Beautiful Disaster

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Literary Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
It is about a girl named Mira who is going through some hard times when someone near and dear to her helps her realize that life isn't so bad.

Submitted: January 06, 2007

A A A | A A A

Submitted: January 06, 2007



Beautiful Disaster

It was a gorgeous fall evening, I noticed as I strolled down the streets of Remidell. The trees that lined the streets were a magnificent sight. They were covered with red, orange, and yellow leaves that seemed to drift down slowly in the soft breeze. Even the beauty of nature could not keep my mind off of reality, unfortunately. And as I went on walking, it seemed that with each step I took reality seemed to slip its way back into my thoughts. Even though I tried to stop thinking about what was going on in my life, I could not help it. It was not my fault. This thought kept reoccurring in my mind. I looked down at my feet in a sort of daze and started to remember what I was so desperately trying to forget.

I looked at my brother disgustedly. He sat at the breakfast bar in our kitchen as I watched him from the living room couch. His eyes were glazed over from the alcohol. He took a swig of scotch and closed his eyes. Joseph, my brother, was wearing a black shirt with torn jeans. On his shirt there were remnants of the last time he threw up. He was clearly drunk, yet kept drinking.

"Why are you drinking Joseph?" I asked him as I observed that he was slightly falling off his chair. "It does not solve anything you know. It won't make your problems go away."


Joseph slowly opened his eyes and looked at me sternly. He sighed and drained the rest of the scotch bottle. "You r-really want to-to know?" he asked me slurring his words slightly. I nodded my head in response. "I drink to fill the emptiness I feel inside," he said to me. With that he stood up from his chair and made his way over to the cabinet where all the alcohol was. He held onto the kitchen counter for support. I sighed and thought about what my brother had said to me.

I wish he would just stop drinking, I thought to myself as I watched Joseph search the cabinet. He slammed the cabinet shut and reached into his pocket for his car keys. "What are you doing now?" I asked him standing up from the couch. He glanced my way but ignored my question. He started to walk unsuccessfully toward the front door. He seemed to trip every five steps that he took. But he didn't give up and finally made it to the door.

"Your not thinking about driving drunk are you? Mom and Dad are gonna kill you!" I told him trying to somehow convince him to stop. He looked at me and opened his mouth as if he were going to say something. But instead he just shook his head and walked out the front door.

The police say he lasted five minutes before he ended up in a head on collision with a woman. He died instantly. While the woman, miraculously, came out of it with a few neck injuries.


"I miss him so much," I mumbled to myself as tears trickled down my bright red cheeks. I took in a deep breath and wiped away the tears with the sleeve of my jacket. I was not going to let myself become emotional over what happened at least a week ago. I looked up and saw that I was now on my street

I slowed my walk, not wanting to go home just yet. My home was not home sweet home, no not at all really. My mother was sick with pneumonia and my father was on antidepressants. I had to be the strong one in my family, when I should be the one feeling depressed and lounging around the house. I understood why my father was feeling down, who wouldn't? Yet I still think he should stop living in the past and become aware of what was happening now. I would give him another week at the most, than I would have to have a talk with him. Usually my mother would talk to him, but she was too sick. She could not even get out of her bed without help. Sometimes I felt like the adult of the house.

I stopped in front of my house, still not wanting to go inside. I observed my house and saw that it had lost the spark that I once saw in it. The yard needed to be mowed, the light-blue house paint was chipping. The garage door was slightly opened, it had been broken for a while now and the front door looked as if it was one-hundred year's old. Some of the roof tiles were coming off, unfortunately. Also the family car was broken down and the passenger's door would not close all the way, on top of everything else. I took a step forward and walked toward the front door, knowing I would have to make dinner for the family. Knowing my mother most likely needed to be attended to, the house probably needed to be picked up, and my father needed to be cheered up, the best I could anyway. I opened our door and was overwhelmed with the smell of dirt and grime along with the smell of sweat and throw up. I closed the door behind me and gagged at the sudden smell. I made a mental note to light some candles around the house.

I walked into the living room. It was a dark green color with two couches in the middle of it. There was a burgundy coffee table in the middle of the two couches, with five book cases to match. On the book cases there were statues, books (of course), DVD's and various pictures of the family. To my far left there was a beautiful red brick fireplace that was burning, thankfully. The room was lit up with the light of the fire casting shadows here and there. On one of the couches my mother was curled up into a ball. Her hair was a mess of tangles. She was wearing a long white pajama shirt that said "#1 Mom" on it. She also had blue and black checkered pajama pants on. My mother was very pretty, just at the moment she looked terribly sick. Her skin was pale, too pale and her nose was bright red. There were used tissues scattered all on the ground and on her also. I smiled at the sight of her yet it was more a forced smile.

I set my backpack down by the fireplace and knelt down next to the fire. I stuck my hands out as close as I could get to the fire and felt it warm my hands. My hands tingled as the numbness slowly escaped my fingers.

"Hey there Mira, I didn't see you come in," my mother said drowsily. I turned around to see her lifting herself up so she could have a better look at me. I grinned and stood up.

"Hey Mom. How are you feeling?" I asked her as I made my way to the kitchen. The kitchen was painted a soft yellow that had black cabinets.

"Oh I think I am-" she was interrupted by a sudden fit of coughing. I looked at her worryingly and wondered if she would ever get better. "I think I'm getting a little better," she finally sputtered out. I nodded my head and glanced at the pile of dishes. Sighing I rolled up the sleeves of my navy blue jacket and turned on the water.

"Where is Dad?" I asked her. She grabbed the controller and switched on the television.

"Oh, um I think he went out to dinner with his boss or something," she said rather lazily. I got the hint that she didn't want to talk any more and started to wash the dishes.

Once I was done with the dishes I threw the towel, which was on my shoulder now, onto the kitchen sink. My mother was watching the news, trying to escape her sickness I guessed. "Would you like something to eat before I go upstairs, Mom?" I asked her sweetly. Even though I felt annoyed that I had to make her dinner. She turned off the television and said, "no hun. I think I am going to try and go back to sleep."

"All right then. Get better." With that I grabbed my backpack and headed upstairs leaving my mother to sleep.

It's good to be home, I thought to myself as I entered my bedroom. My room was painted a baby blue, even though you could not really tell. There were posters of all of my favorite bands, movies, and actors/actresses covering my walls. My bed sat in the far left corner and had a white, thick cover over it. My computer desk was next to it. It held the books I had collected over the years. Over to my right there was my beloved electric piano. I some day hoped to own a grand piano, but I could not get my hopes up. In front of my bed was my burgundy dresser. I threw my backpack into a corner and walked over to the edge of my bed. It was so tempting to just lye down on it. I couldn't, I thought to myself. There was no way I could possibly sleep. Not now anyway. There was too much to do around the house. Although my bed did look comfortable, and warm... I slipped off my shoes and climbed onto my bed, crawling underneath my cover. At first it was chilly, then the warmth came and I knew I was never going to be able to leave it again all night. I pulled the cover up to my nose and closed my eyes. Finally some rest, I thought as I drifted slowly off to sleep.

I awoke a great deal later. I sat up in my bed, sweating profusely. My room was pitch black, I couldn't see a thing. Why on earth did I wake up? I wondered. I squinted my eyes trying to see anything but was unsuccessful. My heart was beating very fast as my eyes darted around the room trying to spot anything. "Mira," someone whispered suddenly. I scooted back a little bit thinking it was all in my head. I'm losing it, I thought. The grip on my comforter became tighter and tighter as I thought about the voice. Is someone in my room? Impossible. No one could be in my room, except my parents.

"Mom? Dad?" I called out to the darkness. This is stupid Mira. Your just imagining things. I bet if you just turned on the light nothing will be there. I glanced around nervously. Not wanting to, I made myself slowly swing my legs over my bed. I waited a second to see if anything was going to grab them, but nothing did. I leaned forward and slid off my bed sluggishly. Once my feet had touched the ground I ran over to my bedroom light and switched it on. To my relief I saw nothing but my old room. You got scared over nothing! I mentally slapped myself and turned the light back off as I sleepily made my way back to my bed. I climbed back underneath my covers and went back to sleep.

The next morning I went downstairs to find my mother sleeping on the couch and my father was at the kitchen table reading his newspaper. I sat down at the kitchen table. My father bent one of the corners of his newspaper and smiled at the sight of me. "Hey hun," he said as he folded his paper and set it down onto the kitchen table. "Good morning," I said back to him. My father looked very nice this morning. His brown hair was combed back, for once, and he had a white-collared shirt with a black and white tie on. He also had the smell of shaving cream. "You know Dad," I said teasingly, "you don't have to dress up just to take me to the mall." He looked at me and couldn't help but smile. It had been awhile since I saw him last smile. It was a nice change. Maybe he was getting over my brother being dead. I sure did hope so.

"Your dreaming," he said, "Now. I won't be home till late tonight. My boss is throwing a party and he wants everyone to go."

How could he just take off when mom needed him so? This was the last straw. I was sick of him leaving my mother and I. I said I would have a talk with him, and now I was.. I had to tell him what I thought about his little "party."

"But you went out with your boss last night. Why do you keep trying to escape reality, Dad? You know, me and Mom are not like you... We can't just get up and leave whenever we feel like it. Mom is getting sicker by the day and you act like you don't even care. When was the last time you actually told her you loved her? Or me for that matter? You sure don't act like it."

My fathers face looked hurt. I did not care though. How could he be so inconsiderate?

"Mira, it's not my fault. I have-" he started to slowly say.

"Nothing ever is, is it? Whose fault is it then? Never mind, Dad. Just go to your party. I hope you have a wonderful time," I said turning away from him. I could not bear to see the pain I was causing him. I had to say something though. Didn't I? He gave out a long sigh and I heard him leave.

As soon as the door had closed tears started to form. I tried to hold them back but found I couldn't. I had been the strong one in the family and could not be anymore. Now it was my turn to be depressed. My turn to cry. When I found out that my brother had died, I never really cried. How could I? I knew I was the reason for his death. I could have stopped him from getting in that car. I could have saved him. I could have . . . I started to softly whimper. I cursed myself for acting like a baby. My mother started to stir at the sound of me whimpering. I stood up and headed for the door. I didn't want to worry my mother with my problems. She had enough problems and she didn't need to add mine onto hers. I looked one last time at my mother and saw that she had fallen back asleep. I closed the door behind me.

Here I am running away from my problems. Like my father had done so many times before. How could I yell at him for running away, when I turn around and do the same thing? I felt a sudden pang of guilt but tried to push it to the back of my mind. I tried to look on the positive things in life and stop obsessing over the negative.

"What positive?" I asked myself aloud. Well, I guess the fact that I am alive is positive enough. Isn't it?

"I rather be dead," I mumbled.

I came up to a nearby park. The place was deserted on account of it being so cold outside. I rather not have people there anyways. I lied down on one of the park benches. The sky was mostly clear other than a few grey clouds that were gathering. I smiled to myself and hoped that it would rain. I loved it when it rained. I had no idea why some people could hate it so much? Why would you? It is so peaceful, and seems so innocent.


I closed my eyes and tried to escape from life. That is usually the main reason I go on walks like this one. It is the only way I can just forget about my current problems. I cannot hide forever though. I never really have been able to. No matter where I go, I am reminded of my problems.


After a while of thinking and lying on the bench in the park, I started to grow bored. I sighed and opened my eyes. But to my surprise I saw a pair of clear blue eyes staring back at me. I quickly sat up and saw the stranger for the first time. He was standing there casually while a mischievous smile played upon his face. I blinked wondering if my eyes were deceiving me? Was it possible? Could he really be my . . . brother? It was not possible, yet there he was.


"Joseph?" I whispered to my brother, or was it?

"Mira," he said so quietly that it almost wasn't audible. I hurriedly stood up and jumped into his awaiting arms. As he held me tight, I thought about how wonderful it was to have him hug me again. I wish that this embrace would never end, but nothing lasts forever. "I can't believe it's really you!" I said close to tears. He gently pushed me away and motioned for me to sit down. "Yes, Mira. It's really me."

"Why did you leave me, Joseph? How could you just leave at a time when I needed you the most?"

His smile instantly faded at my question. "Mira," he said with a long, sad sigh, "I have never really left you. I have always been in your heart. How could you think I would ever leave you?"


I already knew that he was in my heart. How could I have forgotten that he would be there for me no matter what happened?

"But how are you here? I mean you're supposed to be dead," I asked him, not wanting to question the miracle that was happening.

"Don't worry about that. Just cherish the moments we are allowed to have. Now, I have to talk to you," he said rather sternly. His tone surprised me for a second but I didn't think long on it. It's what he said is what caught my attention. What did he possibly mean when he said ‘cherishing the moments we're allowed'? We had all the time in the world now that he was back. Instead of asking him, though, I just listened to him.


"Mira," he went on, "why are you angry with Mom and Dad? You can't blame them for what happened you know."

How could he possibly know that I was angry with my mother and father? Whom does he think he is? Coming back from the dead and giving me orders? He was still my brother, ghost or not. He had no right.

"I'm not mad at them, necessarily. I'm just mad at how they are dealing with it."

"Mira, they are doing the best they can. It's not Mom's fault she's sick," he said in an ‘as a matter of fact' way. He was treating me as if I was some dumbstruck girl that didn't understand one word he was saying. Of course I know it's not my mother's fault. Besides, I'm not mad at her as much as I am at my father. "I know that Joseph," I said simply.

"I figured you did. I just thought I would remind you. While we're talking about Mom and Dad, I think I should say something about the way your treating Dad. Now before you start objecting . . . let me explain."


All right, he was right before but not now. I had every right to be angry with my father. "Dad is going through some really hard times," he started to lecture, "and it will take him awhile to get over it. Until then, you need to be there for him."

"Why should I?" I snapped, "He's not there when Mom needs him or me for that matter."

Joseph shook his head as if he were disappointed with my comment. I don't care what he thinks. I would like to see him deal with my dad better then I was.

"Would you like him to get fired? If he didn't go to his job or meet with his boss, he probably would get fired. Then Mom would never get the constant treating she's getting. Mira, put yourself in his shoes. What would you do if you were him?"


What would I do? This question really made me think. Well, I guess I probably would do what my father was . . . Even though I hated to admit it. I guess he had a point. "All right Joseph . . . I get it," I said with a sigh, "What do you want me to do?"

He grinned, "I want you to do what you think is right, Mira. That's all I ask. Now, I have to go. I'm sorry."

"Go? But you just got here! I thought you were going to stay for good? You can't just leave. I need you. Please, don't leave. You can't go," I said leaning forward to hug him. I needed to know that I was not imagining this whole thing. I needed to know he was really there.

"Believe me, I would stay if I only could," he said sadly, "I'm lucky to even be here talking to you. Mira, I truly am sorry. But before I go I want you to promise me that you'll forgive Mom and Dad. They mean the best. Also, to cut Dad some slack."

I could promise him all of that. But it sounds easier then it will be to do.


"All right, I promise," I said pulling away from the last hug I would ever receive from him. With that he stood up to leave. I looked at the ground. There was no way I would be able to watch my brother leave me for good.

"Oh, one other thing Mira," my brother said turning around.

"Uh huh," I said rather sadly. Why did he have to prolong this torture?

"Life goes on, Mira. Remember that."

I looked over and, unfortunately, did not see my brother. He was no where to be seen.



I awoke suddenly. I was still at the park and outside it had grown close to sunset. Was I dreaming or did it really happen? I sat up and started to massage my forehead. Maybe I was dreaming . . . I don't know. It seemed so real though. ‘Life goes on, Mira. Remember that', Joseph's voice crept its way into my thoughts. I shook my head as if the thought of my brother would leave my thoughts. Yet it stayed. I stood up and started to make my way back home. Mom is probably worried sick. Dad probably isn't even home. He's to busy with his boss to come home and take care of his family. ‘Cut Dad some slack, Mira. He's doing the best he can.' Joseph's voice rang in my head once more. "All right . . . All right. I get it. I'll cut him some slack," I said to myself. My brothers voice kept lecturing me every time I had a critical thought about my parents. It was rather annoying.

I finally arrived at my house and stepped inside. "I'm home!" I called out to my mother. "Mira? Is that you? Where have you been? We have been worried sick young lady!" I heard my mother's worried voice call back. We? What is she talking about? I wonder if she's becoming delusional. She must think someone else is there with her.

I entered into the living room and didn't see my mother lying on the couch. Did she actually get up from there? Not possible.

"Over here Mira," I heard my fathers voice say. My father is home? I quickly looked toward the kitchen and saw my father and mother holding hands at the kitchen table. Both of them had half worried half-relieved faces on.

"Dad? What are you doing home? I thought you had that party to go to?" I asked sitting down at the kitchen table with my parents. He lowered his eyebrows.

"Don't question me. I should be the one questioning you. Where have you been? Your mother almost had a heart attack when she couldn't find you. She called me up and told me the whole thing! I came right over when I thought something had happened to you."

Did he just say he left work to come here? Looking for me? This could not be the same person that he was this morning. "I'm sorry," I said as sincerely as possible, "I just went on a walk and I guess I fell asleep on the park bench. I didn't mean to frighten you Mom or Dad. I really am sorry."

My mother grinned at me and lied her hand on mine. Her skin felt a little clammy yet soft and warm to the touch. She probably had been sweating from the constant fevers. "Its ok hun," she said sympathetically, "we know you didn't mean to scare us."

I returned her smile and looked to my father who still looked angry with me.

"Dad, I'm sorry for getting mad at you this morning. I have just been really stressed with worrying about Mom and all."

"Don't be," he said softening his voice, "I know you didn't mean the things you said. But we have to go. Your mother has a doctor's appointment and we're supposed to be there in fifteen minutes."

Finally, my parents and I were getting along. Maybe things were turning around for our family. I could always hope for the best.

Later on that day, my parents and I were waiting patiently for the doctor to come in. When he finally did, he asked my mother some questions. I then noticed that my mother seemed to be getting better. The color in her face had come back. I had not heard her cough once. Her eyes seemed to be clearer also, instead of being blood shot red. "Mrs. Cambry, I am glad to announce that the pneumonia is wearing off," the doctor said as he examined his papers, "you will experience nothing more then a common cold for the next few days. Other than that, you should be fine."

My mother and father's faces lit up at the good news. I felt like jumping up and down, but I controlled myself and managed a smile.

"Thank you so much doctor," my father said shaking his hand, "we really do appreciate everything you have done. How can we ever thank you?"

The doctor grinned at my father's excitement and shook his head.

"There is no need Mr. Cambry. I'm just doing my job."

The doctor gathered his papers and bid goodbye to my parents. He turned to me and gave me a playful wink before he left. My mother sat on the bed hugging my father. It was a wonderful sight to see them happy again. Especially my father. I know now that I could not blame him for what was happening.

As I was looking at my parents, I felt someone put their hand on my shoulder. I smiled and knew that it could only be my brother. "Thank you, Joseph. Thank you," I whispered. I felt his grip tighten and then release.

I sometimes wonder why people only think about the many problems in life. If they would just realize that nothing goes on forever, maybe then people would live life to the fullest. Life is after all, beautiful. But it can also be disastrous. That is what I see life as. Just a beautiful disaster.









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