Today I'm sharing something with you all that means a lot to me. I wrote a short story when I was sixteen for my English coursework, a story that I was so incredibly proud of as it felt so painfully raw and real, even though it was completely fictional to me.
I think it's the best writing I'd ever done, and the fact that I wrote it a sixteen, when I knew nothing of the world really, gives it that special place in my heart.
I hadn't been back to the story for years until today.
After watching The Longest Ride movie by Nicholas Sparks, it triggered something in me. I got so emotional after watching it and for some reason, it inspired me to make the decision of turning that short story in a full novel.
So today, I've spent the last hour creating the very first chapter for the book, and I would like your feedback.
I'm asking you to read this and give me any comments you can, good or bad, and I'd like to know if it makes you want to read more, and intrigued enough to want to find out what happened in the past to these characters to get them to where the book begins.
The story was originally called Broken Memories, but I'm not happy with this title, so it's a work in progress!
So here it is. Please read. Please share. Please give me your feedback, it would really mean a lot.
Broken Memories
The air was crisp and I could
feel the wind rushing up my shirt as I stood there, toes curled over the edge.
I closed my eyes and thought
about her, that smile, those dimples. That long blonde hair that shimmered in
the sunlight. Those eyes that sparkled with a beauty I had never seen before.
A single tear fell down my
left cheek, that salty taste I knew all too well in recent months.
Never in my life had I felt
such a crushing pain before until that night, where my entire world collapsed in
a matter of minutes.
Not only did we lose
something we didn't even really have, but that was also the day I lost her.
That night she lost her
sparkle. I never saw those beautiful dimples again, she just couldn't bear to
smile. That twinkle in her eyes had turned into a mist; they were always
brimming with tears.
Just three months ago we
were filled with joy and laughter, falling all over each other on the beach,
snuggled up in a blanket watching the sunset and planning out our future. The
house, the wedding, the children.
Instead, I was here, on top
of the largest building in our small town, feet on the edge, ready to end my
life.
I breathed deeply as I
braced myself, ready to take the plunge. This is what I had to do. Nothing else
in the world mattered to me anymore. I had lost everything; she was my everything.
There was nothing that could
ease my pain, believe me I've tried. I turned to whiskey in the beginning,
something I'd had in my life since I was seven years old thanks to my old man.
After Mum died, whiskey became his life.
So day after day and night
after night, I drank. The burning sensation as the whiskey fell down my throat
was just a reminder to me that I was numb to everything else.
I'd even been to see a
doctor; my best pal Nate insisted I go as he couldn't deal with my explosive
behaviour any longer, 'Mate, you've got a problem. You're spiralling and you
need help. I hate seeing you like this'. He'd said this one night after I'd
almost ended up in a prison cell thanks to some dickhead that made a joke
whilst in our local pub about an at-home abortion technique he would use on his
girlfriend if she got pregnant.
The doctor prescribed me
some pills and told me to see a therapist; as if I really needed to keep
talking about my past when it hurt so fucking much to even think about it.
Talking about what had happened was the last thing I wanted to do.
I paused, thinking I'd heard
footsteps for a moment. So I remained silent, thinking about her, wondering if
somehow she knew I was here.
After a minute or two, I
realised that I must have imagined it. There's no way she could know where I
was, she didn't even know I was back in town.
I slowly lifted my right
foot from the ground; nothing else to stop me from ending this torment.
