Wednesday, February 1, 2012

- Chapter 1 - Part FOUR.

   This is the fourth and last part of the first chapter. I can't believe I have finished editing the first chapter. This needs to be celebrated somehow. Or, whatever. Who cares. Anyways, here is the previous part, if you haven't read it yet. Below is the last part. Enjoy!

            Little did I know of what that would turn into. The kid inside me is dead, I know it because I've killed her. I've murdered her and left her alone. The body is soon going to die, and the mind is already filled with thoughts and plans and ideas, all swarming through my brain like millions of flies – "Get out! Get out!" – So why should I be alive? Why should I live a life that is led by strife and madness? Life is a nuisance..
            That's when my mind gave birth to my new self: Chanelle. It took me long enough to come up with this name. It is noble, or so I believe, and makes me think of a pale girl with long, dark hair, who has never seen the sunlight. This name would give anyone the obviously wrong idea that the girl seems to strong to be weak, too happy to be suicidal, to ordinary to be mad.. Too okay to be anything wrong with her.
            One night I was talking to a girl. She was my best friend at the time, I could swear on heaven that she would be my best friend forever. So, on that night, I said to her:
            "I feel as if the old me has died. The kid inside me died."
            "You killed her," she said. "You grew up."
            Wrong. Yes, I did grow up, but that doesn't turn you into a totally different person. Or maybe it does, never mind. But I know I'm not who I used to be anymore, and I miss that person. I miss the innocent kid who believed in Santa, who would pray every night, who would say "I love you, Mum," and so, so many other sides of my childhood.. though the black and cold memories will never be forgotten. Still, I will miss them.
            In my opinion, the kid died too soon. I have murdered her too soon, they have murdered her too soon. They've murdered me. She was so beautiful, so innocent. She was laughing, she had friends, everyone loved her. They said she was a happy kid, a smart kid, and they had reasons to believe that. I mean, why would a child not be happy? There are no reasons for a child to be sad, right? Children do not think... feel... or so they say. As for being smart, all (sane) parents call their kids "smart, beautiful, intelligent," because they want something, someone to be proud of. They need to have something to brag about, as if said kids belonged to them. As if we're their properties...
            Her hair was gorgeous, so were the eyes, which were a shade of nut-brown, an undefined color between brown and caramel. They always looked like they were laughing, in their own, subtle way. And the body was not thin, not chubby (until the age of eight), not too tall and not too short (again, until she grew up). She was a sweet kid. She was smart, she loved learning new things, because this is what little kids do. They are curious and want to now everything, hoping that, someday, they will be "someone." And guess who taught them that? No need to mention it, you can answer it for yourself.
            She loved her parents and her brother and her whole family. She would hug them and love them, despite them yelling and shouting and her. Despite them telling her that she was not good enough, never good enough. Despite everything they put her through, crying, strangling, sadness and later, cutting and all the "extra features." She showed them she cared. She would not disappoint them, she was almost perfect. They always praised her and were proud of her, and that's why all the kids wanted to be like her. She didn't know anything of life, but that's why she was happy. There was nothing to hurt her, nothing to make her cry. Or that's what she thought, at least. Regardless of the pain and the tears, she was happy, she had no clue about the cruelty of the people surrounding her. And even more, she had a future. She was fine and that could be seen. If you cared, you could have seen her. She had hope in her eyes. Warmth in her smile. Love in her heart. But most importantly, she was alive.

1 comment:

  1. Wow, You are really an amazing writer! I've just started following your blog, but will certainly keep reading. Stay strong!