Journal entry #100

Today wasn't much different from the past two months. I've been finding my way on nuts, berries, and the few wild animals I find. I hope someday someone will find me on this forsaken island. If starvation or thirst won't kill me, maybe loneliness will. As far I as I know, I'm the only survivor of the shipwreck. The only person to have survived the thrashing ocean waters.

Of all the days I wrote on page after page in a couple journals, I don't know why I decided today I would share some of the story of the nightmare I will never forget. A box of empty journals, pens, pencils, and books washed ashore with me. The journals were dry, well most of them. I let the others dry for days, in the baking sand and scorching sun. The books.. well, they didn't really survive the salty waters. The pages were soggy, words bled everywhere. Useless. I let them dry and ripped pages, using them for the fire. One other box washed ashore, with some salvageable food. Barely enough to last me the first couple days. After the first day, of hunting the island's beach, I decided to make camp. I gathered branches, sticks, leaves, grass, anything –– and made a tent. A shelter to keep me safe. In the brush there are berries and nuts. Sometimes I find a lizard, frog, or small animal. Then I bake it over my fire. I eat, write, sleep, hunt, and repeat. Day after day, night after night. Week after week and month after month. It's the same. The same grueling days, the same loneliness, boredom, and heat.

Perhaps, because I'm bored. No one to talk to, no one to look at. Just the ocean, the sky, and the never-ending sun. If I hadn't built a little covered area under the trees, I might have shriveled into a raisin by now. Thankfully, I found a fresh spring of cold water, saving myself from dehydration or salt-water. This island is full of new discoveries. Yet, I still don't know what life is beyond the few chirping birds and waving trees. Should I look for more life? What if there are cannibals, ready to devour me? What if there are wild beasts, ready to take me down? The fear I allowed to build inside my mind, keeps me from going on into the depths of this unknown island.

Loneliness. Boredom. Probably one of the things I dreaded most in life. Really, you don't know what it's like to be lonely, until you've experienced it. All I can think of to keep myself company, is making up small stories. Or.. telling my life stories in these journals. Why should I? Maybe it'd be better to bury myself in the sand and lay there, dying. No one will come after me. I'm no princess nor queen, why should anyone look for me? I'm just a lowly girl, from a poor family. Her father decided one day, he could gather enough money to let her explore the world. No one knows what happened. No one cares. No one.

Journal entry #101

This is the second entry for today. My fire is built, the flames licking the air. In the hottest of the day, I sit in the shade and write, bored. Sometimes I sleep. In the dimming evening light, I write. The moon shines so brightly some nights, I'm able to write thoughts at any time.

What if someone finds these journals? Maybe I could bury them. In the hope, someone will come after me. If I'm long gone, by either starvation, loneliness, or whatever creatures live past this beach; they'll find this. At least they might find out who I am. Maybe shed some light on my family.. share the news with them. Perhaps, I should stop wishing. This island is in the middle of the ocean. If help were to arrive, it could take months –– who am I kidding? It's been months already. Maybe it'll take years. Hopefully, I'll be alive; maybe thin and scraggly, but alive when help finally arrives for me.

As I stare at the journal and the fire glimmers, the screams of everyone on the ship haunt me. I have nightmares at least once a week. Maybe more. I don't even know what day it is. I lost track ages ago. I only hope the other passengers found help, if any survived. It would have been better to die in the ocean's waves, or receive help while half-alive, then have to live on an island. Where there is no life and each passing day is the same. Maybe one day, I'll build a raft, and float out of here. Then again, maybe it's just my mental state, wishing such things. I fear I won't survive on the food that's here. I already got sick from some of the foreign berries. Maybe I should find new ones... better looking ones.

There's something that howls in the night, I always crouch closer to the fire, afraid to leave it. When it's light, I gather as much wood as possible. The darkness is full of unknown creatures. I'd rather stay close to something I can feel safe. The darkness haunts me, it tries to smother the light I have left. The light I try so hard to keep alive. It's dying, slowly, but it is.

There's something creeping close by, I can feel it. A twig just snapped. It would be a shame to stop writing now. Perhaps... wait! There's a shadow! It's... a... human..? No! Wait! It's gone. Phew! That was close. I'll write faster, in case this.. this human or creature decides to take me.

Whoever finds these journals, if anyone does.. please give my love to my mother and father. I regret not being able to tell them how much I cared about them. I was a foolish girl, desperate for adventure. Where did that get me? Lost. Lost in the middle of an island, where loneliness will be my death.

Dear Love,

Everytime I see you, my heart races, my palms grow sweaty. I believe love’s to blame for these feelings I get. I admit that I do miss you; please come visit soon. I wish you could stay now, but I know your duty is calling. Please, be safe, my love, I couldn’t imagine the world without you. It’d be a dark, dreary place. So please, stay safe; I need you to come back to me.

I suppose that I wrote to tell you.. I can’t help falling in love with you –– with your laugh, your smile, and your character. But I also write, because I miss and love you.

I remember you promised to take me somewhere nice. So, don’t forget. I do long to hear your soft chuckle; it rings in my mind as I write.

If I could, I would give you a hug; but heartfelt words are the best I can do over a distance. But please remember, I am yours and I will wait for you. My brother promised to keep all the traveling men away from me, until you return.

I miss you much, but I love you more.

With love and forever yours,

Eleanor

Prompt: You’re in a waiting room at a clinic that promises to cure writer’s block.

My hands wrung together nervously. I glanced around the waiting room, observing a few of the other’s seated around me. I leaned back in the chair, then crossed my legs, then uncrossed them. Nervous energy coursed through my veins, pumping through me with every heartbeat.

I stood, then smoothed my skirt. A woman sat behind the receptionist desk of the office. Her glasses sat on her nose and her penciled brown eyebrows furrowed together.

Her fingers flew over a keyboard as she stared at a computer screen. I walked over. “Excuse me?” I asked.

She looked at me over her glasses, her gray eyes silently scolded me for interrupting her work. “Yes, miss?”

“Ho-“I swallowed a lump.” How long until I get called in?”

The woman whipped off her glasses. “Have a seat, and be patient.” She replied coldly.

I nodded nervously and took a seat again.

Someone opened a door and popped his head out. “Mrs. Greenfir?” He called.

An older woman stood and walked over to the door. “That’s me.” She smiled. “I heard you can help with writer’s problems?” She asked before following him.

The man’s voice came through, slightly muffled by the closing door. “That’s right. You’ll be fresh with ideas and words will be flowing in no time... although...”

I strained to hear more, but I couldn’t make out the rest of what he said. I sat nervously waiting, a young man stared at me from where he sat. “You here for getting help with writer’s problems?” He asked.

I nodded slightly. “Writer’s block.” I paused a moment. “You?”

He sighed and leaned back in his chair. “I seem to have way too many ideas and I don’t know where to start..”

“Oh.” I swallowed hard.

The door opened again. “Miss Gold?” A soft, female voice called.

I stood quickly and walked over to the lady. “Yes.”

“Right this way, Miss.” The nurse led me to a room and had me sit on a chair. “What symptoms have you been experiencing?” She grabbed a clipboard and peered at me.

“Uhm.. Well...” I hesitated.

“Go on.” She coaxed.

“Mostly writer’s block,” I started. “I haven’t been able to get ideas down.. I just haven’t had inspiration to write.” I sighed.

“I see.” She scribbled furiously on a paper. “The doctor will be right in.” She glided out the door.

I sat in the chair, nervous. Who knows what the doctor might say? Would he give me some sort of medication? A list of prompts? A lump formed in my throat; or would he tell me to stop trying and give up writing?

The doctor slipped into the room. His white gown swooshed as he shut the door. He glanced at me with his green eyes studied me for a brief moment. “Miss Gold?” He asked.

“Yes, sir.” I replied.

“Well, seems you need some help, correct?” His eyes locked onto mine.

“Yes.” I swallowed hard. “Do-do you have a cure..?” I nervously asked.

The doctor threw his head back and laughed. “A cure?” He laughed as though I was crazy. His eyes grew serious along with his voice. “I do have a so-called cure, which may or may not help you.”

“Please, share it with me.” Hope welled inside my chest.

He set the his clipboard down and grabbed a chair. He sat himself down and turned to face me. “How often do you write? Do you overwork yourself?”

I could feel my face turn red. “I try to write everyday, multiple times a day,” I paused “Overwork myself..? Uhm, I guess occasionally I do.”

The doctor chuckled. “There’s the problem. You work too hard and try too hard to write.” He touched my knee. “Stop trying so hard.” He leaned back in the chair.

“So.. you’re saying I should stop writing?” My voice grew harsh. “That’s your cure?”

He laughed again, causing shivers to tingle up and down my spine. “I didn’t say to stop. Although..” His voice trailed off.

“Doctor Kinston, I mean no disrespect, but you just told me to stop trying.” I could feel my emotions getting the best of me. “What else could that mean, except to stop?”

The doctor stood and smoothed out his coat. “Miss Gold, the cure is up to you.”

“Pardon me?” I stood abruptly. “I came here to get a cure, and you are telling me that the cure depends on me?”

A laugh erupted from his throat once again; how I wished he’d stop doing that. “That’s right.” He motioned to the door with his hand. “I have other patients to get to. Are we done here?”

I grew frustrated. “What do you mean?”

His eyes turned to me and shone like gems. “I mean, you decide what to do. You decide to write, that is the cure. You decide to take a break, that is the cure. And so on.” He cleared his throat and grabbed the doorknob. “You decide if you want to help yourself by finding ideas, organizing ideas, and so on.”

“But-” I started.

“Good day, Miss Gold.” He swept out the door.

I stormed out of the room and into the waiting room. “It’s a hoax!” I screamed. “There is no cure!”

The receptionist glared at me. “Miss, I demand you quiet your voice!”

I turned to her, fury growing inside of me. “The doctor said there is no cure!” I screeched at her.

She yanked off her classes. “And he is correct.” Her hand ripped a sheet of paper off a stack and she shoved it towards me. "Sign here," Her long finger pointed at a line.

I huffed and grabbed a pen, angrily scribbling my signature. "Now, anything else I can help you with?" She asked.

"Why isn't there a cure?" I asked, my fury slowly subsided.

"Because, there is no cure for writer's block," She said the words that I had always feared most. "You have to overcome it. And that," Her finger pointed at my chest. "Is up to you, my dear." Her eyes narrowed. "Meaning, the cure, is up to you."

I sighed and shook my head as I left the building. I supposed the doctor was right, the cure was up to me.

The frigid wind whipped the snow into my face. I trudged through the knee deep snow, trying to find shelter. A shed, a lean-to, anything. My boots had filled with snow, wetting my feet. My pants were covered in snow, from top to bottom. The rest of me must have looked like a snow-woman.

I gasped for breath, the biting wind seemed to suck all the air away from me. I finally stopped, my fingers were numb with cold. I brought them up to my mouth and blew, trying to warm them.

I squinted searching for a light or sheltered area. Something yellow glimmered faintly in the distance. “A-A light?” I gasped.

New energy coursed through my veins, I started running towards the light. It seemed further with every step I took, yet I pressed on. After what seemed like an hour I reached the light. A small cabin stood bravely in the swirling snowstorm.

I felt along the strong, log wall and found my way to the door. I brought my cold, numb hands to the door and pounded with all my strength. “Open up!” I called. “Please!” I hit the door harder. “Please.” I rasped.

The door opened and I fell into the cabin. Snow came falling inside with me. A tall figure stood over me, my vision blurred as I tried to take in my surroundings. “Well, well, look what the storm blew in.” A male voice chuckled.

Strong arms pulled me out of the entry and further into the cabin. The door shut with a hard smack and I laid panting on the floor. My vision was still blurry and dark spots danced in every direction.

I glanced around trying to take in my surroundings. Strong, yet gentle hands pressed me back down. I blinked, trying to study the stranger in front of me, but the room dizzied around and everything slipped into a black hole.

* * *

Warmth seeped into my bones. A blanket was wrapped around my shoulders. “Where am I?” I murmured, my eyes flickered open.

“In my cabin.” Someone chuckled.

I looked at who the voice came from. A middle-aged man sat across from me. “Who are you?” I asked.

“More like, who are you?” He stood and crossed his arms. “You’re the one who came here, invading my peaceful home.”

“I-I’m sorry..” I stammered, before realizing he was being sarcastic. I pulled the blanket closer and blushed.

“Here.” He handed me a mug.

I took it and slowly drank the warm hot cocoa. It felt warm and soothing as it slipped down my throat. “What’s your name?” I asked, after placing the mug down.

“Adriel.” He replied. “You must be Esmerelda, right?

“Yeah... I’m Esmerelda..” I slowly answered. Something about Adriel made me slightly uncomfortable. Perhaps it was his piercing green eyes that studied my every move.

“Well, welcome to my lovely cabin, Esmerelda.” He smirked.

I slowly stood. “Thanks..” My heart jumped when I realized what made me uncomfortable. It was his familiarity with me; his way of talking as if he knew me my whole life.

I stumbled backwards, as the realization hit me. “Y-you a-already know me.” I stammered.

A small smile crept across his lips. “I make sure I know everyone who passes by my cabin.” He leaned back. “Unfortunately, no one really stays. You’re my first real house guest.”

A feeling of dread gripped my heart. “What do you want with me?”

He leaned forward, his eyes stared right into mine, freezing my next move. “I have no intention of harming you in any way nor touching you. I will not do anything to you,” He promised, then continued, “Yet, my reason for having you stay here, is for me to know, and you to find out.” His words snapped like the crackling fire.

Prompt: “Write a description of Frankenstein as if you were writing a love story.”

I thought this could be humorous and decided to give it a shot XD Also thanks to my great friend GLD for for sharing this prompt with me!

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I saw a shadow move by a riverbank, the setting sun reflected the rippling water. The shadow was tall and seemed to take on a male form. It hid behind a large oak tree and peeked around, shyly studying me.

I walked over, curious to find who or what was hiding. As I crept over, the figure stepped out. He was a tall creature, not quite human, but handsome looking in the sunlight. His green-ish skin took on a glowing hue from the sun, his yellow eyes studied me. A mat, of what seemed to be hair, sat up top his uniquely shaped face. He opened his mouth, to reveal a set of white, straight teeth that shone in the golden lighting.“Ooh!” I giggled as he reached his green, largely shaped hand towards me. He uttered a few noises.

“I,” I patted my chest, excitment growing inside of me. “Am Angela.” The huge beast uttered more noises, a smile grew on his face. “An-ge-la.” I pronounced slowly.

He opened his mouth and tried to repeat the word I spoke. “Aaaanaaalaaa.” He deeply moaned.

I laughed softly. “Close, An-ge-la.” I tried again.

His brow furrowed and he uttered more sounds. “Aaaanaalaa.” He repeated.

I sighed, “That’s good enough.” His hand patted my golden curls. “Do you have a name?” I asked, not quite expecting an answer.

He pounded his chest with a hand and uttered a long string of sounds. I tilted my head. “Maybe.. I’ll call you Trenton.” I looked into his yellow eyes.

He nodded excitedly in agreement. “Tttteeeenonn” He moaned.

I laughed again. “Good!” I grabbed his hand. “Come on! Let me bring you home.” I smiled.

I led Trenton through the forest back onto the road and we walked into town. He uttered multiple, guttural noises as we walked by houses. Several mothers stared in shock as I walked hand in hand with my new found friend. Children hid behind their mother’s skirts. Men tipped their hats at me, then their jaws dropped in surprise at the sight of Trenton.

I walked him past all the stares and whispers. Trenton’s hand raised and he pointed at a group of young woman gathered together. Their gossiping whispers carried through the breeze and met my ears. “A.. monster?” One gasped.

“Some alien.” Another hissed, her eyes boring into my soul.

We walked briskly by, I ignored all the onlookers. Finally, we arrived to my home. I opened the gate and walked up to the door. Trenton looked at me with his yellow eyes, another smile grew on his face as I opened the door.

“I’m home!” I called through our home.

Trenton ducked through the doorway, and stumbled into our kitchen. He stood up straight, his coal black hair touching the ceiling.

My mother walked in, “Angela where have you-” A scream erupted from her throat. The plate in her hand fell and smashed on our tiled floor. “WHAT IS THAT?” She screamed, cowering by the stove. Her hand grabbed a pan and she raised it as a shield.

″His name is Trenton.” I smiled proudly. “He’s my new suitor.”

“YOU’RE WHAT?” My mother screeched, horrified.

Trenton smiled broadly and patted my head gently. “Aaaaanaaalaaaa.” He proudly stated.

“A-Angela.” My mother’s voice quivered. “W-what is that?”

“He’s my new suitor.” I repeated, patting Trenton’s hand.

“C-can we talk, privately?” She asked.

“Of course.” I turned to Trenton and motioned with my hands while speaking loudly. “You... stay... here..”

He nodded and made a few deep, uncomprehensible noises. I left him and joined my mother in our living room. "What on earth do you think you are doing, Angela?" My mother hissed at me. Her brown eyes smoldered with confusion, anger, and fear.

"Mother, please." I smiled at her sweetly, "You said I am old enough to find a suitor, so I did."

"Angela Freanna Nadia Grasswood!" Mother stamped her foot and rose her voice, "I don't want you finding random..." She huffed under her breath for a moment. "Not that this-this- thing is human." Her brown eyes bore right into me. "I don't want you looking for suitors off the streets! I expected better from you, Angela."

"Mother," I sweetened my voice again. "Please, he is so kind, and gentle! He won't harm a fly. Besides... he's different. That is what I want in a man." I felt my cheeks warming slightly.

Mother narrowed her eyes. "There will be no such relationship, with this... creature-like-thing, under this household. We will see what your father has to say about this!" She stormed away from me and peeked into the kitchen.

I strode into the kitchen and nodded at Trenton. He smiled broadly once again when he saw me. "Aaaaanaaaallaaaa." He greeted me.

Before I said anything, my father waltzed into the kitchen. His glasses sat on his nose as he held a newspaper under his arm. "Angela, you have been-" His blue-gray eyes fell on Trenton and he froze. His voice grew low and deadly."Get behind me now, Angela."

"Oh Father!" I giggled and walked right up to Trenton. "This is Trenton, my new suitor."

Father's jaw dropped."You-your-" He spattered unable to finish his sentence.

"My suitor." I smiled happily.

"Angela Feanna Nadia Grasswood, there will be-" He started, then stopped when Trenton reached his hand to greet him. He slowly reached his hand out and shook Trenton's hand. "Well, I suppose I was wrong about you." He smiled.

"See?" I giggled again. "Trenton, is the nicest and most polite man."

"Trenton.. nice to meet you." My father greeted him.

"Tttteeeennooooonnn." Trenton moaned and patted my father's arm gently. He pointed to Father and opened his mouth, making numerous noises.

"Oh, he wants to know your name!" I translated.

"Ah! I am Frederick." He called out for Mother. "Dianna, have you met Angela's new friend?"

"Freeeerrreerrriiccckk." Trenton proudly said. Then said my mother's name. "Diiiaaaannnaaa."

My mother appeared at the doorway, her face pale. "Y-yes, Frederick?"

"I believe Angela has found her suitor, my dear." My father grabbed a glass of water and offered it to Trenton.

A dull thud sounded, we all turned around and my mother laid on the floor, passed out.

"Aaaaanaaaalaaaaa." Trenton happily stated and patted my head endearingly.

I had found just the man I was looking for; someone...different.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

#fiction

I lean down and blow dust off an old covered table. The dust floats into my face, causing me to sneeze and cough. I yank off the tablecloth and find an old typewriter. The old creaky house groans and crackles as the wind outside blows. I spot a stack of paper and stick it into the typewriter. “Let’s see if this works.” I smirk.

I prepared the typewriter and set my fingers on the keys, slowly I push down. Clacking sounds as letters print onto the paper. I glance over my shoulder, checking to see no one crept behind me in this old, abandoned house. After turning back to the typewriter, I start typing.

“I, Sierra, am sitting at an old desk, in the abandoned Rickter house. Stories have this house is haunted, but I never believe any of those gossipers. I’m writing this from inside a spooky house on an ancient typewriter,” I pause, a whistling sound draws me out of my words.

It swirls around the room and I gulp. “Just the wind.” I whisper to myself, just the wind.

My fingers resume typing,

“This house is starting to give me the creeps, maybe I don’t believe the stories, but it doesn’t mean I don’t get scared.” Another sound makes me stop. The keys on the typewriter sit still, silence ensues me and the room.

The floorboards creak outside the attic, as though someone is walking out there. I ignore it, hoping it is my imagination, I continue writing.

“Everyone hates this home, I don’t know why. It’s only an old abandoned mansion. Some people say the ghost of Mr. Rickter resides here. It’s so ridiculous, but the whole town believes it. One person said he saw Mr. Rickter’s shadowy outline beside a window. I don’t believe it for a second. Rumors say he was buried somewhere near his house, and his spirit lives on. Everyone is insane if they believe such things; when someone dies, they die - they’re gone.” I swallow back a lump growing in my throat. My fingers fly across the typewriter, as everything around me seems to disappear.

“It’s also been said that he hid his journal somewhere in this home, I, being the only brave and sane person in my town, have decided to find it. My family even thinks this place is haunted. I came here tonight to prove it’s not. I am going to end this writing, shortly. I will search for his journal. It seems as though other have tried to find it. I’ve heard there’s a ghost protecting the journal and home. That’s why no one ever comes here. Of course, I think this is all ridiculousness, people believing such nonesense.”

A creak sounds behind my chair, I ignore it, continuing on. “His journal is said to hold precious information, about some treasure.” I feel warm air on the back of my neck, yet I continue on. “I don’t believe that part; the only reason I want to find it, is because I’ve always been intrigued by such things. The past holds history, it holds secrets, it holds things to help us in the future.” I take a moment to stretch my fingers, then I crank in a new paper, sit back down, and begin writing something else.

~*~

A slight shadow moves over the paper and I feel someone or something standing behind me. My fingers pause, I slowly turn in my chair. A person, dressed totally in black, stood behind my chair. I leap out of my chiar, toppling it into the person’s leg. A shrill scream escapes my throat as I scurry away into a corner, away from the person.

The person huffs and pushes the wooden chair away. It skids across the floor and lands inches away from where I am sitting. The floorboards creak as the person walks over to me, I shiver and bite my lip to keep from screaming again.

A hand grabs my shoulder and pulls me up, I yelp and struggle against the grip. Two hands now grip me tightly. I shiver, despite the dank, warm air trapped in the attic. “Hush!” A male voice hisses I am pulled up.

“Wh-who are you?” I try to contain my shaking voice.

No reply comes as I get pulled away from my spot. The man leads me to the attic’s exit and grips me tightly. I glance around, terrified.

“I can be either a friend or an enemy; it depends on you.” The gruff voice replies.

His words echo in my mind. I panic, my self defense instincts kick in, and I kick my captor in the shin. He releases me and howls in pain as I kick him once more in the knee. I turn and rush down the stairs. Heavy footsteps tumble after me. I slide to a stop at the bottom of the stairs, my heart pounds in my chest, it’s beat echoing in my mind.

The footsteps come faster, this man is determined to catch me. I move, suddenly twisting my ankle. “Aghh!” I screech as pain soars through my left ankle and leg. Limping, I grasp the wall and move away from the stairs.

“Where did she go?” I hear heavy panting near me.

I jump away from my spot and start half running, half limping. The man tackles me to the ground, I struggle as he knocks me down to the wooden floor. “I warned, you.” His hands press me down.

I pant, still struggling against his grip. “What do you want?” I try to free my arms from his iron like grip.

“You know where the treasure is; I want the treasure.” His hands move to my forearms and he pins them against the floor. Preparing to kick him off me, I pull my leg up close, bringing my knee to my chest.

The man notices and rolls his body off of mine, then suddenly locks my legs under his, holding my down. “Think you’re smart, do you?” He scoffs as he pins me down again.

I wiggle under his heavy weight and give up. There’s no way I can beat him in the postion I am in.

“Why do you think I know where the treasure is?” I grunt as he shifts his weight on my legs.

“I watched you writing on that old typewriter.” His voice becomes sly, dripping with suspicion and craftiness.

“I don’t believe in any such things!” I reply through gritted teeth.

He releases my legs and arms and yanks me up. I hobble for a moment, making sure I don’t apply pressure to my injured foot. “Liar!” His voice hisses into my ear.

“It’s the truth!” I shove him away, hard. He stumbles, falls backwards, and releases me.

I turn and run, ignoring the pain that pulses in my ankle with every move.

“She’s getting away!” His voice calls through the house.

I stop, that means he’s not alone. Panic surges through my body as I turn into a hallway of the old mansion. My heart pounds hard and loud as I crouch in the shadows. I try to slow my breathing, to make it quieter.

I slowly creep out of my hiding spot, there are no noises. I start jogging, but immediately stop when my left leg hits the floor. Pain shoots through my ankle and leg, I limp, trying to relieve the pain.

I suddenly feel myself being tackled from behind, again. I tumble to the floor, someone lands on top of me. It is the same man who tackled me minutes earlier. We roll a couple times before he stops us, holding me down. His hands move to my throat and he slowly starts squeezing away my air supply. “Where is the treasure?” He asks again.

I cough, wheezing as he hands squeeze my throat. “I-I don’t... know.” I pulled my arms up and placed them between his grip. He notices, but I move quicker than he can react. I smack his forearms with mine, causing him to release the pressure. Yet, he still holds my throat.

Footsteps sound by my head. “She’s a feisty one.” A gruff voice came from above me.

The man choking me nods, grunting as he shifts his position to keep me down. “No kidding.” He growls under his breath, “Didn’t think she’d put up such a fight.”

I cough again as he squeezes harder. “Hey, now, don’t kill her.” The man above us warns.

“I’m not trying to.” My captor keeps a steady, even grip.

I knee him in the stomach, he grunts but doesn’t release me. I gasp for breath as his strong hands keep their hold. I pull my knee up and knee him again, this time he releases me and rolls away. He grimaces in pain as I leap up and dash away.

“Get her, Keith!” My captor screeches.

The man that stood above us, Keith, takes off after me. I run up into the attic, grab the typewriter and paper and dash back down, tumbling into Keith.

His eyes peer at me from behind his masked face and he grabs my shoulders. “Not so fast.” His icy blue eyes lock me in place.

I lower mine and hide the paper I printed by discreetly crumpling and shoving it into my pocket. Keith grabs my shoulders and marches me down the stairs. “Got her!” Keith’s voice shouted.

The man who had tackled me walks up, his face is still hidden in a black ski mask. His dark eyes peer at me; they hold anger. I squirm under Keith’s grip, he’s stronger than his partner. His arms feel like two iron clamps, holding me down. “Good.” His friend sneers.

“What’re we gonna do with her, Nolan?” Keith asks.

“Get her to talk.” Nolan kneels closer to my height. I watch as he leans close to me. “Now: where. Is. The. Treasure.” He spits his words out like hard ice.

“I already told you, I don’t know.” I reply, in a matter-of-factly way.

Nolan stands, his lean body towering a good foot over me. Keith’s hands release me slightly, that’s all I need. I whirl around and duck under his arms, still holding the typewriter. Finally, I get out of the house and pant for breath.

Shouts come from behind me, Keith and Nolan are still chasing me. I start running, carrying the typewriter with me.

~*~

I lean back in the chair and sigh, my fingers ache slightly as I stretch them. “Phew!” I smile as I look at my finished piece of work. The paper sits atop the typewriter. I had allowed my imagination to grow wild as to what could happen in this old spooky mansion. Then, I wrote everything down, allowing the world to slip away, along with my problems. As I lean over the typewriter to create an ending to my story, I hear a creak in the floorboards. I laugh and shake my head, “There’s no way this story could actually come to life.” I chuckle, as I think about a good ending.

Much to my dismay and terrified self, I see a shadow move over my paper.

“Girl, your story is just starting to come alive.” A male voice growls behind me.

I gulp, “There’s no way this can be happening.” I whisper as I turn around, to face a man dressed in black complete with a black ski mask covering his face.

“Oh, but it is.” He takes a step closer as I scream and leap up, tumbling my chair into his legs.

Prompt: “Write about someone who gets proposed to five times on Christmas Eve.”

* * *

(Day 1)

The house filled with guests. Brielle placed dishes of food out on a table and organized everything. Her mother stepped up to her, “Bri, darling, go and have a seat! I’ll finish this up.”

Brielle glanced up at her mother, wearily smiling. “Thanks, mom.” She slipped off her apron and rushed up the stairs to change into a dress. Her hands quickly undid her ponytail and she fluffed her light blonde, almost white, hair. She looked in the mirror, her bright blue eyes stared anxiously back, light freckles spattered her nose and cheeks, and her cheeks were pink with excitement, adding color to her creamy white skin. Brielle hurried back down the stairs. She joined the guests, Preston spotted her and gave her a charming smile. She smiled shyly back and could feel her cheeks warm.

Her father stepped up to her. “Hi, dear.” He kissed her head. “My coworker’s son came to the party tonight... he seems a little...lost and shy. Maybe introduce yourself?”

She nodded, her eyes spotted a young man around her age sitting by himself. Brielle made her way over to him, she sat on the couch, and greeted him. “Hi, I’m Brielle, the host.”

He looked up, his bright green eyes studied her. “Oh, hey. I’m Kayson.” He stared at her, making Brielle slightly uncomfortable.

She squirmed slightly under his intent, studying stare. His sandy blonde hair sat on his head in a contained, yet curly mass. A curl bounced on his forehead as he jerked his head to the side for a moment. “So, you know my dad..” Brielle started, Kayson seemed familiar to her, but she couldn’t quite place it.

“Yeah.” Kayson sighed deeply. “He’s pretty neat. He always talks about you.. how pret- I mean-” He stammered and his cheeks turned bright red. “How great of a baker you are.” He quickly stated, getting tongue twisted.

Brielle blushed slightly, her eyes darted around the room. Preston appeard next to her. “Hey, Miss Clause.” He teasingly tweaked her nose.

She blushed deeper, her eyes sparkled as she looked up at him. “Hey, gingerbread man.” Kayson’s eyes darted between the two, confused. Brielle noticed and stood next to Preston, smoothing out her dress. “Oh, Kayson, this is my boyfriend, Preston. Preston, this is Kayson.”

“Nice to meet you.” Preston reached to shake his hand. “Ignore our pet names.” He chuckled, flashing a smile. “I came up with Miss Clause for Bri here, because of her blonde hair and blue eyes.” He gently nudged her ribs. “And she came up with gingerbread man because of my brown-ginger hair.”

Kayson plastered a smile on his face and nodded. “Nice meeting you too.” He replied. Then abruptly stood. “I better go.” He mumbled, his cheeks turning red.

Preston watched as Kayson hurried away to chat with the others. “Nice kid.” He commented.

Brielle nodded. Preston grabbed her hand and pulled her over to the middle of the room. Her father pulled away from the middle, as did everyone else. Brielle looked around as a small circle formed in the middle where she and Preston stood.

He smiled at her and released her hand. “Brielle Lyla Farris, we’ve been in a relationship for over a year.” His hazel eyes gazed at her lovingly. Slowly he lowered to one knee in front of Brielle. “Would you spend the rest of your life, married to a man who’s grown to love you?”

Brielle covered her mouth with her hands and stiffled a gasp. She nodded, her eyes glistened happily. “Yes, yes! A hundred times yes!” The crowd around them laughed and clapped.

Preston grabbed her hand and slipped the dazzling ring onto her finger. The diamond sparkled in the light. He stood and hugged her tightly. Brielle melted in his hug, her night had become one to forever remember. After several more hugs from relatives and friends, Brielle noticed Kayson standing off to a corner. His cheeks were flushed red and his eyes darted around nervously. Their eyes met and she offered a small smile, he smiled slightly then quickly averted his eyes. She watched as he pulled away from his corner and into the crowd that started leaving. Too soon, the evening ended. Several people lingered for a bit longer and gave both Preston and Brielle hugs and chatted. In moments, everyone was gone except for Preston, Brielle, and her parents.

“Well, better call it a night.” Her parents headed to their room.

Preston grabbed his coat and slipped on his shoes. “Bye, Miss, soon to be Mrs. Clause.” He tussled her hair lightly.

“Bye.” Brielle smiled at him. He left and she cleaned up, slowly she made her way up the stairs and to her bedroom.

As she got ready for bed, she thought of Kayson, his flushed cheeks, his green eyes, and most of all his studying gaze. There was something familiar about him, she thought hard. Her hands ran through her slightly tangled hair as her thoughts tossed around in her mind. Suddenly, it hit her; she sank onto the bed. Kayson was the guy she almost dated in highschool. He had a crush on her and asked to date her, yet she said it’d be better to wait. Her hands shook slightly. Did he still have feelings for her? Her feelings had obviously faded, but seeing how he acted at the party stirred something in her. Brielle sighed deeply, she was in love with Preston, now engaged to him. It wasn’t going to change. She might as well forget about her past days with Kayson.

She slid under her blankets and turned off her lamp, she sighed deeply and snuggled up. Tomorrow it would be Christmas Day, she would spend the whole day with her new fiancè.

(Day 2)

Brielle woke up, her vision blurred for a few moments then cleared up. She smiled as she sat up. About a half hour later she was dressed in a red dress, her hair was in place, and she was headed down the stairs. As she got a glass of water, her mother came into the kitchen. “Merry Christmas!” She greeted her mom.

Her mother tilted her head. “Bri, dear, it’s Christmas Eve!” She laughed softly. “It does feel like Christmas Day though.”

Brielle nearly dropped her glass. “But, Mom, we had the Christmas Eve party last night, Preston proposed to me..” Her voice trailed off.

Brielle’s mom, Arianna, looked at her daughter. “Honey, are you alright?” She asked.

Brielle’s face turned pale as she looked at her mother. “That means today is yesterday, that means I’m going through Christmas Eve again.. which means that Preston will propose again.” She whispered to herself. Another whisper caught in her throat and trailed away, “Which also means that Kayson will be here..”

“Brielle Lyla Farris, are you okay?” Her mother sat her down.

She looked up, “I’ll be fine.” Her heart pounded. Not only would the party happen again, she would see Kayson again.

Brielle ate breakfast and went through the same motions she did the first day. Her arms stayed busy baking, cleaning, organizing, and decorating.

Finally, the day turned to evening and the house once again filled with guests. Brielle greeted everyone. Preston, hugged her tightly when he stepped in and then excused himself to mingle among some of his buddies. Kayson walked in with another group of people, his movements were slightly awkward and his eyes darted nervously around.

Brielle sucked in a deep breath and strode over to him. “Hey! You’re Kayson, right?” She smiled at him.

Kayson nodded and smiled back. “Yeah.”

Brielle tilted her head and chuckled. “Kayson Haddison, the guy from West Brooke High..”

His eyes lit up, “You recognize me?” Once again, his eyes studied her intently.

Brielle broke eye contact and felt her cheeks warming, she cleared her throat and spoke. “So, you work with my dad?”

Kayson nodded. “Well, sorta. He works with my dad and I sometimes do help.” He ran a hand through his curly mass of hair. “He’s talked a lot about you.. I’ve heard you’re a great baker..” He nervously replied.

Brielle nodded and noticed Preston come over. “I do enjoy baking.” She stood as Preston joined her side. “This is my boyfriend, Preston. Preston, this is my...er... a former classmate, Kayson.”

Preston smiled and shook Kayson’s hand. “Nice to meet you.” He greeted him.

Kayson’s face started flushing red, “Nice meeting you too.” He glanced at Brielle then quickly excused himself.

Preston gently brought Brielle into the middle of the room, her heart fluttered as a repeat of what happened the night before took place. After Preston got down onto one knee and spoke his exact same words, “Brielle Lyla Farris, we’ve been in a relationship for over a year.” His hazel eyes gazed at her lovingly. Slowly he lowered to one knee in front of Brielle. “Would you spend the rest of your life, married to a man who’s grown to love you?”

Brielle smiled and nodded softly, “I would love to.” She murmured. Preston slipped the sparkling diamond ring onto her finger. Again, the evening ended too soon and Brielle said goodbye to her friends. The house grew quiet as her parents went to bed. She climbed up the stairs and got into bed. As she snuggled under her covers, her eyes drooped and she sighed deeply. Her mind wandered and soon she was asleep.

(Day 3)

Brielle woke up the next morning, the sun shone through her curtains and she stretched sleepily. Her legs swung over the bed and her bare feet touched the carpet beside her bed, in no time she was downstairs. Her nose twitched at the smell of coffee, cinnamon, bacon, and pine. “Merry Christmas!” She greeted her mother, hoping a repeat of the day before would not take place. Much to Brielle’s dismay her mother chuckled and turned to her.

″Dear, it’s Christmas Eve!” Arianna's skirt swirled as she turned to the stove. “Tomorrow is Christmas.”

Brielle’s small eyebrows scrunched together. “Tomorrow is Christmas.” Her throat choked. “If tomorrow ever gets here.”

“What was that, honey?” Her mother looked over her shoulder at Brielle.

“Nothing.” Brielle sighed.

She went through the same motions as the first day, the only slight difference was Kayson was the first to arrive. “Well, that’s a nice change.” Brielle murmured to herself as she set the table.

Her mother let the young man in and he followed her in. “My dad said to arrive early.” His voice was soft.

“Well, it was nice of you to be the first one!” Brielle’s mother let out a gentle, rippling laugh. She hurried back to the kitchen and busied herself.

Kayson smiled at Brielle and took a seat, soon the house filled with guests and laughter. People’s voices filled the air, glasses clinked, and the familiar Christmas cheer filled everyone.

Brielle took the same motions as the last two nights, she sat with Kayson and made friendly conversation. This time, his face flushed a deeper red when she introduced Preston. Kayson forced a small smile. “Nice to meet you.” He murmured, then shoved his hands into his pockets and excused himself hurriedly.

Brielle almost wished she didn’t have to go through the proposal again. For anyone else, it might be a dream come true to be proposed to each night. Brielle only felt frustration creeping in. Preston repeated the same motions as the other two nights. “Brielle Lyla Farris, we’ve been in a relationship for over a year.” His hazel eyes gazed at her lovingly. Slowly he lowered to one knee in front of Brielle. “Would you spend the rest of your life, married to a man who’s grown to love you?”

Brielle forced a smile and nodded. “Yes.” She spoke quietly. There was less enthuisiasm in her voice. Preston slipped the ring onto her finger and for a third time the night ended quickly.

Brielle trudged up to bed, the diamond ring seemed to be no more than a sparkling rock sitting on her finger. She sighed and crawled into bed. “Please, let tomorrow be Christmas day.” Her voice whispered into her pillow before she slept.

(Day 4)

Brielle cracked open her eyes and glanced at the curtains. Her mind swarmed with the events from the night before. She groaned inwardly, remembering the last few days repeated the exact same. Brielle snapped her eyes opened and lifted her left hand, the engagement ring was not on it. “No, no, NO!” She screeched burying her head under the blankets. No engagement ring meant that the day would repeat for a fourth time. Not only would it repeat, the frustration that had grown would soon become unbearable.

Brielle reluctantly got out of her bed and got ready for the day.

Her normally cheerful, bright blue eyes were now clouded with frustration and dull. Brielle huffed and pulled her hair back, she slowly trudged down the stairs and took a seat at the counter.

“Morning, dear!” Her mother’s cheery voice greeted her. She turned to Brielle, her skirt swished.

“Morning.” Brielle replied, trying to be cheerful. Her mind wandered as she went through the same motions throughout the day, as the last three times.

Too soon, the evening came, the same things happened. Kayson chatted with Brielle easily, too easily. Preston once again came and brought Brielle to the middle of the room.

His eyes shining, he knelt on one knee, “Brielle Lyla Farris, we’ve been in a relationship for over a year.” His hazel eyes gazed at her lovingly. “Would you spend the rest of your life, married to a man who’s grown to love you?”

Brielle smiled softly, her heart pounded as a million thoughts swirled through her head. “Yes.” She barely whispered the word.

Preston slid the dazzling ring onto her finger. Again, the night ended quickly and everyone headed home.

Again, Brielle went to bed, her hands shook as she slid under her blankets. “Please, please, be Christmas day tomorrow.” Tears clouded her vision and she drifted off to sleep.

(Day 5)

Brielle cracked her eyes open, they felt dry. She pulled her hand close and looked at it. “Not again!” She screeched. Angrily, she put on her dress, went down the stairs, and slammed her body onto a chair at the counter.

“Bri, what is wrong?” Her mother asked, turning to face her.

“Oh, nothing and everything!” She placed her head in her arms and drew in a deep, harsh breath. “Mom, I don’t know what to do!” Brielle pulled her head away from her arms and looked at her mother.

“Brielle, go outside, take a walk, and breathe.” Arianna's voice grew serious. “Come back after you’ve had a chance to calm down.”

Brielle nodded and stood from where she was sitting, her eyes grew watery as she opened the door and slipped her coat and boots on. The brisk, winter air greeted her as she stepped out.

She stuffed her hands into her pockets and walked briskly to her grandfather’s home nearby. He was sitting in his rocker on the porch, dressed in a warm coat, with a blanket across his lap. His smile grew when he saw Brielle.

“Bri!” He called, waving.

“Hi, grandfather.” She stepped onto his porch and sat in the chair beside him.

“How’s my favorite granddaughter doing?” His wrinkled, weathered face smiled lovingly at her.

“I’m.. frustrated.” She let out an exasperated sigh that sent a puff of steam into the air.

“About what, Bri?” He turned in his seat to face her.

Brielle rubbed her face gently with her mittened hand. “I-I’m in love with someone but feelings from the past have waken up and...I don’t know what to do.” She looked at her grandfather. His gray eyes twinkled at her.

“My dear, you must not follow your mind.” His voice rasped, he coughed a few times to clear it. “Follow your heart.” He grabbed her hand and held it in his.

“But-” Brielle started.

“Bri, my dear, place yourself in the future.” His eyes watched her carefully. “Who would you see yourself happiest with?” He continued, “Where would you see yourself?”

Brielle thought carefully. “Thanks, Grandfather!” She jumped up and reached down to hug him and give him a kiss on the cheek. “I gotta go!”

He chuckled. “Bye, Bri.” His hand lifted and waved to her as she rushed back to her home.

She burst into the door and stripped off her coat, her cheeks were pink and her eyes had once again raised a spark. Now, she knew exactly what to do that night.

For a fifth time, Brielle went through the motions of the day, finally evening came, guests arrived, and the moment would soon come.

Brielle stayed near Kayson and made easy conversation with him. Preston once again came and led her away from him. His eyes shining, he knelt on one knee, “Brielle Lyla Farris, we’ve been in a relationship for over a year.” His hazel eyes gazed at her lovingly. “Would you spend the rest of your life, married to a man who’s grown to love you?” The exact same words spilled from his mouth.

A moment of silence ensued them all. Brielle’s heart raced, pounding hard inside her chest. She folded her hands at her waist and spoke softly. “I’m sorry, but I can’t say yes.”

As if on cue, the guests gasped at her response.

Preston stood, his hands clenched around the ring’s box. “What?” His eyes squinted and his face slowly grew red.

“I-I can’t marry you.” She replied. Brielle felt her cheeks grow warm as Preston stared at her, his mouth dropped open.

“Brielle.. I..” He stammered.

“I’m sorry.” She pushed away from the crowd and rushed out the door. The cold air nipped at her nose and heated cheeks. The wind swirled around her, causing her dress to wrap around her legs. As she fled into the icy darkness of Christmas Eve night, Brielle left the party and ignored the calls shouting her name.

Almost 2 years later...

Brielle glanced in the mirror at herself, her white wedding dress flowed in a sparkling trail behind her. She turned slowly, her blue eyes shining like sapphires. In moments, she would walk down the aisle of the church and marry the man she had grown to love.

Minutes later, she was walking down the decorated aisle, everyone stood and watched as she gracefully walked down to meet her groom.

The man’s green eyes glistened as he had the biggest smile stretching on his face. His curly, sandy-brown hair sat in an orderly manner on his head.

Brielle’s father released her arm and she walked up to the small stage. The pastor stood between them, a large smile also on his face.

The wedding ceremony had just finished and Brielle got into the limo with her new husband. “As much as I hate saying this, I’m sorta glad you said no to Preston.” Kayson tweaked her nose.

“I loved Preston, but my grandfather told me to place myself in the future. I couldn’t see a future with me and Preston; we were such opposites.” She snuggled up to his arm for a moment. “I’m glad you came along when you did.”

“Me too.” He smiled and kissed her softly on her head.

Brielle smiled as she thought about her future, she had indeed made the right choice, even though it had hurt and been hard. Her grandfather’s words rang in her head from a few weeks ago.

“Bri, dear, I can see you love this young man. Your eyes shine when you’re around him, your voice grows more cheerful, and your cheeks grow rosy. I believe you followed your heart in your decision to marry him. I’m glad you did.”

Felicity stepped into a small diner, the air warm and welcoming from the frigid outdoors. Her hands slowly thawed as she waited for someone to seat her. She blew on her red fingers and rubbed her hands together, trying to warm them. Finally, a hostess arrived. “Hello,” She greeted Felicity.

“Hi, table for one please.” Her teeth chattered as someone else opened the door and a blast of icy wind blew inside.

“Follow me.” The hostess led her to a table holding two seatings. She placed the menu in front of Felicity, flashing a smile. “Someone will come take your order.” The woman hurried off.

Felicity grabbed the menu, her fingers tingling as they warmed. Her coat was still snug on her body and her scarf was still set in place around her neck. Her blue eyes scanned the list of foods that filled the menu.

A middle aged man came up with a notepad in his hand. His blonde hair was smoothed back neatly and his green eyes studied her intently. “Hi, I will be taking your order tonight.” He murmured. A flicker of recognition seemed to spark in his eyes. “You look like you could use a hot chocolate, Fe-Miss.”

Felicity’s face grew warm, “That sounds good. Thanks.” Her heart picked up as he turned to get her a hot chocolate. She was sure he almost said her name, but how could this waiter possibly know her? The line he had said also sounded familiar, yet she couldn't place why. Felicity hadn’t been to this small town in years, everyone had moved on with their lives. Several people she ran into didn’t recognize her.

The waiter arrived with a small napkin and a mug with steaming hot chocolate. Felicity had slipped of her coat and shed her scarf and gratefully accepted the steaming hot drink. The napkin slipped to the table and she placed her mug on it.

“What would you like to eat?” He pulled out his notepad again. His green eyes looked at her expectantly, something hid in them, a warning of some sort.

“Uhm, I’ll have the turkey club, please.” She handed him the menu. His fingers brushed hers, sending tingles up and down her arm. Felicity released the menu quickly and pulled her hand into her lap.

After the waiter left Felicity grabbed her hot chocolate and slowly sipped the warm liquid. It soothed her dry throat and helped her shivers to stop. The napkin floated onto her plate from the bottom of the mug. She set her mug down and picked up the small, flimsy napkin.

As she turned it around and around anxiously, her eyes caught a scrawled word on the napkin. She stopped, straightened it, and then smoothed the napkin. Her eyes squinted at the small writing in the corner, she studied it several seconds. Finally, she was able to comprehend what it was. Her heart raced as she stared at the little scrawled name. "Lawrence." The words caught in her throat as she whispered them.

An image of the waiter standing before her flashed to her mind. His eyes seemed to hold an urgency, a warning. She abruptly stood, her chair toppled over. Several spectators watched as the chair fell to the ground with a thud. Felicity fished in her jeans pocket to grab a few dollars and placed them on the table. She rushed to the door of the building, forgetting her coat and scarf. Her hand grabbed the door and she swung it open, pushing herself into the cold winter air.

Felicity rounded the building to an alley and hid in the shadows. If the waiter was right, then there was a man named Lawrence sitting inside the diner. The bitter wind cut around Felicity, she shivered hard and stood in the shadows. The diner door jingled open and then shut, footsteps sounded her direction. "She couldn't have gotten far." A gruff male voice spoke.

"I'm sure she's somewhere sir." Another masculine voice piped up.

Footsteps sounded towards where Felicity hid. Her body shook as she tried to stay still and her eyes peered into the darkening night. Heavy winter boots clomped in front of her then slowly seemed to grow more distant.

She held her breath as their voices drifted away. Someone touched her shoulder from behind. Felicity jumped and muffled a scream.

"Shhh!" A soft male voice warned. "It's just me." He turned her around gently.

"Oh." Felicity shivered harder than before, her teeth chattered. It was the waiter who took her order. He handed her the coat and scarf she left inside. "Thanks." She slipped them on.

"Here's your turkey club." A small smile formed on his lips. "I hope you enjoy it, Felicity."

Once he said her name, the memories rushed into Felicity's mind. "Travis?" Her heart pounded hard.

"Yeah." He rubbed her shoulders helping warm her. "Since you didn't pick up on my warning line, the only way I could let you know Lawrence was there was by discreetly writing it on a napkin to you."

She smiled. "Thanks for that." She clutched the box with her food.

"Stay safe, Felicity." His voice grew serious. "You know how bad Lawrence is and what he's after."

Her smile faded. "I know." She turned and walked into the night. "Thanks." She whispered. The name written on the napkin might have just saved her, for now.

I never got to tell you how much you meant to me. I never got to say what your friendship meant. I loved your smile, the way your eyes would light up when we hung out. Your heart was a heart of gold; you had such a sweet, kind spirit. I never realized how much pain you were in. I wish I could have done something to help you.

One thing you will never realize, is how much this hurts me. I don’t hate you, I never would, will, or have. I only wish I could have helped you. I wish you would have reached out to me - to someone. Everyone loved you, it pains everyone to see that you did this.

I never got to say goodbye. I never thought I’d have to. I never saw the pain in your eyes, the pain in your heart, or the pain in your mind.

I will forever miss you. I will miss the jokes we shared, the random things we spun stories of, the memories we made, and the secrets we confided in one another with.

I will never forget you; all I wish is that I had more time with you. I wish I had told you all that you meant to me. Now, you are gone; now, you will never know what you meant to me. I will keep you alive in my memories, despite the pain it brings me.

If only I could have told you goodbye, told you that you were the best friend I could ever ask for, told you that you meant so much, told you that your life is more precious that anything. I wish you would have opened up, I could have helped you; someone could have helped you.

I will forever remember you, the joy you brought, and the friendship we had. My life was changed because of your friendship; it is once again changed because of your decision, to take your life.

I have no choice but to move on, as much as it hurts. I will keep you in my memories; you will forever be in my memories. I cannot say goodbye, I cannot tell you what I wanted to since you’re gone. But I only hope you knew how much you and our friendship meant to me.