|Shattered My Night Sky
Author: Saving Annabel PM
Melinda goes to one foster home to another, feeling invisible. The only reason she still breathes is a boy named Bryant, who she loves. But she soon decides to commit suicide. She writes a letter to him, saying she wants him to save her. What she doesn't know is that Bryant loves her too. Can Bryant save her in time? Told in both Melinda's and Bryant's words.Rated: Fiction K+ - English - Hurt/Comfort/Romance - Chapters: 6 - Words: 5,424 - Updated: 10-18-12 - Published: 10-10-12 - id: 3064551
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Author's Note: I know it may seem a little slow, but, trust me, it will get better. I promise.
I have a dream that I am falling. Its takes place at a cliff and its rock face. I'm not standing up but lying down on my back like I'm lying on a mattress. My arms and legs are in motion, moving like I'm trying to catch something. I can't remember what led me to fall, and I am too afraid to see how it would end. How did this happen? Did I jump? Has somebody pushed me? And most importantly, will I die?
I don't know what it means. Is it a forewarning, showing me of something that may happen? What does it means, if it has any meaning at all?
I wake up sweaty, exhausted, and frighten. I rub my face with my hands then wipe them on the bed sheets to remove the sweat. I climb out of bed and walk to my bathroom. I turn on the faucet and cup the water into my hands. Gently, I wash my face. I turn off the faucet and look at my reflection in the mirror. The mirror is broken and has big cracks. I feel the same way like the mirror: shattered and in pain. And I hurt. I really, really hurt.
I look just like my mother, too bad I can't be noticed like she was. We both have: lovely brown eyes, delightful light brown hair, heart-shaped face, and luscious full lips. So if I look so beautiful, then why isn't anybody noticing me?
Nobody, not even here at home, notices me. At my school if I bump into somebody, they will look around but they won't see me; it's like I'm invisible.
When I was little, my parents thought that I was destined for greatness; and I used to believe them. But now they're dead and everyday I'm all alone. I don't have any other family, so I live with my foster parents. They, like everyone else, don't observe me.
I shouldn't have looked at my reflection.
I grasp the towel that hangs next to the mirror and dry my face. Then, without any warning, I start to cry loud and hard in it.
Why am I so ignored? Am I so dead to the world?
My face leaves the towel, and I give out a loud cry. I throw the towel into the sink. I return into my bed, which, I may add, dying the cry into a whimper.
I go back to sleep and experience the same dream, which isn't so bad; at least I don't see the ending.
I wake up and climb out of bed, parting the blankets as I leave. I walk into the bathroom and take a shower, washing myself from the sweat last night. When I'm done, I climb out and dry myself. I get dressed and walk into the bathroom again and apply my makeup. On most days I think to myself why should I put on makeup when nobody will notice? Today, I try my best not to think that.
I enter the living room and grab my jacket and backpack from the couch. My foster mother is sitting and watching a rerun of Wife Swap.
"Okay Jillian, I'm off to school," I say to her.
And, as you can guess, she doesn't acknowledge me.
I sigh and walk out the door. I go to the garage and obtain my bike that I ride to school. As I ride, the wind moving hesitantly through my hair, I spot a group of girls walking in the direction I am. To see if I'll be notice, I ring the bell on my bike. Not surprisingly, they don't pay me attention. I didn't think they would but disappointment shoots through me like a bullet in my heart.
When I finally arrive at school, I put my bike up in the rack and lock a chain around the wheel. The school bell rings. I don't run to get in class before the teacher notices. What's the bother if nobody even notices you're alive?
I enter the classroom and sit at the back desk closest to the window. One time I thought if I sat at the desk closest to the door, someone might see me. To them, it seemed, that I was a ghost and wasn't even there. Oh well, at least I tried.
Though I hate coming to school, it's my first class I can't stand. It's history and it's hard for me to understand. The only reasons why I like coming is because it gives me something to do and…Bryant.
Bryant is in my grade, a senior. He has black mop hair that covers his hazel eyes. And he's friends with the popular teens which say "obscured" across my forehead. He would probably be the last person in the whole entire world that would realize that I'm alive and knowing that stings my loneliness I've kept deep inside for so many years. He's the only reason why I'm still breathing, but, I'm afraid, the worth of living is starting to subside; starting to not make life worth living after all.
"Now class," says our teacher, "let's go over the work page we did yesterday. What was the name of Christopher Columbus's flagship?"
Nobody but me raise their hand.
"C'mon class, we just been over this."
I shake my hand vigorously. I know what the answer is for once. Please call me, let people know I exist.
"Nobody…? The answer is the Santa Maria."
I drop my hand hard on the desk with a big thump. No one looks around to figure out who made the sound.
At lunch it's all the same. I'm so invisible even the lunch ladies don't even see me. How pathetic is that?
I take my lunch tray to an isolated table that's near the windows. I like to sit near them. They make me want to be free of this terrible loneliness that's buried inside me, and imagine an escape from this life. I usually dream fantasies that will never become real: me flying through the air like a bird -but without the wings- and landing into Bryant's arms.
Whenever I daydream about him, it always patches the hole in my heart temporary; but it never lasts. When the dream is over, only isolation fills me like an overflowing cup; and, oh…it hurts.
I feel something cascading down my cheeks. I touch my cheek, and I comprehend that I'm crying. I'm crying because this everlasting aloneness will always disturb me.
Realizing this only makes me cry harder.