GET IT YOUNG JUSTICE :D
I'm so bored without it sadface. I'm only taking 12 credit hours this semester in correge so I'm home most of the time. For those who don't know what credit hours are: It's the number of hours I'm in class total each week. Those of you in gradeschool: This is like going to school Monday and half of Tuesday and being done for the week :P)
Anyways, this was an assignment for my Creative Writing I class. We're working on dialogue, so the assignment was to write a monologue between a character and someone else who couldn't respond due to coma, death…etc.
(Any of you who have read my other stories probably know I fangirled over comas hahaha)
I didn't know how to begin as I stood in front of the stones my foster father had paid for. The usual sweatshirt and jeans sheltered me from the gentle breeze. Any time I came here, it seemed so unrealistic, like pretend. But I hadn't been to see them in over a year and figured I should be there to see them on the 5th anniversary of their deaths.
"It's been a while," I muttered, bending down to brush the dead leaves away from the stones. "Not that you've noticed."
I sat down in between the graves and quickly glanced around. I was alone; the threat of rain lingering above in the charcoal sky shooed away any sensible person. I was anything but. The lack of my sunglasses, which were unneeded in the current situation, made me nervous. Not that I had a reason to be afraid.
The thought crossed my mind so suddenly that I felt the urge to confess the last few years of my life to these lifeless slabs of rock bearing the names of the only family I had.
"I can't decide," I started, "if you would approve or disapprove. If you would be proud or disappointed. I'm never in bed at a decent hour. I'm always scratched and bruised. I get into a lot of fights." Even though they couldn't hear me, I shifted uncomfortably.
"But I'm not doing anything bad," I mumbled quickly. "My foster father is paying for me to go to a private school. And even though I fall asleep sometimes, I'm still keeping my grades up."
A silence fell as I thought of something else to say. "I'm thirteen, now." Though, if they were listening, they probably knew how old their son was. "I have some awesome friends. I wish you could've…" Another silence fell, this one more awkward as I struggled with the words in my throat.
"I miss you guys," I whispered. "I miss you a lot. The man who destroyed our family was caught." I fidgeted with the hem of my jeans. "I wanted to kill him. For a long time. I still do, kind of."
I placed my head in my hands, suddenly ashamed, but unable to stop. "I wanted to hurt him like he hurt you. I wanted him to know what it feels like. I wanted him to suffer. Why should he get to live? Why…"
I pushed my hands through my hair and took a deep breath, but left my gaze on my lap. "But when it came down to it, I couldn't do anything. I couldn't hurt him at all." A drop of rain fell onto the grass in front of me. It was like a flood gate had been opened and I had no choice but to let it all out. "I just…sometimes I wish I could go back to the way things were. Sometimes I want a normal childhood. No death, no pain, no fighting. But…"
I took a deep shaky breath and gladly welcomed the wave of guilt that usually came after these thoughts. "But then I think of everything he's done for me—taking me into his home, making me his family, supporting me—and I feel like I wouldn't change the way things ended up at all. I have great friends, a cool after school job, and I have my new dad."
I reached up and traced the engraved letters of my father's grave stone. "He's not a replacement for you guys. I know that. What I want to know is, why us? Why our family?" But I knew my questions would remain unanswered.
Because I was really just talking to myself, wasting my breath.
I hear a car pull to a stop on the road behind me, but I didn't move. I just sat there trying to conjure up any other things that I felt needed to be said then. Nothing came to my mind immediately.
"Richard." The soft voice of my foster father standing behind me didn't startle me in the least. He sounded odd, concerned almost. I wasn't crying this time—not like the few tears that had accidentally escaped two years before.
I thought of the day of the funeral. I thought of the sadness that I had felt as an orphaned 8-year-old. Even more than that, though, I thought of that tiny spark of happiness when he introduced himself to me and asked me to live with him. That spark of happiness led me to this full-fledged fire. I thought of my friends and everyone I'd met since then. And I wouldn't change a single moment.
I stood up and turned to face my father. "Waiting on you now," I grinned, walking past him towards the car. I heard him chuckle lowly before he followed.
So sorry if it's out of character. Couldn't let my teacher know it's fanfiction ;P
