Story I've been working on for a long time.

I brush my hand over the smooth texture, shivering with it’s coldness, as I struggle to keep my memories to myself. I can still hear her voice, her laugh, feel her tears on my shoulder, her hand on mine as she dragged me along with her, which, at the time, irritated me slightly. But it is all just an illusion, she is no longer here, her presence only in my mind, sometimes blocked away, sometimes haunting me.

As I remove my hand from the arm rest and sink into the sofa, my mind lingers to a few years ago, when we were sitting together on the classroom sofa, when she still had that beautiful smile on her face. Flicking through many channels on the TV, something I almost never do, along with being sad, which is another rarity, I stumble onto a romantic drama. She adored romantic dramas, crying along with the main character, while I tried to seem interested, and I would sit there, somewhat awkwardly, because I didn’t know what to do.
Irritated with the limited choices of the channels, I turned off the TV, and got up. While I was looking down, I discovered a hard cover book under the sofa. Crouching down, and hitting my head on the table, I reached and pulled it out. As I was dusting off the dust on my jeans, I flip to the first page of the hard cover book, and start reading it. I can recognise the writing, the loops of her L’s, the messy ,yet neat at the same time, scrawl of her handwriting.

“Dear _______, I hope you have found this journal soon after I left. I want you to keep a journal, as lame as it seems. It will accompany you in your times of loneliness, and when you need something, it will be there for you, like how it was there for me. Please, do this for me? Love, _________.”

It’s unbelievable that she expects me to keep a journal, for she knows I cannot write to even save my life, but, I will do this for her. As I take out a pen from my pocket, then flipping the page, I feel the first wet, but warm, tear that rolls down my face, as I set the pen to paper. The memories are overflowing, yet all I feel is an eerie sense of loneliness.

Staring at the blank and serene page, I see a splotch, which is soon accompanied with another splotch, but this time, it is not from my eye, but from the vodka I just took a swig from. The first thing I write is the date, which is February 16, but with my blurred eyes, it looks like February 18, and February 15, two important dates, one marking the beginning, one marking the end.

(excerpt)
I’m going to start from the beginning, which was the day I walked into French class. Mme. LeBlanc gave us a seating arrangement by last name, and I ended up sitting next to this girl, who at first glance, I thought was the most normal and average girl, and had absolutely nothing interesting about her. When Mme. LeBlanc told us to introduce ourselves, the moment the words “Bonjour, Je m’appelle ____ , comment t’appelles tu? “ flew out of her mouth, with her perfect french accent, she caught my attention immediately, and I just knew we would be great friends.


I’m startled when my phone starts vibrating, interrupting me from my writing, The ringtone reminds me of the many times we used to chat on the phone, her beautiful voice on the other side of the phone, the whispering we did late at night, so our parents wouldn’t notice. It’s my mom, who is telling me to get buy some delivered pizza, and to save some for her.


After my mom hung up, I tried writing in the journal, but I couldn't concentrate any longer, so I decided to get up and put the journal in my room. As I walked up the stairs, and went into my room, I passed by my cork board, which still had a picture of me and her together. I sighed, realising that tomorrow is Monday, and that I would have to face _______ by myself. I may have other friends, but I never could talk to them about my feelings, it's just not possible. These other friends may try to understand, but they’ll never understand me the way she did.

The next morning I was almost late, since my alarm didn't wake me up. I refused to wake up from my dream, since in my half conscious state, I could see her again, her dark brown hair that framed her face, the little dimples she has on her face whenever she smiles, and those stunning sky blue eyes, which gleamed with curiosity, set on porcelain skin. She and I were sitting at the beach together, right next to the sea, so the waves would wash over her perfectly pedicured nails, painted with her favourite colour, purple, and that's when I admitted that I loved her ever since the first moment we met, and she also told me that she felt the same way, and then when we were about to kiss, my mother decided to yell , " ____ , get up already! It's 8, do you want to be late for school or not?! "

I flopped out of bed, and fell onto the journal that, at the time I didn't know, would contain all my deepest and darkest secrets. I decided to bring it to school, since I didn't really have any thing to do.
"Honey! You're going to be late, and you know you want to start the day in a good mood!"
Oh, if my mom only knew, I'd never start a day ever again in a good mood. I didn't want to worry her with my troubles though, she had enough troubles raising a teenage boy by herself, and working a day and night job.

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I'm not done ....