WARNING FOR THOSE WHO SKIPPED THE COPYRIGHTS PAGE: THIS STORY CONTAINS EVENTS AND LANGAUGE THAT ARE NOT SUITED FOR CHILDERN AND THE MEAK. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.
Elena is to this side. c:
annnndd this isnt edited so sorry for the mistakes.
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CHAPTER ONE
backbone graveyard
NOT EVERYTHING HAS AN EXCITING BEGINNING. Nor, does it possess nearly any qualities that would make it even noteworthy. Sometimes, things happen and they don't have a reason for actually happening. It just does. And in doing so, it doesn't effect anything in its neighboring surroundings, things with purpose, with meaning and real true life.
But endings always seem to go out with a bang. No matter the end, you always remember it. Whether it be as simple as the last bite of your favorite meal, or the last time you kissed your significant other, or even death. Theres something about endings that humans are seemingly drawn to. We clip out parts of the obituaries and put it on our refrigerators just for the memories. Endings give people a sense of life, sometimes, the end of something is really only the beginning because thats all we’ve ever expected.
We’re born, we live, we work, we get old, we die.
Everything dies, from Bram Stokers immortal Dracula, the neighborhood stray cat that finds its meals from the little old lady down the street, to moms, dads, sisters, and brothers. We all have our beginnings, and we all have our endings.
I had never really thought about how I would die until I was staring it straight in the face. Trying my best not to whimper and shy away from it. People claim that death is peaceful, happy and not nearly scary. The thing with that theory is, all the people who claim these accusations are clearly alive. They had never died and come back to life. So they clearly wouldn't understand something as complicated and meticulous as death.
Yet there I was.
The same plain old girl I had always been, standing on a chair in the backyard of my parents quaint little house in the pitch black awaiting a friend. Well, he wasn't necessarily a friend, or an acquaintance either. It was actually the first time I had met him upfront to be frank. But I would call him a friend only because he was kind enough to whisk me away from my own personal slice of hell to somewhere hopefully better. Somewhere where I was appreciated, somewhere where if I were to kill myself in the backyard of my parents quaint little house, someone would actually care.
I was never super religious. Yet my mother would always tell me, Elena my dear, God has the answers. Or one of her favorites, Elena my dear, God loves you endlessly. If he did, he sure had a weird way of showing it. Putting me through years and years of torment and neglect. If anything, he was just like them. Like all of them, pushing me closer and closer to my dear old friend.
I gave one more fleeting look to my backyard. To the spots of dead grass that were even visible in the dark, an old now abandoned dog shed and my old dinky tree house that was now nothing more than a dilapidated shell of what it once was.
I laughed, it was ironic. With time, my beautiful little get away deteriorated just as I did. It was fitting I guess.
There was a glint of humor filling my dead eyes as I stared at my tree house. Thinking about the memories that were held within their confines. Some were happy, like how my parents surprised me with my first puppy when I was eight by putting her up there for me to find. Her name was Dutchess, and shes dead now. The school bus driver wasn't paying attention like always and ran right over her without even a glimpse of remorse.
