samhunter
My sister and I never really got along. We were 6 years apart, which didn't help much. My sister thought that because I was born first, my parents loved me more, just because of that. I used to call her stupid, but this many years later I can kind of see her point. Both of us would compete for my dad's attention, because mom was always at work.
He was a wizened old man that most people would pay no attention to. He sat by himself in his wheelchair, staring mindlessly at the screen. If anyone tried to talk to him he would studiously ignore them. Except for me. I loved to visit my Papa. He would come alive when I came to visit, and tell me the most fantastic stories. His eyes would blaze and he would grip the arms on his wheelchair as though he were about to fall off the end of the Earth.
This evening definitely wasn't going as planned. For one, I didn't really expect to end up dead. Tonight of all nights. Alex was on his way with the limo, probably already drunk off the boos in the back. And me? Well, right now I'm laying next to my murderer in my prom dress, looking at the blacker than blackness spot on the ground, the place where I'm to be buried. I want to scream in frustration, but that's a little hard. You know, considering the whole dead thing and all.
Never had I ever thought that this would be it. Chosen. What does that even mean? You stand out more from the crowd so someone decides that you're worth owning? You're the same as everyone else, which makes you desirable? What does it mean to choose? What does it mean to be chosen?
"Come on, come on!" I shout at my sister. It was weird being loud, but they already knew we were here. "Just close your bag and lets go!"
"But we need the supplies," she retorts, much calmer than I. In an efficient manner she packs everything into her backpack, ignoring the sound of moaning coming from the front porch. This is the first outing we've taken since the incident, and I'm not going to lose her. When the door shoves inward I charge towards my sister and grab her, knocking over her carefully gathered supplies. She keeps what she can in the bag, and we race towards the window.
Outside is dark, but quiet, at least at the back of the house. I keep one hand on my sister, the other on my knife. With a terrifying screech, my sister is ripped away from me, and the night comes alive with nightmares.
Down, down, into the cold water. There's a splash next to me, so I know Amalia has jumped in next to me. Colorful fish swim by us and Amalia gestures frantically to a camera hanging on her side. I swim over and unhook it, preparing to document our underwater adventure.
Seeing him...I was speechless. He looked the same as he always had, just a bigger version of the little kid I'd once known. I suppose I should have been overjoyed to see him, but in reality I was a little dismayed. He was an attention seeker, and everyone knew we'd once been friends.
I'm always so tired. Its difficult to get up in the morning. So hard to focus on anything other than the basics. Depression, some might call it. But I don't think that's right. I'm just tired. Not sad or stressed or anything other than tired. That's not depression. Depression is much, much worse than this.
The dragon was old, older than most. It was genderless, the first of its kind. It gazed across the world with cloudy eyes and smiled at how the world had flourished, yet a flicker of doubt crossed its mind. Man kind had the ability to destroy it or save it all. Which would they choose?
I have no claim to life. I was born on a favor and my life will be returned with the finishing of that favor. My life is a sham. All the friends I have are fake. I have no stake in their life. I have no claim on anything in this world. Everything is borrowed.
load more entries