These are a couple original short stories written by me over the past three years, so I’m practically sharing with you, my entire junior high life for your amusement. You are so welcome.
Update: read part 2 here!
Affinity
Even though I couldn’t see her through the mess of people, I had an idea of exactly where she sat. Table #14, an L-shaped couch by the bathroom that nobody sat at except for her and I. Dodging the elbows, I headed for Table #14 where a baby-blue haired girl sat, looking out the window. It had an amazing view of the Cliff and the world beyond it, which was mostly water. I set down the ice cream and sat down ever so quietly that she didn’t notice me. The reflected light from her necklace kept blinding me, forcing me to stare out the window at the cliff. It felt like centuries and centuries since the disease and water took over the Earth even though it was only a few years back. Back when my parents were alive, back when there wasn’t a monstrous disease terrifying everybody, back when life took place on the ground. Time-bomb broke out a decade ago, I was 7 then and didn’t understand much, but now as a 17-year-old who knows much about the world, time to time, I wish that I was 7 again, mind clear of the horrific details.
Time-bomb was a disease that burns a 3-digit number into your forearm, stating how long you had before you turned into a zombie. The first number is the hour, last two, the minutes. After that stage, a new set of numbers appear, stating how long you had before you died. It’s brutal knowing that time-bomb is still possible to catch in Skyland, after all, we are only in the sky, not free from the air. I guess that’s why lots of people pay nearly $800,000 to board the spaceship, which was well out of Earth’s atmosphere, where it is utterly impossible the catch Time-bomb.
“Lindyn,” Jarli said, snapping me out of my little flashback. She had a 5 dollar bill on her hand. “Oh, no,” I replied, pushing her hand away. “The ice cream’s on me.” I would’ve taken that $5 any day, but you couldn’t have a girl pay for her own ice cream on the day that you were going to kiss her. I’m probably the oldest boy ever who hasn’t had his first kiss yet. It’s now or never. I scooted onto her side of the seat. We’ve known each other for eight years, that’s a long enough wait, right? Jarli had been my first and only friend in Skyland, I worry that kissing her will screw up the past eight years.
I was 9 when we met, it was a day after I got thrown out of the spaceship. It was my aunt and uncle who wanted to bring me up there and try to reduce the fact that I was an orphan, probably wanting me to think that it wasn’t my fault that my parents caught time-bomb. But, the ship went over its capacity and the last boarded person needed to leave who just happened to be my cousin, Raylor. I couldn’t do that to my aunt and uncle, let them throw away their son and keep me instead. So being Lindyn Oh-so-brave, I volunteered to leave back down to Skyland where I currently live in an orphanage with 28 other people. “Those space dudes are dumb butts for not letting you on,” Jarli had said when we met. “But they’re also smart butts because if you boarded, you wouldn’t have met me!”
“Lindyn,” Jarli began, staring out the window, obviously also having a flashback herself. “You know, you’re my best friend and that I trust you with my life right?” Her ice cream was melting uncontrollably under the sun .She tucked her hands into her sweater sleeve, even though it was 23 degrees outside.
“Come with me,” she whispered and dragged me out of the ice cream parlour, my ice cream unfinished. “Don’t draw attention.” She added once we crossed the street. Was it possible to say that the buildings look worn out yet still brand new? Skyland had that effect on you. Jarli lead to me to Greysin Peak, one the of the most unpopular cliffs. I had no idea what she was going to do until she rolled up her sleeves. And there, burned into her skin was a 3-digit number. 107.
“What in the world, Jarli?!” I exclaimed and she shushed me. My lungs were failing me and my pulse accelerated dangerously high. She opened her bag and took something I couldn’t see out. I can’t I’m losing yet another person to time-bomb. My heart shattered and my brain when numb. I didn’t snap back to reality until Jarli handed me a gun.
“What? No!” I muttered, the tears already strolling down my face. “I-I can’t, I–“
“Do it Lindyn!” She interrupted. “If you’ve ever loved me, kill me.” She stepped forward, brought her hands up to my face and kissed me. She was also crying. “Please.” We were less than a meter from the edge. “Please, just pull the trigger, before I turn. I can’t die knowing that the government killed me. You have to.” She emphasized the have. My heart dropped and the past year flashed before my eyes as I took a breath and pulled the trigger. My eyes were shut but I could hear a choking sound and a splash. I threw the gun down to the ocean as well. The pain took over so much that I didn’t even care that she kissed me. Her lips were warm despite her bloodshot eyes and cold hands. But none of that matters because she’s gone now. All I have of her is memories.
I started sobbing then, like full on sobbing with a runny nose and everything. My eyes hurt and my fingers cramped up. I wish I could explain this but this isn’t a feeling that’s easy to describe and nothing could be compared to it. There is sad, and loneliness and loss and pain and fear but this feeling needed its own category. I can’t get her back in anyway, however, the least I can do is what she would’ve wanted me to do. To pick my butt up and go on living my life. I had to move on no matter the pain, life wasn’t made for you to curl up in a ball and cry. Life was made for you to live through thick and thin. And that’s exactly what I did.
Colours
8:15. Everything was grey. His hair, his eyes, his skin. I remember him standing on the other side of the porthole, smiling at me, his dimples visible through the slightly tinted four-inch glass. He was gorgeous, better looking than any boy in Type A. He was Type O, he lived in the middle. Type O was the universal donor, so they were the centre of everything. The government and everyone important was an O. The rest live around the circle, still separated by big stone walls with a large glass frame, which we called the porthole. We weren’t allowed to communicate with the other types, just see them. We would be executed if we were found guilty of being in love with another type. Which is why I’m in trouble.
I’ve looked through portholes all my life, I’ve seen hundreds of Type A’s, B’s, AB’s and O’s. But it’s the first time I’ve ever seen him. I didn’t look through the porthole to Type O very often, mainly because I was scared of everyone there. They were high classed and powerful, I was low classed and powerless. But I suppose opposites attract.
8:20. I stepped outside and headed to the porthole to see if he was there again. I passed the porthole on my way to school every morning, and he was there every time. Today was Sunday; it had been exactly seven days since I’d first seen him. I glared up at the grey sky. Myths say that the sky was once blue, whatever that looked like. Colours were just a story told to little kids. They said the world wasn’t always black and white, they said there was red and green and purple and yellow. They told us that grass used to be green and apples used to be red. The stories told us everything about colour except how they looked. No matter how hard they tried, they couldn’t describe what blue looked like. It was impossible to imagine, but I thought of blue as a mesmerising colour. I thought it was something you could stare at for hours and hours and lose track of time. Scientists believed that if we ever saw colours, our brain would automatically recognise it, even if we had never seen colours before. My dad was a scientist, he studied the world. He researched colours. Why we couldn’t see them, why they disappeared in the first place and how to get them back. I’d talk to him for hours about colours. They always intrigued me.
I missed my dad a lot. My heart ached every time I thought about him, he was the happiest man to ever live and was so optimistic that he made everyone else around him happy as well. But apparently the world didn’t want me to be happy and he was taken from me. Him and his team of scientists were murdered by the government on September 15th three years ago. The government didn’t want people to know about what they were researching, but I never understood why. What was so bad about colour?
8:45. I arrived at the porthole and like every day, he was there. His grey hair flowed in the summer wind, looking like beautiful ocean waves. He looked around him before stepping closer, I looked around too. As he neared the window, he slipped out a piece of paper from his hand and unfolded it in front of me. He pressed it against the soundproof glass. It read: Grayson. He pointed to himself, indicating that it was his name. Using my fingers, I tried to spell out my name in return but ended up spelling Cassie instead of Cassy because I didn’t know how to make a Y with my hand.
9:00. Our rendezvous came to an end. I would have to wait another 24 hours before seeing him again. I didn’t know if I could survive that long. He made me laugh and smile without words. I hadn’t been this happy with anyone since my dad. I’ve had to fake my smiles for so long, I had almost forgotten what it was like to be happy, to have real happiness. No one could know that I was actually sad on the inside. I was Cassandra Ink, I was supposed to be a cheerful girl. My smiles were supposed to be authentic, but instead, they were plastered on my face while I played Fake It Till You Make It. I didn’t know what was wrong with me. I had so many friends, yet I still felt lonely. I loved them with all my heart but none of them were real. I had fake friends, paper friends. They didn’t care about the things I cared about nor did they really care for anything except for themselves. I hated myself for being unhappy and I hated everyone else for not making me happy. But I couldn’t blame other people for my own feelings.
9:15. “You’re late.” A voice behind me said. “I cannot believe you’re late.” The sound of a hundred schoolgirls almost drowned out the voice. I swirled around and faced Teagan Triste, the leader of the clique I was in. She ran the most popular group in Janiel Smith’s All Girls High School, and I was in it. I was popular and I had other people look up to me. Other girls would kill for my spot, but I would kill for their spot. I wished I was some normal girl with two real friends instead of twenty fake friends. I blamed my popularity on my sadness. These girls felt like strangers to me despite the fact that I had been friends with them for the past five years. I felt as if all of them had changed so suddenly and I just didn’t get the memo.
“Oh, yeah,” I said, “I’m sorry, I left my house late. I lost track of time when I passed the porthole.” At least part of my excuse was true.
“Why?” She scoffed. “The porthole is a terrible place to hang around. Unless you’re some kind of notorious criminal or something.” No one came near the portholes. Even though it wasn’t illegal to look through them, it was frowned upon by everybody. Perhaps they feared of falling in love, so they stayed away. I guess Grayson and I were the only people stupid enough to look. Stupidity does land you in some pretty awful situations.
“Wait,” Teagan grabbed my arm and stopped me from walking away. “Something’s up, I can see it on your face. Something you haven’t told me yet.” I rubbed my face as if the word Grayson had been written all over it. My face burned as I blushed. Teagan squealed. I tried to hide my face but that only made her squeal more. “Spill!” She laughed and lightly punched my arm. I hesitated. If I told her, my life would end. My hands were cold but they were sweating. I really wanted to trust Teagan, I’ve trusted her with almost every secret in my life, but there were some things you need to keep to yourself. I debated whether it was one of those things or not.
“I can’t,” I began, “I can’t say.” Teagan jerked her head back as if I had slapped her. She looked hurt.
“Oh, I see.” She said and laughed awkwardly. “That’s fine.” She lied and began to walk away. Guilt wavered through me. All of a sudden, something clicked inside my mind, like turning gears.
“Wait!” I shouted, grabbing her arm. “I’ll… I’ll tell you.” A smile appeared on her face. I thought maybe if I told her my secret, she would be less fake to me. I was dead wrong. “There’s a boy,” I began, “that I sort of like.” Teagan bit her lip and raised her eyebrows up and down. For the first time in awhile, I felt like I was the first choice. Though I knew that Teagan would pick Stacy or Quincy over me any other day, it felt nice to be the first choice for even just a few minutes. I took a breath in and let it out slowly. Goosebumps emerged from my skin. My voice quivered as I continued. “Um, he’s really good looking and really nice. He’s funny too, but, um,” I paused, this was my last chance to lie, my last chance to turn back. I looked at Teagan’s face, she seemed genuinely interested, like she actually cared. It reminded me of what it used to be like when everything was real. And when I stared into Teagan’s eyes, I realized how much I missed it. So I told her. “He’s an O.” Teagan remained quiet and backed up. “Teagan,” I reached for her but she jumped back in shock.
“No,” She murmured, “don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.” Teagan slung her backpack on her shoulder and fixed her hair before rushing away. What have I done?
9:45. I stepped out of the bathroom stall and looked at myself in the mirror. My hair flowed down half my back; my mom hadn’t cut my hair in years. She didn’t do much for me these days. She became addicted to alcohol shortly after my dad died. I didn’t really know why I think she just wanted to numb the pain. I wished that I could drink my problems away too but I was only 17, under aged.
9:47. Two girls walked into the bathroom as I turned on the sink. I recognized them right away. They were Stacy and Quincy, my “friends.” They stared at me through the mirror.
“Hey, Stace, hey, Quinn,” I said. They kept on looking at me. I laughed dryly.
“Don’t call us that,” Stacy said through her teeth. Her voice was so low it sounded like a demon had possessed her. She might as well have been possessed, the things that came out of her mouth were inhuman. “You are disgusting. You are a criminal. I cannot believe that I was ever friends with someone like you. The government is what keeps our city in order and you go ahead and break their rules? I’ve seen your grades, you’re smart; so why are you doing something this stupid?” Anger rushed through my body like bolts of electricity. I was mostly mad at them for cornering me like this, but a little part of me was mad because I didn’t know the answer to her question. They stepped closer to me; my back was flat against the bathroom wall. Tears welled up in my eyes but I didn’t dare let them fall. I was not going to cry over Stacy and Quinn. If I cried, they’d win. I was not going to let them push me around like this, I was not going to let Teagan push me around like this. Quincy stepped forward and began to talk, avoiding my eyes. “Your father deserved to die. He wouldn’t have wanted to be seen alive with such a disgrace like you as his daughter.” At that moment, my self-control disappeared. I lost it. As if it was in my blood, I raised my fist and aimed at Quincy’s face. My knuckles connected hard with her nose. She stumbled back, slamming her head onto a stall door. The pain stung my hand and travelled up my forearm; but if I had the chance to punch her again, I would do it.
Stacy dropped to her knees beside Quincy with paper towels in her hands. Quincy sat up against a toilet, her head back and eyes closed. For a moment I thought she was dead. Her face was pale and she did not move a limb. Stacy shook Quincy’s shoulders. To my relief, she moved. As her head turned to me, she laughed.
“You stupid little thing,” she guffawed, “I can’t wait ’till you get executed.” Her words hit me like punches to the gut and I felt like throwing up. I had almost forgotten; I was going to die.
9:50. Realisation hit me like a wave. If Teagan had told everyone, she obviously would have told the government. Soon enough President Wilcox would send troops out to find me; word travelled fast, I didn’t have any time left. Stares followed me as I ran down the hallway, the speed that gossip travelled at was insane. The entire school was filled with whispers and all eyes were on me. I tucked my hand in my sweater, hiding the grey blood on my knuckles from Quincy’s nose. I didn’t need everyone thinking that I was freakier than they thought.
9:52. I left my backpack in my locker and bolted out the main doors. I had to leave. I didn’t where I was going, but I ran. I ran as fast as my short legs could carry me. The water on the grass flicked onto my ankle with every step I took. It didn’t rain much around here, but when it did, it was taken as a symbol. It either meant death or change. For the past decade and a half, the rain had never been wrong. It rained the day I lost my father and the day I lost my grandparents; that’s when I knew that the rain never lied.
10:17. Part of me couldn’t process what was happening. It was all so fast. Just over two hours ago, I was normal. I had a chance of living, of growing old. I couldn’t die at 17, it wasn’t long enough. I’ve never had a significant other, I’ve never kissed anyone, I’ve never known what the other types were like. There are so many things I haven’t done, so many things I’ll never know. 17 years is too short of a time to get to know the world, I wanted to live forever. The world was so fascinating, I wanted to be in it for as long as I could. The sky mesmerised me. I found it so hard to believe that just outside of our atmosphere, there was an endless abyss of stars and planets. I wished I could have somehow convinced the government to kill me later, I just wanted to spend one more day in the world.
10:22. The feeling of knowing that you were going to die soon was unreal. There were no words that described how it felt. It was like a realistic nightmare. Instead of three headed monsters, there were three short blonde haired girls. Instead of being eaten by zombies, it was being shot on live television by the government. But in this nightmare, I wasn’t allowed to wake up, my problems won’t disappear in the morning.
10:45. I took a break by Elmond Bridge and rested my forehead on my jeans. They had a strong scent of lemon and lilac, my mom’s favourite smells. She loved hand washing my clothes just so she could add her own customised scents to it. They’ve never made a lemon and lilac laundry detergent, but if they had, that’s what my mom would smell like all the time. I had remembered all those countless nights she spent washing our truckload of clothes. From then on, I tried really hard not to get any of my clothes dirty so that I didn’t have to tire out my mom every night. I would wake up to her sleeping on the couch, a drink in one hand and a sock in the other. I didn’t think I knew that I would be giving her up if I decided to run away forever.
10:50. But she was my mother, the most important person in my life, I couldn’t leave without saying goodbye. I got up from my hiding spot and hesitated. If I went home, the troops would have an easy time finding me, but if I didn’t go home, I would’ve been filled with regret. My mom supported me through everything, and although she didn’t always give me enough freedom to be the type of person I wanted to be, she was a great mom and I didn’t think she knew that’s what I thought. I had to go home, I wanted to see her one more time, to tell her all the things I had wanted to say but never did. I wanted to let her know that, even though I’ve never said it enough, I appreciated everything she did for me and I loved her more than anything. I just wished that I had more time to talk to her. I took the time that we had before for granted. I made my decision: I was going to see her if it was the last thing I did; and maybe, if I was quick enough, the troops wouldn’t catch me.
10:55. I sprinted across the fields. My house was easy to spot. It was the only black house in the neighbourhood. I ran between trees, catching my breath behind each of them; I could hear the troop cars driving up and down my street. In quick strides, I hopped up the stairs to my back door and turned the knob. The wooden floor of our 50-year-old house creaked as I made my way to the living room. I’ve lived in this house all my life, yet once I walked through the halls, it felt like a whole lifetime ago. My heartbeat accelerated as I neared my living room. I had never been this nervous inside my own home before.
11:15. I was greeted by the sound of splashing water as I entered the room. And there sat my mom, doing the laundry. Suddenly I caught the smell of lemony lavender and I felt safe. My mind became dizzy and I bumped into a table corner, grabbing her attention.
11:17. “Cassy?” My mom looked at me. “Cassy, honey, are you okay?” Something came over me and all of a sudden I wrapped my arms around her. What scared me most was the fact that that was probably going to be the last time I got to hug her, so I cherished the moment. I started to sob into her neck, I didn’t want to leave her. Her arms were warm around my back, I knew it would be a while until we did that again. I felt like a small child, running from the monsters under her bed and into her mother’s embrace; but in my case, the monsters were real and not even the safety of my mother’s arm could fight them off.
“Cassy, what’s the problem–” She barely got to finish her sentence when a loud thud came from the mud room. The monsters were here. They had kicked down our door and barged into our house, weapons in hand. They all wore matching tracksuits that entitled them Type O Government Troops. The letters TOGT were imprinted on the back of their jackets. Two men in all black came and pried me off of my mom. I tried to struggle free but they were strong and had tight grips on my arms. Another two went for my mom, holding her back. They sat her on the couch and dragged me out of the house. Besides my mom and I, no one else spoke, they didn’t even bother telling my mom why I was being taken. Our screams echoed off of the cement walls, but the troops showed no mercy. All of a sudden, I felt something heavy hit the back of my neck. White pain shot down my back, but it didn’t last long. I began to see black creeping from the side of my eyes. Soon, everything was dark and I didn’t feel a thing.
11:20.
11:45.
12:10
12:45.
1:23. I woke to the sound of overlapping conversations and the smell of new leather. I was in the backseat of the government car. The cool leather felt nice against my skin. My hands weren’t cuffed, so I could move around freely, but I didn’t dare try anything. I pressed my hands on the car window and peered outside. It didn’t look familiar at all, but I did make out one thing: Grayson. His hair swayed in the wind like usual, but instead of a smile, he pursed his lips. His eyes were on the car, at me. For a few moments I thought he was staring at me, but it was impossible; the car’s windows were tinted dark black. Grayson stood amongst the crowd in front of a building. From all my years of watching TV, I knew exactly which building it was. It was the government building. It was my execution ground.
1:24. The car door opened and the crowd grew louder. I made eye contact with Grayson. He pushed his way through the crowd so he was just behind the four-foot tall fence that separated us. I felt like a celebrity, walking down the white carpet with fans and reporters along the sides. But I sure wasn’t treated like one. I was shoved forward by troops and their batons as they yelled at me to keep it moving. The flashing of cameras made it hard to see where I was going, but it also blinded the troops; it gave me a five-second window to escape. My heart was beating faster than it ever had and the second their grip loosened, I broke free and ran; I ran for Grayson. I was scared for my life, but it didn’t matter, I was going to die either way.
1:25. As I neared Grayson, something squeezed my left wrist; one of the troops got ahold of me. I was so close. I jumped forward and reached out my right hand just as Grayson reached out his. Electricity buzzed through me as our forefingers touched. The force sent both of us stumbling back and falling. I had hit my head on the pavement in the process.
1:26. As I opened my eyes, something new was in front of me. It was the colour green. It had replaced the once grey lawn grass. I couldn’t believe my own eyes. Everything was different; it had a colour. My dad had was right; I could recognize colours like I had known them for my whole life. The bark of the trees were brown and the colour of my skin was tan. I looked up at the sky, and everything was blue.
Photograph
2:45– It was crowded on the street. People kept elbowing me in my sides, but I didn’t care. For Aspen, I would do anything. Aspen. Aspen Newton. Aspen Millard Newton. Just thinking about his name made my heart ache. Picturing his soft smile immediately made me feel at home in this strange city. I remembered how his black hair drooped over his forehead and how those dazzling green eyes were always hidden behind a pair of black-rimmed spectacles. I would give anything just to stand beside him one more time. We wouldn’t even have to talk; I just want to feel his presence again. Ever since he left, it’s like a piece of me went with him, beyond the grave.
Out of everything I’ve ever done in the seventeen years, there has always been one thing I regretted the most. And that was not being there in that hospital on this exact day, one year ago. Aspen was diagnosed with leukemia in Grade 10 and died 489 days after. The vast majority of kids who had leukemia have at least five years to live after their diagnosis, but I guess Aspen wasn’t like the other kids. He was different, but in a good way, and that was why he was my best friend, practically a brother to me.
Our parents were close, so it was a huge advantage that we could hang out more than regular friends. Every vacation, every family event, every road trip, we’d go on them together. We were inseparable, side-by-side ’til death do us apart. It just sucks how his death had to come so early.
2:47– The time between his passing and his funeral is still a blur of events to me. I remembered not going to school, I remembered hiding in my room all day and I remembered all those tear stains I left in Aspen’s sweater. His mother took all his belongings and moved to France after he died, she wanted to be as far away from California as possible. But, I get it; she was upset. Her only son died just a few months before her husband decided to leave her. If I were her, I would’ve moved even further. It must’ve been tough on her, not even my mom could talk Ms. Newton out of leaving. She had cut our family out of her life and left my mom heartbroken. I looked at my mom. She was sitting next to me on this stone block in the middle of Times Square, checking her watch from time to time. The wrinkles around her eyes were more noticeable nowadays; she seems tired all the time. Ms. Newton’s sudden departure from her life crushed her. I had no idea what Ms. Newton was going through, but I wish she had stayed. I also wish that she had left more of Aspen’s things with me. I had nothing left of him except for his old grey sweatshirt and a crumpled handwritten letter.
I reached into my burgundy backpack and tried to fish out the envelope, which was a bright, pastel purple colour. It was ironic how a jubilant looking envelope held such a melancholic letter. I’ve read it a million times and more; these are pretty much his last words to me. As his dying wish, he wanted me to come here, to stand here, in Times Square, in New York on April 27 and wait until 3:00. He said it was going to be his ultimate surprise for me. I’ve no clue what it is that Aspen’s planned, but I’m beyond excited. It’s like he’s here with me. We used to love surprising each other, but every time, Aspen would out-surprise me. He always went that extra mile. That was one of my favourite things about him.
2:50– “Sorry!” A man said as he ran into me, spilling all the contents from the open backpack and envelope I was holding. He didn’t even stop to help, just yelled his apology and sprinted on. Disrespectful as it was, this was New York, and everyone was always late.
“Oh, Lyria!” My mom hustled over, “Honey, are you alright? Let me help you with that.”
“I’m fine, mom,” I reassured her as I gathered the fallen items. Most of them were just pictures of Aspen and I. In the ninth grade we received our first phone, so we decided to start a “photo war.” The goal was to have, by senior year, the ugliest pictures of the other person. Images of Aspen took up the majority of my phone storage. My solution was to print them all out. They were stored in that purple envelope, the one I carried around with me everywhere. Now, they were spilt across the dirty pavement with hundreds of shoes stepping on them. Some were still in good shape, but most of them had dusty shoe prints on the back; luckily none were ripped or folded.
“Lyria, sweetie,” my mom said in the most pitiful voice I’d ever heard. She handed me a stack of brown-edged pictures.
“It’s totally okay,” I lied, “besides, they sort of look vintage now. So, I guess it’s cool.” I collected the rest of them and thanked the kind people that bothered to help me. I caught a glance at a couple of the photos and suddenly, my heart felt so heavy. It sank into the bottom my stomach and my breath was uneasy. Tears welled up in my eyes as I inhaled deeply and plopped down on the ground.
“Lyria!” Mom scolded, “those are your nice leggings!” I pretended not to hear her and continued to look at the photographs. I picked one out and held it in front of me. It was taken the day we had that awful substitute in math. I snapped a picture of Aspen from all the way across the room, right when the teacher was telling him off. I had to cover my mouth to stop myself from laughing. He had on an expression of pure terror.
2:55– I shuffled through the undamaged pictures, each one bringing, even more, emotions than the next. I found the one I took of him the night of our first high school party. His hair was gelled up and he ditched his glasses for some contacts. I studied his face closely; I preferred him with glasses on. Aspen wouldn’t be Aspen without his glasses. After flipping through more, I came upon the one I took a week before I found out Aspen had cancer. His eyes were crossed and had his tongue sticking out; it was the first day of sophomore year, our last full year together.
He died in January of junior year. It wasn’t fair; how could the world steal him away from me? He was my home away from home; he was my everything and more. We planned our whole lives around each other. With him gone, there’s this huge Aspen-shaped hole in my life, and nothing could ever fit in that spot. It was like losing the last piece in a jigsaw puzzle and trying to fit pieces from another set in the missing place. Even if it did fit, you know it wouldn’t be the same; you can’t complete a picture with a piece that doesn’t belong. Aspen was that very last piece; now I’ll never get to finish my puzzle.
It’s a shame we didn’t get to end our “photo war.” I didn’t even get a chance to see any of the pictures he took of me. Whenever I asked, he always replied the same way.
“No way, Lyria,” he would say, “just wait until senior year, then you’ll see! It’s a surprise! I’m good at surprises, don’t worry. You won’t be disappointed. I PROMISE!” I couldn’t help but smile at that memory. The world is so cruel; it just had to let him die, didn’t it? There are so many evil people who are still alive, and God decides to choose Aspen? I just don’t get it. Why him? Why choose the good guy? I would’ve gone in Aspen’s spot if I had the chance. I could die in satisfaction if I knew that he was still living and breathing. But I guess it just doesn’t work like that.
2:59– “Lyria!” my mother called, “it’s almost time! Get up, get up!” At that, my heart began to beat faster and faster. I’ve waited over a year for this moment. At last, I’ll get my final “surprise” from Aspen. I carefully stuffed the pictures back into its envelope and jumped up to stand next to my mom. This was it, this was it. I held my breath and shut my eyes as Mom counted down the remaining ten seconds. Ten… Nine… Eight… Seven… Six… Five… Four… Three… Two… One…
3:00– It was time. I reopened my eyes and found myself staring at the same American Eagle advertisement I was looking at before. My throat tightened. No way that this was it. Aspen would never do this to me.
1 minute past 3:00 and still nothing. My shoulders slowly slumped.
2 minutes past 3:00 and still nothing. I plastered a fake smile on my face.
3 minutes past 3:00 and still nothing. I tried to hold back the tears. I kept on a brave face so my mom wouldn’t see how disappointed I was. It was going well until she wrapped her arms around me. It was then when I started sobbing into her wool scarf. I couldn’t control myself and I was too embarrassed to reveal my face to the crowd of people whose eyes I could feel burning into my back. It wasn’t every day you saw a seventeen-year-old girl bawl her eyes out like a child.
3:04– Suddenly, everyone started gasping and yelling out questions. I lifted my head to see what they were chattering about. That’s when I saw. All the commercial screens went black, every single one of them.
“LOOK!” someone shouted behind me. I twirled around and stared at what was once the advertisement board for American Eagle. Now it was a black screen with white words appearing on the bottom like subtitles.
War’s over, Lyria Hugo, it read, I win. I miss you, I love you. From, your best friend, Aspen.
Of course, this was Aspen’s surprise. Always out-surprising me, this one. And fashionably late, as usual.
Photographs began to fade in on the other screens. It took a few moments before I realised that those images were of me. This was his collection of my ugly pictures. This is what he was saving them for. Dozens of them showed up on the surrounding screens. I dropped to my knees and covered my mouth. This was amazing.
Before I knew it, I was crying again, but this time, they were happy tears.
What did I do to deserve a friend like Aspen?
I looked up at the sky and smiled. I bet he could see me from up there and I wanted him to see how elated I was.
I’ll admit it, Aspen Newton. I lose.
I miss you more, I love you more. From, your best friend, Lyria.
Thanks for reading, I hope you liked them!
