This is my first fanfiction. One-shot and all human, please read and review.
They say a story loses its meaning each time it is told. Then, if that is the case, this story has lost nothing, for it is the first time it has been spoken.
My name is Clarissa Fairchild. Fairchild. One of those awful phrases I despise, two words that come together unnecessarily. Sometimes when telling people my name I drop a syllable, Clarissa Fair, which is ironic as I have never been anything of the sort. Or Clarissa Child, which mockingly suggest innocence and youth which I know nothing about. I'm seventeen years old, or so they tell me. I question my age now because I feel twice it. The past few months I've aged more than a few years. Is that possible? Some that are open minded would say yes, anything is possible, well it's not. Anything is not probable. It is not possible to bring my brother back to life. I tried, when I found him lying face down in his room floor in pool of his own blood. I didn't know what was doing when I pumped up and down on his chest, regardless of the icy cold touch of his skin. Or when my mother clawed at his coffin during his funeral, begging anyone or anything to bring him back to us once again.
It intrigues me how death can shine a light on the character of a person. The lovely stories I heard about my brother, Jonathon, were endless and touching. They were comforting and to be honest; I doubted if they were true. Jon wasn't a nice man, although he and I rarely spoke, but on the occasion we did, it always ended in tears and anger. Jon had a temper that flared easily; he forced his opinions on others and was rather arrogant. He made people feel uncomfortable, inferior, and he enjoyed that. At the death of my brother, my parents turned aggressive and always compared me towards their beloved son that they had unfortunately lost.
Most days I wish I wasn't a disappointment to my mother and father. Most days I wish I wasn't a dull copper penny, worthless and pathetic in comparison to a golden rich pound coin full of happiness and life. How much I would love to travel like a pound coin. A pound is free to travel to safety. It can avoid the sound of gunfire, and leave the harsh reality of death lurking in every street. Of course a pound coin can be serious as well. It can disguise itself as power, or property, and there is nothing more serious when you are a young girl who has neither. I knew if my parents had to make a decision over who would live, me or Jon, I know for a fact that the odds would be against me.
Ever since Jonathon died my parents deemed me as nothing, never to be anything of importance like my brother. I was no longer Clarissa Fairchild, daughter to the great Valentine and Jocelyn Fairchild, known for their beauty and sharp wit. I lost my brother. He lost his tomorrows and I lost all the tomorrows with him. I was nothing, never to be anything. Anymore.
Tell me what you think. Please review!