Hiyaaa!! So this is a piece I whipped up for my english class, can you all please critique it hardcore before I hand it in?? THANK YOU IN ADVANCE IT WONT TAKE THAT LONG XOXOX
❀ KENZIE ZIEGLER ❀
Yanking apart my curtains, I squinted at the sunlight that was filtering through the clouds. A myriad of colours blurred the horizon, and I sank back into bed, exhaling deeply. Condensation littered my windowpanes, and it was cold. I huffed again, and my breath appeared in front of me as a translucent cloud. I shivered involuntarily. What a great start to the morning- not.
When I came to the realisation that no matter how many times I was to pull the blankets around me, it wasn't getting any warmer, I shoved my feet out of bed and into my slippers. I whisked my dressing down off the back of my chair and shrugged it on, trudging through the hall.
I hated this place. It was a permanent reminder of what we had lost, my Mother and I. My father. Our home. Our old life, and our old relationship.
The kitchen wasn't any warmer than the rest of the house. It smelt musty, and damp; the sort of smell that usually accompanied mold. Dust covered most of the surfaces, which neither my Mother nor I had gotten around to cleaning, even though we'd been here a week already. The tap, which we hadn't been able to fix, was dripping into the sink, tapping repeatedly like the tick of a clock. I turned my nose up in disgust and started for the pantry.
I don't know why I had expected more food to suddenly appear overnight. It hadn't. A box of stale cereal or a bowl of gluggy porridge were my only breakfast options. I chose the cereal, tipping the remainder into a bowl.
While I ate, my Mother stared at the back of my head. I couldn't see her, but I knew she would be. She did it constantly, nowadays. Sat on the couch staring into space until something yanked her back down into reality. I was sick of it; sick of acting like her parent, sick of being cold, having no food, and wondering whether this would be my life now.
Anger rose up in me like a hot wave. How dare she leave her only child to fend for herself! How dare she lose hope!
"Don't." I grumbled, not turning around.
It was a while before she replied. "Don't what?"
"You're acting pathetic," I said, getting out of my chair and dumping my bowl in the sink. Stupidly, I tried to turn the tap off so it would stop dripping. It wouldn't. For some reason, this made me even angrier.
My Mother was offended. "Excuse me for grieving for your father."
I felt the words like a slap. "You think I don't miss him too?" I yelled at her. "You think this isn't hard for me?"
She was astounded at my behaviour; she looked at me like I had sprouted another head.
"I can't do this anymore," The words surprised even me, "I'm leaving."
She laughed cruelly. "And where do you think you're going to go?"
I looked around, surveying the sadness that seemed to leech out of this place, and shook my head. "Anywhere but here."
˚✧₊⁎༄
I had been living at my Grandparents for a month when she called me, finally. My phone vibrated on the table, spewing out my ringtone, but I let the call go to voicemail and waited to see if she would leave a message. She did.
After the beep, I heard her draw a rattling breath.
"H-hi, love. It's me, Mum."
My eyebrows knitted together. I could barely hear her over torrential rain in the background. I moved closer to the phone, listening.
"I know we were fighting, but I... just want to let you know that I love you. So much." Her voice caught in her throat. Sirens blared in the distance. My heart kicked into gear, stuttering in my chest.
"And I- I'm sorry."
The phone clicked off, voice message disappearing, and I scrambled to call her back.
She didn't answer, and I sank onto my knees, terror flooding me.
˚✧₊⁎༄
I had always thought that black was a silly colour to represent mourning. But now, I understood it. It was easy to drown myself in it. It was easy to hide, and pretend to be invisible. It was easy to trick everyone into believing that I was just another guest at the funeral, not the dead persons daughter.
I didn't listen to the ceremony. I stood near the back, on the outskirts of the grievers, and indulged in my own memories of my Mother. They danced across the back of my closed eyelids like a kaleidoscope.
When I was young, and she would get me ready for ballet class, singing to herself as she swept my hair up into a bun.
The furious way in which she would cheer me on when I was playing sport; whooping and clapping if my team was winning, or grumbling at the umpires if we were losing.
When I broke my arm from falling off our trampoline, and she held my hand all the way to the hospital.
How she waved proudly from our doorstep when I was going to my first High School dance, brushing away her tears.
When I received a certificate at my school assembly, and she was so happy for me that she swept me into a huge hug as soon as it was over.
How she held my hand throughout my Fathers funeral, and how I held onto the belief that she was the best Mum in the world.
Was; past tense. Because she was gone now, and wouldn't be coming back.
I held back the sobs.
I suppose you never really know how valuable a person is to you, until all they become is a memory.
˚✧₊⁎༄
AUTHORS NOTE
Lol yes if you've read my other oneshots book on my other account you will realise that this was very similar to something I handed in last year hahahha. Different teacher tho so she'll be right ;) Please please leave a comment I'm not happy with this but I don't know how to fix it and I need another opinion. Lots of love xxxx
Oh and if you haven't added my new book to your library go add it, it's called Love Lessons ;)
