Drabbles and Scrabbles

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Other  |  House: Booksie Classic
These are short stories all compiled together

Submitted: November 17, 2011

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Submitted: November 17, 2011

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‘Two moons?’ She thought to herself as she walked outside of the castle into the frosty night air. ‘That’s rather peculiar.”

She treaded lightly over the grass of the courtyard, wondering to herself how in the name of God she’d gotten to this strange land. A land with two moons, and no stars. So very odd. How did she come to be here? And who was she, anyways?

All at once, the butterfly appeared. The blue one with black markings and the seemingly luminescent quality. She reached out to touch it, and it landed on her finger. It climbed up her body onto her chest, right above her heart. She felt a sharp burning pain, and then, suddenly, everything was clear in the moonlight.

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She took out the photograph she always kept in her left hand pocket of her jeans. It was old and frayed, tainted by mud and rain and God knows what else. It was one of the only things she’d remembered to take with her but the clothes on her back and the shoes on her feet when she ran from her mother’s house. The other photo had been lost long ago.

It was a photo of two girls with black hair, one with long hair that flew out in the wind, and the other with choppy hair that looked rebellious on her. It was a clear, sunny day and they were standing in the middle of a school courtyard. They were wearing matching uniforms, with the school emblem embroidered into the ties. They had their arms around each other and were laughing at something that she couldn’t quite remember. She put her finger over the image of the long haired one.

“Arianna…” She whispered into the cascading darkness. This photo always brought back memories of a time that once was. Before it had happened.

Now, in the dark, she couldn’t get the image of that train moving swiftly towards them out of her head. Survivor’s guilt they had called it. She guessed that what it was. But they never knew that it really was her fault. And it was still the only thing that she could call “My memory”

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Rooting through the old garage, she found a box that read “Maybelline’s Treasures” scrawled in the untidy script of a 10 year old girl. The script of her sister, the one who disappeared several years before, on the day she turned 11.

She fought back tears and she opened the box carefully and peered inside. Inside was a length of ribbon attached to a small plastic rod, the kind her sister used to use to dance with. She also found a small picture in a tiny frame, and a book.

Inside the frame was a photo of a girl with long dirty blonde hair that flew out from her as she twirled with her ribbons next to a taller, older girl with short brown hair, giving her a look that said “I love you, little squirt.” Inside the book were the writings of a girl in her elementary school years.

“Maybelline…” the girl said, stroking the photo of the small girl. “How I wish that it was true that time forgets.”

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He walked along the beach at sunset in contented silence, staring out into the sea with a loss in his eyes that spoke millions of words if you would only listen.

He stared at the golden sand, his mind full of millions of memories of walking along the beach with his girl in his arms. The girl that ran so long ago, fleeing her mother and her memory.

As he looked into the sky, he saw what seemed to be a photograph of his life. Of the one memory that he held most dear. It was a black haired girl with choppy hair, wearing a sailor suit and running along the beach, holding hands with a dark haired boy at sunset. That mischievous glint in her eye that he loved, that said so much about their love. The tide lapped at their feet as they ran.

“Miranda… If I could see you again… if only”

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She hastened down the street, in such a hurry to get to that job interview. In such a hurry that she nearly missed that photo lying on the ground. It was torn at the edges and tainted by water damage.

She nearly walked by it, but something stopped her. She knelt to pick it up, and looked closely at what features it still had. It was of a boy with dark hair holding a mug of what seemed to be hot chocolate, sitting on a window ledge, staring at the stars. The moon behind the window was huge, and there must have been millions of stars in the sky. A shooting star was just then crossing the sky.

In her absorption in the photograph, she realized that the interview seemed much less important now. All that mattered was the contented look on the boys face, and the stars in the window.

“What beautiful stars…”

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She walked out of the room slowly, but surely. What she had just seen would change her forever. She had to find Miranda. Her best friend… she to find her.

What she had just seen had terrified her beyond belief. No, the photo wasn’t scary in any way, shape, or form. It had been of her, standing there on that lovely spring day, with the breeze running through her hair, holding her violin. Her eyes were blank and her mouth was in a sad smile. She didn’t look alive.

That photo had changed her. She had to find Miranda. She had to live. She wouldn’t die with unlived life in her veins.

Later that night, sitting in that car watching the train come forward, she didn’t regret it. Not even a little bit. Miranda escaped but she could not. She wanted to yell to her that she didn’t blame her, not at all. But all she could get out before the train came was, “I…”

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A yearbook laid open on the desk in the library. The girl sat down, and before closing it, decided to look at the photo’s on the page.

On this page, there were but one photo, directly in the center. She looked at it, and automatically felt her heart shrivel in pain. She knew when this was taken. 3 years ago, it was taken. Taken of her and Maybelline, dancing in the blossoms on that spring day. The day before she disappeared.

This was only a few weeks after Maybelline had died her hair that red color and cut it and layered it. They looked so happy, she could barely stand it. It hurt to remember her old best friend, hurt so much.

She swiftly closed to book, but not before she read the caption. Very simple, very elegant. “Spring waltz”.

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He sat on that bench in front of that field of flowers and remembered. Remembered everything about that day, 2 years ago. That day that he’d realized he loved May with all his heart.

He pulled out that photo of her, sitting on this very bench, trying to hid from the camera. Just because he’d lost her doesn’t mean he forgot her. Her long reddish brown hair, the color of fox fur, before she’d cut it after she’d lost Maybelline. She’d looked so happy.

That day… it was the day that she finally kissed him. That he finally loved her the way she was meant to be loved. Maybelline and her best friend had been spying on them, but he didn’t care. This was before he’d lost her to depression.

As he sat there and missed the girl he used to have, he looked up and saw the girl he had now. All he could say was “May”.

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“Arianna” He’d said. I’d looked him in the eye’s and finally told him I loved him, and all he could say was Arianna. Not that I could blame him. You never can get over the lost love, especially when they were lost in the way he’d lost her.

I could see myself standing there, like someone had taken a picture. In my skirt and long sleeved shirt, my short auburn hair floating in the breeze. Looking at him with eyes that were so sad and yet so in love.

He would never love me as he’d loved her. I had always known that. When we first started dating, he made that quite clear. But yet… I still couldn’t blame her. I had known he loved her, loved her more than he even loved himself. I couldn’t blame Arianna. She was dead. But I still wish that he could look at me and think, “Beloved.”

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Her mind filled with memories as she lied in the dark. Lying on his bed with him. Kissing him. Remembering every detail she could of him, of the boy she left behind. Of Adam.

“I’m so sorry, my love.” She whispered into the darkness, glad he couldn’t see her. Lying in the dirty street with it raining over top of her, it seemed almost shameful to remember a love as true as theirs had been. And it seemed even worse that she’d lost his photograph.

Another mental picture flashed in her head. One of them lying there, kissing softly. She missed him so much it hurt.

“Oh Adam…” She said again to the night. “I wish that we still lived in our same world.”

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She opened her drawer and took out the box. The box where she kept all of her most important things. And the most important thing among the important things was a photo. A photo of her mailing a letter.

The girl in the photo had long hair dyed that unnatural light lavender color in pigtails. She was wearing a skirt and long sleeved shirt, holding out the letter addressed to a girl named Maybelline.

The letter had said nothing in particular. Just of what she thought had happened to the girl when she disappeared, and of what had happened since then. Why it meant so much she did not know, but it did. She’d sent a letter. A letter to nowhere.

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