Twinkle, Twinkle
A short story by fictitious facades.

-

“It’s not your fault, there was nothing you could do.”

That’s all they say. No “I’m so sorry for your loss.” They just point out that I was there. Like I need reminding. I could have done something. I didn’t.

Oh, sorry for jumping into this so quick. I guess I’m just a little upset. Not that I have a right to be, I’m not the one who died. Anyway, I’m Starr. Yeah, that’s my real name. My parents were really into the Beatles; if I was a boy I was going to be named Harrison. Personally, I like Lennon the best, but probably just because he had those cool glasses. Enough about music, you’re probably thinking ‘all those guys must be dead, fat, or both’.

Okay, so my name is Starr, I’m 14; I go to Finn Academy for Girls, or FAG, as we like to call it. Oh yeah, and I just watched my mom die right before my eyes.

Again, I’m sorry. I’m still upset. I can’t get her face out of my memory; it’s burned in there. All I see is her look of terror; all I hear are her screams. You’re probably thinking I need some help. But no one cares about a girl who has black and red hair, Doc Martins, and a star tattooed in razor scars on her wrist. Now you’re thinking that I probably need more help than anyone can give me, huh? Well, my hair I did myself, my shoes are hand-me-downs, and the tattoo was forced.

Don’t you think I wish I were just a normal girl? My hair was still dirty blonde and I picked out my own shoes? I even wish I had never found that blade.

You’re probably also wondering how she died, my mom, I mean. We got into a car accident. I walked away without a scratch, other than the half-moon crescents I pressed into my forearm. But she died. She crashed into a tree that had fallen into the road. It went through her window and hundreds of glass shards pierced her skin. One landed in her throat. If I hadn’t been so stupid, if I had only called for help I could have saved her.

But I didn’t. And now I’m an orphan. My mom always tried her hardest for me. She got me into a private school, even though the tuition made her have to work two jobs. But she always made it home in time for dinner.

My dad died when I was five. He was a policeman. A robber shot him. He was just doing his job protecting innocent people. But he died. All my mom was doing was trying to protect me. But I guess I wasn’t all that innocent.