I was born on the outskirts of Columbus, Ohio in 1892. My content life brought me to high spirits, to be blissful and accept new challenges. One of those included becoming a schoolteacher. To be someone who knows all the material thoroughly and is able to explain it to their students clearly. To be patient and understand that everyone learns at different rates and take account for this.
I was sixteen, now, and it was a radiant, luminous day outside in Wisconsin with no clouds in sight. Like every other adolescent out there, I wanted to be boisterous, and, for my amusement, I took upon the idea to go for a walk. It's not like we had any game consoles or electronic devices to play with, or anything better to do. My mother was downstairs, preparing dinner and my father was at work. Therefore, I walked downstairs and opened the door. "Mom, I'm going outside; be back later for dinner." My mom smiled, probably delighted by the fact that I wanted to go get some fresh air.
"Sure, have fun," she replied. I shoved my hands in my pocket and slammed the door. Then I casually paced towards the sidewalk. People were outside, scattering around the markets and some homeless people were holding up signs by the nearest commissary. I shuffled around in all my pockets, and pulled out a lifeless dollar. It wouldn't hurt to help someone, now would it? So I clutched it and placed it in an elderly woman's crinkled hand.
She gave her best, toothless grin and added, "Thank you sweetie. God bless!" I tucked my lengthy, brown hair with hints of caramel behind my ear and nodded. Then I hurriedly gaited back to the grass and paced for a few minutes. I neared a dirt path with scattered, contemporary trees. As I glanced up, in the distance I saw a gargantuan tree with foliage and dew on it.
Then I assumed that I really, never had climbed a tree before. Thinking it would be a fun confrontation to experience; I took graceful, bold steps towards the monster and stopped at the stump to look up. The only way to climb it was to, first; get something to stand on to exceed the stump's height. Then I would have to grip onto the thickest and nearest branch and swing myself onto the tree and make myself upwards.
I re-collected all of this in my head and glanced around for something to stand on. The other trees were hints because they had remains around the ground. I beamed and walked towards a small tree and luckily enough, carried a big round log back to my challenge. Then I took a deep breath and stepped on it, scooting as possible farther I could go. I tightened my hands around the neck of the wooden branch and tried to get a comfortable grip. Then, I lifted my body with all my strength and quickly grabbed higher onto another branch. It took a few tries but my persistence gave me hope.
When I finally got on, I sat down and breathed a sigh of relief. I wasn't even far yet and the process had already given me scratches and a tiny gash on my left hand! I looked up and decided to go farther, possibly trying to reach the top of the tree and blabber to my parents about it. The branches and climbing strategy could take some getting used to.
Then, I bit my lip and pulled myself onto another branch. After a few minutes, I was nearing the top of the tree with more scratches, three deep wounds, and tiny gashes on the tips of my fingers. If I went any further, my parents would question my scars too much. The thought piled on me every time I took another swing; I felt like something was going to approach me, but I never looked down.
A gush of the horizontally moving wind flew by me as I decided it was time to get down and make it to supper on time. Not that I really cared about being late because it wasn't that noticeable, but more because I could use a descent meal. For the first time, I looked down. An adrenaline rush tickled through my body and I instantly remembered my fear for heights as I hesitantly looked up.
Why did I do this? Better yet, how would I get down? The questions flickered through my head repeatedly and I paused to try to answer them, but there was just nothing. The cunning moments left my system and my body replenished with fear. I slowly stood up and tightly held onto the top branch and closed my eyes. Then I opened them, held tighter, and made a careful step down.
But my leg didn't grasp onto the branch. It slipped away from it and I fell, landing on my leg.
I lamented and gasped, trying to catch my breath. My leg was injured deeply with bloody gashes and peeled skin. Out of nowhere a man came. His skin was pale white and he had golden brown eyes with blotchy, blond hair. Had to be about 6'2…
"Who are you?" I managed to choke out, although I didn't care who he was; more of why he was here. He half-smiled, more interested in my broken leg, and came closer, assuring me everything was going to be alright with a tone I would miss. "My name is Carlisle and I am a doctor." His charming features were so questionable, I wished I wasn't 16.
Carlisle picked me up and carried me back the hospital in his arms. He treated my broken leg and we talked for a while. I invited him to dinner, but he protested, saying he was busy with work.
A few days later, I saw him again. He told me he was moving and I would never see him again. But I never forgot him…Years later, all of my friends were already married, but I was all alone. Then, I met Charles Evenson. He was a man with good prospects. Soon enough, Charles asked for my hand in marriage. I was stunned, so I said "Yes!"
Little did I know, that was the worst mistake in my life.
Charles was a charmer, in public. Shortly after I married him, he started to abuse me. He would insult me and hit me daily even if I wanted to say my opinion on things or give an idea. I wanted to make a withdrawal, if I could. A week after out anniversary, I discovered that I was pregnant. I knew damn right I couldn't have a child living with Charles…especially a girl. Soon as I figured that out, I wanted to break free. Find somewhere incommensurable and impervious for us to go. I had no other choice…so I ran away. I stayed with my second cousin and taught school.
In 1921 my perfect baby boy was born. My little prince. I was told he looked more like me. "I love you so much," I flattered one day. He stared at me with his chocolate eyes, light tone, tiny nose, long eyelashes, and blond hair. Then he giggled, unsure, and I picked him up and gave him a peck on his cheek with such adulation. A few days later, my baby boy died unexpectedly of a lung infection.
I was painfully heartbroken and had nothing left. Nothing to keep me on this Earth because he was all that mattered. Before, I was so sure he was going to stay with me, protect me, and look after his Mother. Now, I had nothing. I sat on the couch and made up my mind a few hours later.
I took my dead son in my arms and walked to a cliff near where I lived. Then I sat Matthew on the ground and kissed his forehead. I bit my lip, in tears, and swallowed hard. To endeavor the idea of trying to…descry to see my son. In Heaven… I took a deep breath, with sorrow more than fear, and stepped closer to the cliff.
Then, I flung myself off the side of the cliff.
My mind went completely atramentous and I couldn't remember anything. Then, I felt fire. I knew I was being rejected from Heaven…and Matthew. When I awoke, the doctor, Carlisle, faced me. He creased his eyebrows. It was nice to see him, it had been years. Something was wrong with me, I knew it. Carlisle explained to me who I was…a vampire…As it turns out, I wasn't dead, but reborn.
As vampires, we fell in love. He had a son, named Edward. I became his mother of sorts and we all fell in love. I felt complete and happy to be living with a companion. Years later, my family came to full circle. Rosalie and Emmett, Alice and Jasper, Bella and Edward.
And I was blissfully and perfectly happy.
