Fear: Fight Or Flight?

Limbo was a rather peculiar place.

It was neither beyond the stunning, soft twinkling of stars above me and it wasn't filled with flames and perpetual torture.

No, instead I found myself just five centimetres from my potential death.

The scene of my murder gave me such a sensation. It was as if my very soul was being chilled. I could barely manage a glance to my body, never mind a glance to who could be my murderer.

How did I end up like this?

As if Limbo bended to my will, the scene before me which was frozen in time managed to slowly rewind. I simply couldn't look at my face while the events rewound, so I bit my lip and dreaded the moment when I would be forced to watch. As the day flew by me backwards, I kept my eyes on the window and let a tear slowly crawl down my cheek as I watched the night become twilight, and twilight become sunset.

I opened the door with my key just as the sun shone low beneath the snow-topped pine trees. I had to fumble around a little bit, as I couldn't manage to pull the little gold key out of my purse with my admittedly chunky gloves. I cursed, and gave up trying with my gloves on. My fingers immediately met the icy temperature as they pulled the key free into the winter air.

After standing outside for a long time from walking home from the school choir meeting, my cheeks were flushed with the cold, and my scarf was pulled right above my nose. You could only just see my eyes, as they were half covered by my father's large hat.

Standing at the bottom of the stairs, just in front of the doorway, I shook all the snow off of my clothes and my boots and stuck the key in the back of the front door. The warmth was so beautiful to come home to, and it was just as beautiful to come home with fresh, warm bread already baking in the oven.

My little sister was only three years old, as well as her twin brother. Hazel and Finley peaked at me from behind the door, and I giggled at their appearance. They both had flour and various other bread ingredients strewn across their clothes, and a faint trace of snow could be found on their auburn hair.

"India!" they both squeaked, and pulled me towards the kitchen.

It took a fair bit of effort; their tiny legs could barely keep themselves up, never mind pull a fourteen year old girl behind them.

They directed me towards the oven, which was filled to the brim with baked goods.

My mother was busy pulling some chapatti out for me, and she gave me a sheepish smile as I stared in wonder of how the trio had managed to bake so much bread in one day.

My mother was only 32 years old, she gave birth to me when she was just 18 and often told me of how many thought it was too young, but she and Dad just thought it was more time they got to spend with me. She had a habit of dying her hair many different colours, and quite liked the subtle purple colour she sported at the moment. As you'd expect of a 32 year old, she looked stunning and young, but my favourite features on her face were her laugh lines. I had always loved her smile, and I'd make her laugh on purpose when I was young just so I could see it.

She noticed I was shivering slightly from the cold, and ushered me into one our plush chairs in the living room. I barely had time to bat an eyelid when I was wrapped in several blankets, and had hot chocolate and warm chapatti thrust at me.

The evening was passing by me quickly. By 7pm, I was tucking in Hazel and Finley in their beds, and reading them the next chapter in their abnormally large collection of Horrid Henry books. Hazel was drifting off, and I tugged a little strand of bronze hair and tucked it behind her little, elfin ears. As for Finn, he was laying on his bed flat-out on his back and snoring little squeaks. I let myself giggle and turned on their nightlights, before returning downstairs to share the sofa with my mother.

I had to smile for a moment, being in Limbo was quite cool for this second in time. Trust me to spend my potential last moments re-watching my favourite TV programmes with my mother. We were huddled close on the sofa, underneath the blankets. Unfortunately, our central heating had died on us, so we were barely warm even when we were pressed together under layers of blankets.

It was only when I got up to go to bed for school in the morning, when I caught myself in the mirror before going upstairs. I sighed unhappily at my dark curtain I called hair. It had become well and truly messed up and I could barely make out my eyes underneath the hazard. I used my hand to push my hair out of the way -not unlike how I had done for Hazel- when I saw something out of the corner of my eye. It was some silvery spectre leaning against the doorway, catching last glimpses of Big Brother before turning around and facing me.

I realised now, it was me facing myself.

Naturally, I didn't know at the time. I didn't know I was going to end up dead in just a matter of hours.

I remember I woke up from my slumber to a rustling noise downstairs. Cautiously, I silenced myself in case things could go wrong.

If I only knew!

Without a single sound, I grabbed my slippers to muffle my footfall. My heart was thumping, and I blindly walked past a possible weapon; my clarinet. I proceeded to open my bedroom door as I heard the rustling continue somewhere in the living room.

As a wild precaution, I dared myself to grab Hazel and Finn and tuck them safely in my mother's bed. Somehow -bizarrely- I managed with plenty of time to spare. I had barely moved a single hair out of place, and they were fast asleep....they were safe.

I only planned to go downstairs and peak at what was going on, then I could go back upstairs and pretend to be non-existent as the burglar stole what little we had to our name. Instead, I stumbled on the last stair; I tripped over a bobble attached to my slippers by a piece of pale pink ribbon.

Panicking, I ran flat-out into the kitchen, knowing that if he or she knew my presence from my falling, I may as well attempt to stop them.

Food?

That's what they were stealing?

I had no time to pity the heavily pregnant lady, a woman who had probably started to steal as a last resort to feed herself and her baby. Perhaps there were more relatives at home. Perhaps she was homeless?

I had no time at all.

I had no time before she pulled out a gun, and the loud bang echoed around the room; I had no time before I was being murdered.

But, here's the thing. The natural reaction to this is to be terrified, yes?

Well it's true, I was.

In Limbo, watching this a second time around was just as terrifying. I managed to make a glance at myself, and at the woman. The woman was just turning around to look at who she'd shot. I saw the utmost guilt and fear in her eyes. As for me? I was in thought, which I suppose is what lead me here.

Now as I said before, here is the thing:

I wasn't scared of dying.

No, I was still scared. But not of dying. Instead I felt anticipation of where I would belong in death. What I was scared of, was watching my future slip away.

I couldn't stand the thought. Everything I'd ever dreamed about could be taken away in a few moments, when time unfroze once again. What would become of my family? Who'd look out for them? Parents shouldn't have to bury their children, it was supposed to be the other way around. Finn and Hazel would grow up without an older sister to guide them through the ups and downs of life. My friends would cry and miss me (or so I hope) and my parents....they would never forgive this woman for taking my life from me, and taking everything I could ever be away from me. She came here to steal, but I bet she never thought she'd be stealing; a life, a future, a daughter, a cousin, a granddaughter, a sister, a niece, a singer, a friend, a first kiss, a first heartbreak, a prom date, a girlfriend, a dance in the rain, a wife, a mother and a grandmother all away from my present family, and a family I could have had.

I was truly filled with nothing but a torturous terror. All of these things I could never have a chance of fulfilling. All of these things would never happen, and my family and friends would grow up and live without me. I couldn't stand it, and my heart started to weep.

But one last fear of mine came to my mind, there was one single thing that forced me into my decision of life or death.

Hazel and Finley could grow up, have all their lives ahead of them, but they might never even know or recall ever having an older sister.

I was so fearful, and sobbing my heart out because of it, that I didn't notice Limbo morph into a room filled with nothing but two doors.

One was simply entitled "Fight?" and the other was entitled "Flight?"

So it was all down to a decision.

I could choose to fight for my life and leave my life to a hospital to guard. I could fight for my life and regain everything this pregnant burglar was about to snatch away from my fingertips. I could fight for my life and find a way to never be forgotten.

Or I could choose flight. I could give up, and give into the fear that was about to blind me. The chances were fear would stick me to the spot and prevent me from moving. And if I couldn't move, I'd be dead before I hit the floor. Even if I chose to fight, what if fear made my life flee from the world? I could give up, and let my death be the way I was going to be immortal; immortal in memory.

I stepped towards the door.
To embrace the fear, or let it get the better of me?

Fear: Fight or Flight?


*I'm so sorry for when the paragraphs REFUSED to work :(*

Papaveris Bellum

~Papaveris Bellum is Latin for War Poppy~

~-~-~-~ <3 ~-~-~-~

The soft yet bitter breeze lifted my long, brown (and grey in places) hair and tied it in knots each time a new gust came about. My left hand was clenched tightly around a poppy, shaking slightly from the fiery anger that was burning from inside my heart; a feeling I knew all too well.

My right hand, however, was brushing over the tallest poppies and grass in the field and each time it did, I felt like I was being welcomed by my lost friends.

We grew the poppies here in Southern France in memory of the lost souls' lives that were taken from them in the most brutal way. It reminded us of No Man's Land, and so we raised these poppies like we raise our children. Three poppies for each soldier were planted here, and we raised them like children because sometimes it felt like we were nourishing the reincarnations of our beautiful boys.

I reached a stop after I had passed the tallest of the plants, and my legs were only tickled by the smaller poppies now.

Here, there lay two small boulders that I had engraved exactly 21 years ago today. They marked the six poppies that represented my best friend, and the love of my life.

The wind suddenly became harsh as I fell to the ground before the boulders. I was a very strange sight to behold, never mind to hear.

The wails and screams that emanated from me deemed me human, yet it was a sound so inhuman that I was scared of myself.

"WHY? Dear God, please tell me how much blood must be shed before James and I can be safe? This has happened too many times....too many! Please! Someone, anyone! Why?"

I was screaming so loud it was a wonder that all of Edenne (my beautiful village) didn't hear me.

I was a shaking mess, and tears were streaking down my face as if they were racing to reach the poppies below me and imbue them with enough water to last their entire lives.

I lay down in the red haze and covered my face with my hands, my fists clenching as I did so. Today was the 1st September 1939, the day that my worst nightmares were going to continue from the days of 1914-1918. My beautiful baby boy was called to war like his father and namesakes before him.

Somehow, my precious James Thomas Davis was going to become a killer, though I dreaded to think that he would be killed first.

When would my torment end? I am a survivor of a world war, and now another one is starting. How many more poppies will I have to plant until I am left with no one?

What have I ever done? Am I condemned to outlive all my beloved boys as I watch them be slaughtered by a savage war that nobody wants to fight?

Yes, I thought, biting back more tears.

I had had enough, and my fists pounded against the ground in pure furore and hatred.

My body was wracked with pain from crying, and I was gasping for breath. All my energy was poured into my anger, and all I wanted was to find a one, peaceful place.

I closed my eyes and watched as my memories fluttered in front of me. It wasn't quite a dream, and far from peaceful, but at least I could see my beautiful boys on this far from peaceful day...

~-~-~-~ 1913 ~-~-~-~

I was 19 years old, and standing before Thomas Fellstoker in my ivory wedding dress; my mother's homemade creation.

I had walked down the aisle on my father's arm just moments before, and although everyone in the chapel had their eyes on me, I couldn't help but stare at Thomas.

He and I had been...acquaintances for a time, yet both my father and his found it fitting to see us in a ceremony that would join our families together. It was pre-arranged, although neither me, Thomas nor my mother were too pleased. My mother was lucky enough to actually love my father, whereas Thomas and I would look forward to our personal space.

But still, there was something in his eyes that told me he would care for me and keep me safe and sound all my life. I supposed he'd cared for me enough to begin to love me.

My father nudged me towards him, with one teary smile. I released my grip on his arm and glided towards Thomas. It was amazing that with a few spoken words, an exchanging of rings, a few hymns and prayers and a legal document later I could become Mrs Anna Fellstoker.

We walked outside and around our village of Leighfield, enjoying each other's company and the warm June sunshine. I wasn't sure I'd ever love him, but I could feel that treasured spark of friendship begin between us.

~-~-~-~ 1914 ~-~-~-~

I'd never truly considered a war starting before this point, but then again, I had never believed there would be a war to consider.

But we had all just heard of the news.

And nobody moved a muscle.

We were at war. England was at war...

~-~-~-~ November 1914 ~-~-~-~

Thomas stood before me once again. He looked so very handsome dressed in his uniform. It was tragically beautiful. But more tragic than anything else. My husband had been called to war, and once called, you can't refuse. You just have to fight.

Some part of me knew this could very well be the last time my eyes scanned over him, the last time I shared the same air as him, the last time I could ever tell him I loved him in person.

Actions speak louder than words, and as he embraced me and prepared to bid me farewell, I held onto him and kissed him with every ounce of love I could give him.

He was my best friend, and I suppose I did love him, and what other chance could I have at giving him his last kiss?

Tears stained his uniform as he stepped away from me, with a few spoken words he nodded grimly, and walked out of the door as I fell to my knees and wept.

I wept, and I wept, and I wept.

***

A few weeks later and I had received one letter from France. Thomas had arrived safely, and enclosed a photograph which pictured him standing by the rest of our village's soldiers. A few more emotions stirred inside, but it strangely put a smile on my face. To know he was safe made me feel like I could take on today; my first day as a school teacher.

With the lack of men in our village, (besides the elderly, doctors and a few policemen) women were taking up the old jobs. I wished to teach my students art, and also a little piece of the french language to help them on their way to greatness.

It was a small class with no more than 14 students in it. There were 8 young boys of around 9-12, and 6 girls ranging from ages 6-11.

I took the class register and noticed the children were rather stiff and almost frightened by me. I remembered my school days, and I knew at once how they felt. However, I aspired to be a kind teacher, for I believed that treating them like the young adults they would become would help both them, and myself.

I told them all about what I would be teaching them, and they all seemed eager to learn. I asked if they would like to read a book so we could draw what we imagined scenes to be like, and they all responded with enthusiasm.

That was one of the rare occasions that made me smile, and smiling was something we could all appreciate during these hard times ahead.

A young girl by the name of Molly had confided to us all that she was feeling quite light-headed while we were drawing the main character. I hadn't thought much of it until the poor girl fainted in her seat. I was so panicked and unprepared, that I told the students in a hurry that I was taking her to the clinic and they were permitted to go to lunch.

Molly stirred in my arms as I was walking down the street, the fresh air was helping her overcome unconsciousness. I was determined to make it to the clinic, so I whispered that she could rest. The local clinic was only 2 doors away, so I requested an appointment with Dr Davis as soon as I stepped in the doors.

Molly was soon lifted out of my arms by the doctor as he took her from me and lifted her onto his examination table. I was taken aback by him once I could actually look at him. He was probably only my age, but I wondered how he could work as a doctor at this age instead of going out to fight for our country.

He murmured under his breath, and moved so swiftly his blonde curls were almost windswept when he stopped; a diagnosis was found.

"Thank you for bringing her here, Miss-"

"-Mrs, actually, Mrs Fellstoker. Call me Anna, I insist!" I blurted out awkwardly at him, nodding for him to continue with a shy smile.

"Yes, well thank you, Anna. Molly will perfectly fine, but I request she gets some rest at home.

"Thank you very much, Dr Davis, and thank you for your time."

He nodded to me with a charming smile, and turned back to Molly so he could definitely prescribe her the correct medicine.

There was something quite mesmerising about the way he moved; swiftly, carefully and slightly confidently. I blushed slightly when he turned around to find me gawking at him, but his pale blue eyes merely sparkled with amusement...or perhaps something more?

I mentally shook my head, I was a married woman; I could not be seen taking an interest in Dr Davis!

He cleared his throat and it appeared I had been in a world of my own once again.

"Miss Parkinson will need to be taken home-" he began.

"No worry, I will take her there, Dr Dav-" this time it was I who was cut off.

"Dear, you may call me James, and erm...I feel in this day and age it would be wise for me to accompany you and Miss Parkinson to her home."

I blushed and smiled in response. Within seconds we were out the clinic doors, and I found myself blushing all the more. There was something about him that had captured my heart in only half an hour, but I knew I'd be haunted with guilt if anything were to happen other than a friendly exchange of "Good morning!" every so often.

We made sure Molly was settled in at home before James requested to escort me back to school. Some part of me was screaming to refuse, and yet I grinned broadly and took his arm once again.

Stopping outside the school gates, I bid him farewell. He seemed slightly devastated about our goodbyes, which I couldn't help but secretly feel happy about. If only I wasn't married anymore, perhaps we could be together.

And I regretted those thoughts more than ever 2 years into the war.

~-~-~-~ February 1916 ~-~-~-~

It was Valentine's Day, and although everybody's spirits were low from stories of yet more killings in France, Leighfield was certainly feeling romantic. In the village convenience store, the countertops were lined with shades of pink and red. It was all very pretty for anybody other than me.

The fateful, remorseful knocking upon my door came in the early morning.

I remember crying my heart out before I had even read the letter. The man delivering it was one I recognised; Charlie Tale. He was back in the village due to injury I had heard. But as it turned out, the battered soldier was here for something else.

I don't even remember him saying anything, I just remember nearly falling into darkness before he caught me and proceeded to comfort me. When I finally got myself together (barely) I opened the letter with shaking hands. Eyes scanning over the page, I found what I had been told immediately.

Thomas was dead.

Those Huns had the nerve to kill my best friend in a terrible and cruel way. He was killed in a gas attack, and for almost the first time I was truly livid.

A war that nobody wanted had taken my Tom, had choked the life out of him and left him on a battlefield. I just couldn't contain my anger and threw my wedding ring to the floor; to be left just like the soldiers had left my husband.

I had nowhere to go, but I stormed out of my house in angry tears. I stood in the park without any defense, and just cried without stopping for almost an entire hour.

Something overcame me and I just writhed in the grass in anger, and pure pain. I reached into the soil and tore out the grass as if they were the non-existant hearts of the enemies that took Tom away from me.

Surely, I had awoken the villagers from their sleep? Not one of them. It was terrible, but they had all learned by now that we should leave our mourners be.

Only one of them came running to me: James Davis.

In two years I'd quickly discovered he could possibly be the one that could make my life complete. I felt more terrible about it than ever right now.

I continued to wail, but he simply lay down next to me and held me until I stopped.

He was wearing his work clothes, but he took his jacket off just so he could keep me warm and make me feel even the slightest bit better.

My heart was burning with pain, but he swept me up once I was drifting off to sleep and carried me to his home.

A voice similar to Tom's seemed to echo in my mind...

Be happy.

Another tear streaked down my cheek as James placed me gently on his bed so I could rest. Something happened in my insane state, and I found myself reaching up to kiss him at long last.

~-~-~-~ May 1918 ~-~-~-~

As this memory fluttered in front of my eyelids, I could pretend for a moment that I was happy again. Happier than I'd ever been in my life.

I was 2 months pregnant with James and I's first child. Today was our first wedding anniversary, and life was perfect in every respect -besides the war that was still going on.

The day had passed in a swirl of dancing, smiling and cuddling on our old, worn sofa.

If 'perfect' ever had a picture underneath it in the dictionary, I was certain that a picture of today would have been there.

As I had seen in life before:

Whenever I am happy, heart-breaking volumes of pain, sadness and anger are sure to follow.

Just over a fortnight later, we walked together through the streets of Leighfield.

We soon stopped in the town centre; where lines and lines of women were glaring at James and I. I hated it, I hated flaunting the fact I was happy with the man I loved when these women had just lost their loved ones.

James felt me shift uncomfortably beside him, and ushered me to continue walking past the groups of women.

Julia Wellson suddenly yelled out from the crowd, causing James and I to fault in our steps.

"How does HE get to stay here!? HE SHOULD BE FIGHTING! We've had to lose people, even SHE has! But even when our army is dwindling, he gets to stay!"

I couldn't help but shout back at her in defense of James.

"James gets to stay here because he is a doctor and we need him! I have lost a man just like we all have, but please don't take James away from me!America has joined us, the war will be over soon! Surely, it will!"

I was sure I was making up excuses and nonsense, but I couldn't let them take James from me.

Some girls were understanding of me, and were happy to at least see one person happy in the village. Others were so blinded by their losses, they were desperate to see everyone else suffer along with them.

James stepped away from me, and I felt the familiar tears well up within me. He said nothing, but walked to where the army was recruiting. With a strangled cry from me, he signed his fate.

I remember fainting just after I reached the park bench, and all the women suddenly realised what they had done and tried to help me and convince the army men to resign James.

~-~-~-~ August 1918 ~-~-~-~

Edenne was a beautiful village, to be in a country where such ugly things were happening.

It was in Southern France, away from most of the fighting. I was labelled an idiot for moving to France when I was 5 months pregnant in the middle of a war. I didn't care.

I had to be where James was.

He was already at war, and thankfully in an area where not much fighting happened. For now he simply acted as a guard for villages, in case the Huns were to attack. There had been rumours of them pillaging villages and violating women; rumours which no one knew if they could believe them or not.

He was located somewhere up North -but even more thankfully for me- he would be able to gradually migrate down to the South and look after the women of Edenne.

Experts had predicted the war would end in a matter of months, and all we would have to do is wait.

~-~-~-~ October 28th 1918 ~-~-~-~

This was the date that would be etched permanently into my mind.

James was near! He would be near Edenne in the evening of today! He'd sent me letters saying that he was now actually in the conflict, and he couldn't remain a village guard anymore. Yet still, he was allowed to fight in Southern France if we had any conflicts. There were rumours that there were plans to attack, and so James was sent here!

I could almost feel him in the distance; and that was enough for me.

He'd joked about sneaking away on a night to come and find me, and it was a joke only because you could be shot for desertion just by doing that. I was terrified he would actually do it, but I knew he wouldn't be that stupid, and as he was respected it would mean he would receive a chance to explain himself. I personally thought that seeing your heavily pregnant wife for the first time in 5 months was a perfectly valid reason!

Never-the-less, I went to bed feeling a bit more light-hearted than usual.

Strangely, I awoke a few hours later at around 3am to a serious of knocks on the door. My heart rate increased intensely, and I placed a hand over my abdomen. Who could be knocking on my door this late at night? Perhaps it was a German...yet wouldn't he have just barged right in?

Keeping my hand on my protruding stomach, I carefully looked out the window and felt my heart stop.

No. No, No, No, No, NO!

My mind flashed back to the last time I saw a similar scene, and I couldn't help but slide down the wall until I reached the floor. I couldn't comprehend this pain. I was never able to deal with it before, and I couldn't deal with it now. I reached for James' jacket and wrapped myself in it.

The leader of the firing squad heard me, and quietly opened the door. It was an aged man with a look of complete sorrow on his face. He noticed my bulging abdomen and looked close to tears himself.

He simply handed me a letter; James' last letter and explained to me the horror of what had happened.

"Mrs Davis, I am a man among men who hate their job in the firing squad. But we are forced into doing it. All this section of the army cares about is winning the war, and getting rid of 'rebels' in the most cruel way. We lose so many men to the Germans every single day, and they bloody make a squad to shoot the rest of them! Your husband was the best soldier and man I have ever had the pleasure of meeting. The general caught him as he tried to sneak away to find you, and didn't even listen to his explanation. He was convinced that such an inspiring person was up to something suspicious. He was convinced that James would be the fall of the army. Ridiculous as it is, I'm afraid the general has become insane from his 4 years of this war. He doesn't listen to reason, and became paranoid. He ordered us to kill your husband. I refused to shoot, like the rest of the squad. The general shot him himself. I am so incredibly sorry for your loss, and I will promise you this war will be won in his honour."

I was numb.

I couldn't feel anything except pain. And anger that was so vivid, I begged God to curse the general. I was so angry and pained that I was so close to ending my baby and I's lives right there. When I could finally speak, I was cut off straight away by the soldier delivering the message.

"I thought you would appreciate knowing that he saved his last breath to whisper your name..."

That just made my tears fall harder. I was in physical agony. I couldn't breathe, and I was so furious I didn't know what I could say, or do. Life just felt different without him, and my hate for this war grew to be what felt like the epitome of hatred.

Instead, I found the energy to open the envelope. Enclosed was a simple note with 3 words on it. Just 3 words, 8 scrawled letters, and one heart-breaking meaning behind it.

I love you.

~-~-~-~ 1st September 1939 ~-~-~-~

My son was now 21 years old. He was being taken from me just like Thomas and James were taken from me.

All my energy was spent due to crying and my throat burned from screaming. I didn't know what else I could do but sleep, and as I did so I was sure I was wrapped in James' blanket once again, being cuddled by him like we did in 1916. I was also imagining feeling my hand in Tom's, and for that split-second before I fell asleep, I was more content than I had been in a while.



Midnight

What do you think of as you fall asleep?
Some people most likely think of the day they've had, what day it will be like tomorrow. Some others probably wonder simply what they will eat for breakfast the next morning. A few lovesick people may spend the time thinking of the subject of their love, imagine how seeing them the next day will make their entire week.

I can't sleep at night now. I used to be able to; I used to be able to fall asleep thinking of the things most regular people do. It's been about 8 days since my cycle of not-sleeping began. I do get to sleep eventually, but not easily at all. I'm tormented with memories and correct myself when I imagine going back to school with my best friends by my side.

Do you still have a childhood toy you can't sleep without?
I still have him, my stuffed bear whom I named Bear (original, yes?) and even though I have fell asleep with him in my arms for years, he can do nothing these nights except offer comfort from when my tears start to fall. Hard.

All I seem to see is darkness right now. It's to be expected, of course, when the only light in your bedroom is the small, blue flashing circle which indicates your laptop is charging. All I can hear is the rain softly -weakly- pattering on my window. The weather outside at night seems to reflect my mood; sad.

The clouds almost can't be bothered to let rain fall. It's so weak that I can barely hear it because my blackout blinds muffle the already quiet sound of it. Yet, it's still the only thing I can hear.

I can't believe how people have impacted my life in such a way it leaves me without sleep...

You may be sat there thinking "What could be so bad about being 13 years old? Sure, you can't sleep, but it happens to people at one point or another."
but yet again I have more questions for you.

Do you fall asleep wondering if your best friends have let their blood fall yet again? Do you wake up every so often expecting them to be dead?
Whenever you can sleep, do you do so by crying your heart out?
Do you thrash around in your sleep tortured by occasional nightmares?
Do you blame yourself everyday for not telling someone or doing something sooner?

I do all those things and more.
But I can admit it. I can admit everything to a small journal that barely passes as a diary. I can spill my heart out on a blank page. I feel better afterwards, and if it's necessary I will cry too. I won't let my blood fall on a cold, clinical bathroom floor like my friends have.

Did you have trouble sleeping eight days ago?
Did you casually check your facebook app on your phone to see if your friends from other time zones had news?
Did you see your best friend's status?
Did you see that she had moved away without saying goodbye?
Did you cry as silently as you could, trying not to wake your parents?
Did you fear if they did wake, you'd have to tell them everything, even the details you couldn't bring yourself to mention when you told them last time?

I remember having to tell my mother. I knew I had to tell someone. The pressure knowing that my best friends were self-harming, and some outrageous rumours were actually true was too much to bear. I started crying at the most random of times, shouting back with tears in my eyes when I was told off lightly for not washing the dishes.

I remember how my voice was breaking before I even started saying anything. Tears welled up in my eyes and I barely managed to whisper: "Mam, can I talk to you?"
Naturally she said yes, and I told her about everything. She hugged me until I stopped crying and soothed my pain.

I just wished my friends could feel the same.

Do you go to bed praying to God -to anyone that will listen- that your friends can be happy?
Did you ever go to school to find one friend wasn't there, and the other had fresh cuts?
Did you ever read a text saying that your best friend tried to hang herself?
For weeks after, did you watch in horror, confusion and pain as your friend got high off a bad reaction between pills and alcohol?
Have you ever had to face the pain that you might walk alone in school as nothing more than a nerd who lost her friends?

When the summer holidays started, did you know that by the 4th or 5th week, you would be waking up in heartbreaking tears facing the reality that you'd probably never see your best friend who moved away ever again?
Did you possibly suspect that while you were crying at 2am, making a poster of all your memories together, your other best friend was succeeding in suicide while worried friends frantically called ambulances as she didn't respond to their messages?

I woke up that day with one best friend in hospital.
The other halfway across the country.

There was a chance that day would go differently. I could have woke up with neither of them in reach.

I can't sleep now because of all this. If this isn't sadness, I don't know what is...

Yet somehow in an impossibly impossible way, I find times to be happy.
I've never had to feel utter depression because of my optimistic ways.

I have no idea how I think in such a way while my friends slit their wrists, but I do.
I see beauty in ordinary things, as I've been told many a time.

Everyone says my town is awful because of weather and whatnot, but I see a village filled with stunning victorian architecture which cooly meets modern design. And when the sun shines, I love the vibrant colours of the leaves, and the way my feet crunch against the Autumn leaves when they have fallen down the library pathway.

I see beauty in my friends.
So much beauty. But they don't see it.
Maybe now life will treat them better, I don't know how one is faring, but the one in hospital is finally getting the help I was so frustrated over not knowing how to get.

Yet still, I can't sleep. I've said many a time that insomnia is terrible. But it's ten times worse thinking of everything that has happened in such a short span of time.
Being 13 is difficult, but yet again it seems impossibly impossible that I wouldn't change a thing.

The good outweighs the bad.
I just have to wait for the good to begin in my friends and I's lives again.
I want to be able to dance in the snow at 10pm with them again, before any of this happened.

Just writing this now and the tears are spilling over my eyelids.
I have insomnia yet again, but the good memories help.

I've just grabbed my iPod, and the only song I can think of right now is Long Live by Taylor Swift.
It just seems to remind me of them so much. The lyrics just....relate to me in such a way.

"Hold on...to spinning around, confetti falls to the ground..."
I'm instantly reminded of dancing in the snow and running through the rain...
"May these memories break our fall."
I'm finding myself remembering it all, but only the good. The good are the best, the ones I live for.
"Will you take a moment? Promise me this; that you'll stand by me forever."
I can just imagine myself standing in front of them, saying these words. I've found myself singing them under my breath while we're spinning in the snow...
"But if God forbid fate should step in, and force us into the goodbyes."
I feel like if I could go back in time, I'd say these words. Tell them I'd love them no matter where life takes them, or even death.
"If you have children someday. When they point to the pictures, please tell 'em my name."
We've stopped in our tracks in the snow. We all agree we'll be best friends forever...
"Tell them how the crowds went wild, tell 'em how I hope they shine."
I'll only ever want the best for them and their children...

Again I'm crying, but I feel like somehow I'll find away to let them know.
The moment I see my hospitalised friend, I'll hug her and never let go. I'll hitch hike my way to Blackpool if that's what it takes to see the other.

At the present time it feels like I'm travelling down a tunnel, with them. We've just passed the darkest part of the tunnel, and now we're going towards the lighter end.

I'll find a way...

Painted Words

Okay so this is assignment 3 for the previously mentioned competition I'm in!

Basically for this assignment we had to find an idiom, and base the plot around it!

The idiom I chose is: "A picture paints a thousand words"

This is similar to "Actions speak louder than words" because it's saying that what is shown in a picture (for example) can say more about you than the description of you in words.

*confusing time over*

Here is the entry!~

"JENNA!" My niece, Rhona, squealed with delight at the sight of me. Despite her small limbs, she ran with such energy towards me that I was nearly bowled over when she leaped into my arms and planted a kiss on my nose.

"Hey there, stranger! My, my! You've grown so much since Christmas, haven't you?" I giggled as her gold curls bounced in a few nods of her little head. She looked at me with her big brown eyes and nudged me in the direction of the kitchen. Walking in, my boots noisily left an echo as they stomped over the ivory tiles. Hanging in the air, there was the delicious aroma of sugary sweet homemade cupcakes; Lisa's famous decorated cakes which she sold in her bakery beneath the apartment she lived in with her husband and Rhona.

My sister (Lisa) peaked her head around the doorway of her pantry and smiled widely to me. She stepped out swiftly, setting down boxes of cupcakes and brownies on the counter top as she made her way towards me. At the last minute she threw her flour-coated apron on her chair and hugged me (and Rhona, as she had not yet let go of me) as tightly as she could.

"Jenna! Thank you so much for coming! You are literally the best sister in the world -heck, you're a lifesaver!"

She squeezed me, and I watched as a few strands of auburn hair fell out of her already loose bun.

"What are sisters for, Lee-Lee? Anyways, it's always great to see you, Dave and Ro!"

Rhona squirmed in my arms as us adults talked about her bedtime, lunchtime and also my sleeping arrangements. I was babysitting Rhona for the entire weekend, so Lisa and Dave could enjoy a few well-earned romantic evenings together. As Rhona jumped down, I could finally turn my attention to distracting her so Lisa could get ready.

"Well then, Ro! While Mommy gets ready for her date with Daddy, let's decide everything you want to do!"

As I was distracting her, Lisa mouthed her thanks and sneaked upstairs to jump in the shower and try a few outfits on. Eyes glinting with excitement, Rhona repeated; "Everything..?" before listing an extravagant series of games and TV shows she did NOT want to miss.

*******

Over the rest of the evening, fun antics ensued. Rhona and I enjoyed a most delightful tea party with "Mr Fluffles" and "Madam Pink"; also known as her toy bunny and pink stuffed animal. Lisa managed to slip away in the midst of it all, joining David in the car outside. She looked stunning in a violet cocktail dress, the perfect companion to Dave and his dashing suit. I managed to get Rhona to sleep at around 8pm, after I read a section of Horrid Henry to her. It was quite peaceful after that, so I sat down with a cup of tea and a chocolate cupcake to watch the evening news.

Nothing extremely interesting caught my eye, and so I found myself conflicted between wanting to eat the cupcake and not wanting to destroy it's prettiness. It was complete with sugary décor and everything! In any case, I half-heartedly bit into the cupcake and threw all worries if ruining it to the wind.

"Damn, this is delicious!" I thought to myself, as the anchor man introduced the latest, most scandalous celebrity news. Right about then my perfectly happy day came crashing down.

Images flashed up of an ex-Disney Channel actress; Nicola Hart. Except, she wasn't sweet-faced and kind-looking like she was famed for.

Her once chocolate-brown coloured hair was now messy, blue and -disgustingly- had vomit clinging to the strands. She was flipping off the paparazzi, showing an engagement ring (looks like somebody got a bit too drunk in Vegas) and newly-created tattoos. There were five more photos of her sticking her tongue down five different boys' throats, and another of her drinking and taking pills (assumed to be ecstasy pills). The presenter explained she was now facing court and her reality TV show: Heart to Hart was being axed.

In disbelief, I dropped the cupcake in my lap and barely heard the keys jingling in the door. Lisa and Dave stumbled in, with news of their great date. Lisa noticed where I was staring though, and soon became enthralled in the scandalous Nicola story.

"Wait, isn't she that girl you used to play with when we were little?" Lisa inquired.

Yes, Nicola was, but I wasn't so sure who my old best friend was anymore. Because of this I replied;

"Um, I don't think so. I can't say I recognise this girl. Not at all..."

After the news had finished, I listened eagerly to see how their date had went. They had visited Los Angeles for a glamorous night out (as they were up to their necks in money) and had met up with Lisa's friends Joanne and Matthew. Apparently it had all gone well, and they spent the evening in the Venice bar enjoying a meal and watching the nightlife the restaurant offered. I excused myself soon later to go to my bedroom, I had a brief thought of what I wanted to do tomorrow; fix Nicola Hart's life.

*********

The next day, I woke up early so I could drive to L.A. before it was time to look after Ro again. Sandhaven wasn't too far from Los Angeles; where Nicola lived. I knew her address from various news articles over the years, so all that was left to do was arrive, buy a magazine and figure out what the hell I was going to say.

I payed for a copy of OK! magazine, with Nicola on the front (naturally) and then hopped straight back into my little Mini Cooper to track down her and her palace of sorts. At long last, I drove all the way up to her doorstep, threatening to run over paparazzi if they didn't get out of my way. I had an appointment, so getting through the gates was no problem at all; just a minor wait which I couldn't avoid.

Without paying attention to her mansion or the splendour inside, I "checked in" with her manager; Claire. She didn't seem too happy to let me into the house, but she agreed someone needed to talk to Nicola, and that someone was going to have to be me. I marched straight up to her room and at first she appeared to be sprawled across her bed asleep. Nevertheless she jumped to life when she saw me.

"Oh my God! Jenna Atkinson! Is it really you?"

Her voice was filled with excitement which was probably as fake as her boobs. She squealed and hugged me, expecting me to hug her back. She smelled strongly of alcohol and smoke, so I moved away from her as soon as I could.

"Yes, it's me. But don't think I'm excited to see you. In fact, I'm not even sure I know you right now."

Her face twisted, and made her look like a toddler who was about to throw a massive tantrum, although she stayed silent.

"Have you even SEEN yourself in this?" I thrust the magazine in her face and watched her mean grey eyes scan over the images and, briefly, the text. By the end, she shrugged.

"So what? I had fun, something you might want to try!"

I shook off her petty insult easily. I was so angry I could barely see straight.

"Who do you think you are? A superstar, maybe? I don't think so. What I see before me is someone who thinks they're God's gift, and can do whatever they want just because they are famous."

Although I was still seething, I calmed down, relieved that I vented some of my feelings.

All our best memories were coming back to me. They seemed so happy, and radiated a warm glow as if they all happened in a perfect sunset. I remembered having tea parties much like mine and Ro's with a pretty young girl who was the nicest and best person you could ever wish to meet. But then we both grew up. She left to act professionally, and I lived a normal, simple yet perfect life in every way.

The girl in the room before me was not my best friend, and probably could never find herself again.

"I can't help that I'm popular, Jenna."

"You know who else was popular? My best friend. Have you seen her lately? We haven't spoken in about 8 years, and I think I've lost her now."

For once, her pale face showed emotion; sadness.

"I'm your best friend, remember?" She whispered softly.

I was hoping right now I could say the perfect thing to finally make her realise she couldn't carry on this way. I wanted her to realise who she really could be; my best friend again.

"Look, as long as you are Nicola Hart The Celebrity, you aren't my best friend forever. Call me when Nicki shows up, that's who my BFF is."

By using my old nickname for her, I think I was getting to her, helping her; making her understand.

"You can't just renounce fame!"

"It's now or never," I thought to myself.

"But you can renounce being a whore, drugs alcohol and even cigarettes if you put your mind to it. Please save your breath. No matter what you say, a picture paints a thousand words. Get help and tell me when you find Nicki, because you aren't Nicki right now. Maybe I'll listen when you are."

Finishing my speech, I flushed red, feeling awkward. I grabbed my bag and rummaged around for my keys, and walked out of her room so I could walk back into my perfect life with Lisa, Rhona and Dave.

Bambi!~

 

Assignment Links!~

Here's the links to my previous assignments (saves making 2 new posts) but for assignment 3 and then on, I'll be posting here!

Assignment 1 ~Malicious Love~

Assignment 2 ~Let Me Sleep Forever~



Hey!~

Hi there!

I created this blog so I could link my writing assignments somewhere other than LiveJournal (there's a limit of journal entries over there :P)

Right now I am currently apart of this writing competition, hopefully I won't get eliminated! xD

Anyways, I think soon there'll be another small writing game I'm apart of, but I'm still waiting for my turn!~

Bambi~