All Alone in this vacant world

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Mystery and Crime  |  House: Booksie Classic
This is about the feeling the loss of a special person... expecially at a young age. I added a twist though, she is tuned to the guitar, also. I hope you enjoy... and please... please... read my other short story, called " The change in her life." It's shorter than this one. Thank you, I hope you enjoy! :)

Submitted: April 09, 2009

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Submitted: April 09, 2009

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Everyone was crying in the seem-to-be-empty room. Everyone except me. My mom, dad, brother, and sister were all hugging and sobbing, and even screaming for Stefan to come back. But he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. I started at the blue and black stripped carpet, seeing nothing. Feeling nothing. I couldn't do anything. Not even cry. Suddenly arms were around me, and hugging me to her chest.
“ It’s going to be alright, Maddie,” Ashley, my older sister whispered in my ear.
Sluggishly, I turned my head against her chest,so I could see her face, and she looked horrible. She had circles under her eyes, and they werewere puffy and red.So was her face. She also looked tired and sad. Of course sad.
I pulled my head back to stare at Stefan’s carpet again, but Ashley said another thing.
“ You know he loved you.”
And then everyone was out of the room, not wanting to come back to this haunted room of sadness. But, I stayed. The little me, didn’t do anything no matter how bad I wanted to leave the room and go back to my family. But I couldn’t. I almost started to cry, when I saw Stefan’s acoustic guitar. I remembered the memories off that thing. On family nights we would all sit on the sofa, while Stefan would entertain us with his soft and lovely music. That lullaby he made for me when I was so depressed when grandma died and I just sat in my room, crying and drawing pictures of things I hated. Or the time when he was so happy, he wrote a song for our whole family, and sang and strummed his guitar while we ate and giggled at the lyrics that also brought many family memories together.
So, I stare at his life. No, not my family, but his compassion. His motivation. The thing he did everyday, every hour, every minute. All the memories of Stefan played in my head, as my little feet walked toward the guitar. Very carefully, I picked it up in my arms, and lightly strummed the strings.


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