of the windows.

"Hannah!" 

My slumber is awakened to the sound of the bus driver yelling my name. I rub my tired eyes and get up, shuffling my way to the front of the bus and tripping down the stairs of the bus. After landing flat on my face in the green grass, I peer up. A flower almost in full bloom in a nearby field. Because I'm weird and barely exist, I take my time to walk over and sit next to the flower. It's perch is a hill that overlooks the whole valley. I plop down next to it, taking my camera, out of habit, and admiring the flower. I take a few pictures. 

It's so small, but can make something or someone brighter. I smile.

"What are you doing?"

I turn around to see a boy in a soccer uniform. I look over at the valley to see the boys practicing. 

"Um, hi...?" The boy says. He's tall and skinny with a white shirt with a blue number "7" on his back. He looks to be about my age, 16. His cleats are white with black laces and golden spikes. His blonde hair is swayed to the side and he has a soccer ball in one hand. Basically, a pretty boy.

I focus on the flower, "Nothing really. Just looking at this flower,"

"Why?"

"Just 'cause," my eyes met his, "Don't you?"

"Well, no,"

I lay onto my back and angle my camera at his face, "I like to capture small things," my camera moves from his face to the sky, "You know, things that people don't really look at. We just sort of pass by them. They make life how it is, but go about in the world unloved and unacknowledged. I feel the need to respect them," 

He remains quiet for a while. A few boys were yelling to him to come back. He threw the ball and lays down next to me. I look over, his chocolate eyes lock on mine, "You know, I don't think I've met anyone, let alone any girl, do something like this,"

"Well, I guess you could say I'm one-of-a-kind. I'm a little weird," I hug my camera close to my chest.

"You're not weird; you just, different," he exclaims.

"I'm pretty sure that's the same as being weird,"

"No. They're two different words. Different has its own meaning. Weird has another. You could say they are similar, but they still have their differences," he replies.

"Ok, so I'm different. How am I if you say I'm not weird?" I say.

He pauses for a minute, "You admire the things people never look at I guess. You like to preserve the moment and," he looked away, "I think that it's beautiful that you do,"

I turn to him, "Really?"

"Hell yeah! I mean you love doing it right?"

"I don't believe in love," I reply.

He stares at me, "You don't believe in love?"

"Well, yeah. It's a stupid thing to believe of. I mean, for example, a relationship with a girl and a boy; I don't think it's ever mutual emotionally. The girl uses the boy for attention and the boy gets to do what he wants with her. That doesn't seem like love to me,"

He laughs, "That's one way you could look at it. But there are some nice guys out there you know? I'm not that kind of guy,"

"I just don't believe in love. It's worthless to me. I don't want to care about it,"

"No," he says, "I think you do but you force this belief on yourself that no one will ever love you. How do you know?"

"I don't, but I just feel like I won't. I mean I'm not pretty at all, a bit weird, and pretty average. And guys like girls who look sexy and have pretty faces, and I don't have what they have. All of my friends say I'm pretty, but I'm the only one who doesn't have a boyfriend. So, I must not be pretty,"

"Do you really need a boyfriend to be pretty?" he says.

"Well, I guess not. But I think-"

"Why are you saying 'I think'? You can't think for something if you don't know! You are just assuming that a boyfriend will make things better but it won't," he says.

"But-" I start.

"Really, you're just like every girl I've met," he gets up,"I've got a game to finish,"

"Wait!" I reply, "Can I," I hold up my camera, "preserve the moment?"

I'm blushing like crazy. He smiles, walks over and pats my head, "Sure,"

I aim the camera at him and take the picture.

He chuckles, "Don't lose it! That's the only one you get?"

I look at my screen and smile. I then turn my focus to his face, "I guess this is good-bye?"

"Nah, this isn't good-bye," His eyes soften, "This is more like a new beginning,"

I smile. He holds out his hand and helps me up. I felt a spark as our hands met. He smiled a pearly white smile.

"Hey, kiss your left ring finger?," he says.

"What?" 

"Kiss it," 

I raise my hand to my lips, but couldn't bring myself to kiss it. I turned away.

"See? I knew you couldn't do it! If you kissed it, I would have believed that you didn't believe in love,"

I stare at my hand and smile a bit.

The boy grabs my hand and kisses my ring finger. I feel the heat and shock go throughout my whole body. It's warm.

"So," I ask, "What should I call you?"

He thought for a minute, "7,"

"What?" was all I could say before he ran off to his team. I start to run to him, but stop. Tears swell under my eyes and I wipe them away. I look at the flower and smile. 

Seven, I know we'll met again. I take the flower in my hands and count the petals. Seven? 

I look up and see the field completely empty, not a boy in sight, but filled with flowers, all with seven petals.


© Copyright 2020 Emma Brooks. All rights reserved.

  • Facebook
  • Twitter
  • Reddit
  • Pinterest
  • Invite

Add Your Comments:

Comments

avatar

Author
Reply

avatar

Author
Reply

avatar

Author
Reply

More Romance Short Stories