My Writing Desk

I Met Him In June (Teen Fiction)

D e s c r i p t i o n

Lilac Christine Watergate.

When fights lead to packed bags and goodbyes. She's left in a bubble of guilt and sadness. How could she say that.

Such words that not only burned her tongue but caused him to leave.

Call after call and he never came back.

Months go bye and the guilt is unbearable.

He still hasn't come home. Instead letters came...so many letters. All addressed to her. But from who? Why? Is it really him?

•••••••••D e s c r i p t i o n e n d

P r o l o g u e

I was drunk on the party atmosphere. The screams of the crowd and the boom of the bass. It made my mind swirl and my stomach tingle. The smiles and laughter of the people around me was purely contagious. I felt infected with a high like no other.

I saw a cute guy, blonde hair, hazel eyes, and small lips. I didn't know his name but I went right up and kissed him. I just wanted to forget the pain and guilt inside me. He looked like a good distraction...

- - -

When I woke up the next day I had a total amnesia party. What's my name? Where am I? What's today?

You know the usual.

But then it all came back to me. That and a severe ass headache that made me want to barf my guts out and smash my head against a wall.

I miss him. I never should've yelled at him. If I'd just shut up and listened to him. He'd still be here. With me.

It's all my fault.

I grabbed my phone from beside my bed and looked for his name. Time to leave another message. I thought bitterly.

"Hey, it's me again. Where are you?... I miss you, I'm sorry please come home..." I finished the message my voice breaking and giving in to the tears.

I set the phone back down and started to sob. Cold sweat breaking over me and making me shake. Then, the doorbell rang. Getting up I tried hastily to wipe the grief from my tear stricken face. Walking down the cold empty halls, this house just didn't feel the same. Then as I was just about to open the door a letter slipped into the mail slot. Gliding from the opening it fell like a feather; slowly and gracefully.

Picking up the small envelope I looked over all the information stuff first. This had to be a wrong address incident. No one I know would use letters anymore as almost everything was digital now. But the letter was indeed addressed to here, to me. From where: it didn't say.

I slowly opened it like it was fragile. Taking the sheet of paper in my hands I read it.

'Dearest rose, you pricked his finger. You cut his pride and smothered his flames of passion. Withered little rose, fragile and frail.

Your petals will desert you as he did.

Let me pluck your petals, little rose. May I make the time pass faster. May you suffer as a rose and bleed in scarlet.

Sincerely,
Crimson'