If only you knew..

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Mystery and Crime  |  House: Booksie Classic

Unfinished, short story that I wrote. I was given a few objects/names and was told to make a story out of those 15 items. Feedback welcome! :)

If only you knew..

I don’t know why I was so upset, because I didn’t even know who he was. But, he was part of me, I was part of him. I never expected to see him in real life - in the flesh again - let alone bury him. Pictures were all I had left of him, pictures and the vauge memory, the vauge memory of him walking out and abonding us.


My appartment is so cold in the mornings, my boyfriend is forever promising to get the heating fixed, but he is the sort of person to say one thing and do another – if I don’t do it – it wont get done. That’s the one thing I hate about not having mum around, before she died, I had it easy. But now, I’ve just been left with the horrible realisation of how hard life actually is. After she passed, I didn’t know what to do with her house, whether to keep it or sell up. I was only 17 at the time, I couldn’t afford the rent in a million years – I was only a Barista. So my only option was to sell. It was such a hard decision, that house was my childhood, everything my mum owned was in that house but, she didn’t have much. Not after my father walked out and left us. We both literally just lost everything.


I remember as if it was yesterday, my daddy walking out on us; I must have been about 4 or 5, but I still remember. My mum promising me he would come home soon, for years empty promises would fill my ears, the same empty promises that would make me cry myself to sleep every night. I don’t remember much other than that – except my mum would never let me go in the attic, I never seemed to understand why. The curiosity would burn up inside me, but when given the opportunity, I never took it. Maybe she was trying to protect me? But, I’ll never know.


Its Monday morning now – being in a dead-end job, I would often sit and wonder what I wanted to do with my life, but never came up with much. My only hope really, was becoming manager of Costa or something like that, I knew it was far too late to become anything else. I often walked to work, I used to hate the creeps and weird looks I would get using the bus – having total strangers hit on you, strangers not familiar with the term ‘personal space’ – plus I never used to like exercising, so I used to feel good about myself for walking. I would often walk past this little old man, sat in the same doorway, with the same trumpet, playing the same old song. I think this was the only song he knew – he was pretty good though. I remember my dad teaching me how to play the trumpet, well, trying to teach me anyway. I just never seemed to be able to get the grasp of it. I think he used to just play that song when he saw me coming, that’s what I used to say to myself, if I was having a crappy day, the thought that he was playing it for me, somehow cheered me up. This man was obviously homeless, never had a different change of clothes – I always saw him sat there, day in, day out. Sometimes, he would try get a conversation out of me when it wasn’t so busy, but I would try avoid it, for obvious reasons. The smell of him literally suffocated me, it was an undescribable, disgusting smell – I could taste the filth. Putting in my headphones, I would cross over to the other side of the road, avoiding all eye contact. He was quite obviously lonely. The poor man had a full beard, a dirty white beard, a hat, which you could vaugely see what colour it was originally, but now is black from all the dirt, same with his gloves. His trousers had holes in, and as for his shoes, his shoes were odd, one black one brown, one made of leather by the looks of it, and one material, but, both with holes nevertheless. His blanket, resembled an olive green colour, thick with grease and dirt, I could do nothing else but pitty this poor man. This poor old man.


“Ok, thank you, I will be round in the morning to empty the house.” My mums house had finally been sold. Now, I had the dreaded job of emptying the house off all her stuff. A job I have been trying to put off for so long.
Arriving at her house, I suddenly has this rush of emotions – an overwhelming rush of emotions. It just wasn’t the same without her there. But, finishing the last few bits, it was a relief, something I needed to do I suppose. There was just one room I hadnt finished – the attic. I thought twice about doing it, but suddenly, all my childhood curiosity came rushing back, suddenly, I felt like a child again. I could hear her voice echoing in my head, “Susanna, you don’t go in the attic, its not a place for little girls”
 


Submitted: November 28, 2014

© Copyright 2021 jennatheresa. All rights reserved.

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Comments

L. Koelsch

I love it. I hope you one day finish this.

Sun, November 30th, 2014 6:27pm

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