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This isn't a fanfic but I didn't know where to put it...
Anyhow, I'm writing this story that I think I might eventually want to like, turn into a book or something. I've gotten feedback from some of my close friends, but I need outside opinions and views too...
If you have time, and want to, would you please read the first chapter and tell me what you think?
Also its kinda sad...
And after you read it vote for the title in the poll
If I ever do publish this, I'll include you guys in the dedication. I already have a long list of people I'd dedicate it to... there wouldn't be just one.
So here it is... hope you like it
Chapter 1- Light Brown, Old-Smelling, Faded Leather Backseat
The car ride was four hours. That car ride, on July thirtieth of 2006 was the longest four-hour car ride of my life. It was raining, which made my situation even more downhearted than it already was. I sat in the back seat of Grandpa’s old brown station wagon and watched the water drops roll down the window, through blurry eyes, through the tears I had been crying for awhile now. I couldn’t recall the last day I hadn’t cried. It seemed like forever ago.
The thoughts that ran through my head were seldom; thinking about anything hurt too much. So I sat there, on the light brown, old-smelling, faded leather seats in Grandpa’s car with this empty, hollow feeling where my heart should’ve been.
Grandpa and I didn’t say much to each other. What was there to say? What do you say to someone who, pretty much, has lost their entire family? There’s nothing you can say, nothing you can do to change that. Nothing can take the pain and emptiness away, either.
Feeling empty was not an unfamiliar feeling to me. I had known that feeling practically my whole life. My mom left when I was six. I never heard the details. Dad could never find the strength to tell me, or my older brother, David. After Mom left, Dad and David were all I had. We were very close, but you can’t talk to your dad or older brother (by three years) about everything. There are some things an eleven-year-old girl can only tell her mom. For most of my pre-teen years, I tried to play ‘matchmaker’ for my dad. But Dad refused to date. He didn’t want to ‘go through all that’ again. I could understand that. Having Mom leave tore me apart. That’s a hard thing for a six-year-old to understand. That sort of thing makes a little six-year-old girl wonder why nobody loves her.
But Dad and David loved me. They told me so every day. Until one day, they were gone. The only family I had left was gone.
They were killed in a car crash on their way home from David’s baseball game. I never even got to say goodbye. They left before I was awake, and they never came home.
The two people I loved and the two people who loved me were gone.
The next time I saw them was at their funeral. That was also the last time I saw them.
That’s how I ended up sitting on the light brown, old-smelling, faded leather backseat of Grandpa’s old brown station wagon, wondering why I was so alone, what I did to deserve to be in this situation, and why nobody loved me.
Grandpa continued driving down the highway. Aunt Brooke only lived another forty-five minutes away.
Aunt Brooke was my mother’s younger sister. She was twenty-six, blond, lived in Pennsylvania, single, an aspiring musician, and that’s all I knew. I had only met Aunt Brooke a couple times; at Christmas a few years ago and once on my birthday. I never thought she liked me that much, and I wondered why on Earth I was going to live with her.
“Because you need her and she needs you,” Grandpa told me.
Honestly, I had no idea what he meant, but I just said “okay” because Grandpa’s usually right. Aunt Brooke is his daughter, and he probably knows her better than I do.
It might also have been because she’s the only other relative on the east-coast I had. The rest lived in Washington state.
We drove for a little while longer and got off the highway in Philadelphia. We drove through the City of Brotherly Love and soon we came to a quiet town with a few plazas, a couple gas stations, and some restaurants. Grandpa turned down a side street and drove through a very friendly-looking neighborhood.
The rain had stopped awhile ago, and the sun made it easier to enjoy the view out my window, although the empty feeling in my chest made it harder to enjoy the view.
After turning onto a street called Pride Lane, Grandpa pulled into what I guessed was Aunt Brooke’s driveway. Her house was way different than I expected. It was big. Like not mansion big, but still big. It was a beige color with a brick driveway and a stone walkway to the porch. The front window was huge and gave a direct view into Aunt Brooke’s dining room. The garden was full of pink and purple flowers, a couple little bushes, and a tall, very pretty magnolia tree, blooming with soft, pink flowers.
“Well, we’re here,” Grandpa said, speaking for the first time in awhile.
Nervously, I opened the door and slid out. I got my suitcase and four other bags out of the trunk. (Keep in mind all my belongings were contained within them.) I met Grandpa around the side of the car and set my bags down. I wrapped my arms around him and he hugged me back.
“I love you, Grandpa,” I whispered, trying to hold back the tears.
“I love you too, Eliza.”
His voice sounded old, and tired. His blue eyes, which usually sparkled with joy, held a feeling of sadness.
“Remember, I’m just a phone call away,” he continued.
“Why cant I just stay with you and Grandma?” I asked.
“Living with your Aunt Brooke will be good for both of you,” he reminded me, “I think you’re exactly what she needs and she’s exactly what you need.”
I nodded and picked up my bags. Grandpa got back in the car, backed out of the driveway, and drove away. I waved tearfully as he left.
Once I couldn’t see his car anymore, I wiped the few tears off my cheeks, picked up my bags, carried them to the porch, and rang the doorbell.
Soon, Aunt Brooke came to the door. Her hair was a mess of light blonde curls that bounced as she walked. She was dressed in an aqua blue t-shirt that matched the color of her eyes, and jean shorts that came to the knee. Her earrings, hoops, were silver and big enough to fit around your wrist.
“Eliza!” she exclaimed, “You’re here!”
“Hi Aunt Brooke,” I replied, shyly.
“Let me help you with your bags,” she said, reaching out to take a few of my many bags. I handed her two of the lighter ones.
“Let’s take these to your room for now,” she said, “we can unpack later.”
I stepped inside and kicked off my flip-flops. I followed Aunt Brooke through the house, noting the color of every room. The living room was white: very modern and chic. The kitchen was sunny and yellow, and the hallway was a calm beige tone. We walked past a blue bathroom, a pink one, and a blue bedroom, which was Aunt Brooke’s. Finally, we came to the guest room, which was now my room. Coincidentally, it was purple, my favorite color. The bed was a queen, and above it hung a canopy, a lighter purple than the walls. The comforter was crisp and white, with curtains hanging on the windows that matched. The headboard, footboard, dresser, and night table were wood, a light color wood. The room was very pretty. I liked it instantly. I set all my bags on the bed and tried to notice every detail of my new room. I loved it. It was very ‘me’: very pretty and purple. The only problem was, it didn’t feel like home. It was foreign and unfamiliar. I wondered if it would ever feel like home, and I began to feel homesick. I sat on the floor with my back against the bed, holding my knees to my stomach.
“Hey, you okay?” Aunt Brooke asked, gently.
I nodded, and bit my lip to try to hold the tears back, even though I wasn’t okay.
“No you’re not,” Aunt Brooke replied, knowingly. She sat next to me and put her arm around my shoulders.
“What’s wrong, Eliza?”
“I want to go home,” I cried softly.
“You are home now,” Aunt Brooke replied.
“I want to undo everything that happened,” I cried, beginning to sob,” I want my house with my room and my dad and my brother… and… and… I want my mom!”
I buried my face in my knees and bawled. The empty, hollow feeling was taking over me and I couldn’t contain it. It was a force stronger than me and it led me to crying harder than I had in my life.
I stopped for a second.
“I just want someone to love me and help me through life and tell me its okay, even when its not,” I whispered.
I looked up at Aunt Brooke and our eyes met. Her blue eyes were tearing up and mine were probably red from crying. She pulled me into a hug and let me cry on her shoulder while she whispered, “its okay, its okay,” even though it wasn’t. She knew I was crying, I had told her, but I didn’t have to ask to know that she was crying because of her sister, my mom, too.
That’s when I realized that Grandpa meant when he said I needed Aunt Brooke and she needed me. I needed her because she was the closest thing to my mom. Aunt Brooke needed me because I was the closest thing to her sister. Not only that, but we both needed someone to love us.
We were the perfect match.
Anyhow, I'm writing this story that I think I might eventually want to like, turn into a book or something. I've gotten feedback from some of my close friends, but I need outside opinions and views too...
If you have time, and want to, would you please read the first chapter and tell me what you think?
Also its kinda sad...
And after you read it vote for the title in the poll
If I ever do publish this, I'll include you guys in the dedication. I already have a long list of people I'd dedicate it to... there wouldn't be just one.
So here it is... hope you like it
Chapter 1- Light Brown, Old-Smelling, Faded Leather Backseat
The car ride was four hours. That car ride, on July thirtieth of 2006 was the longest four-hour car ride of my life. It was raining, which made my situation even more downhearted than it already was. I sat in the back seat of Grandpa’s old brown station wagon and watched the water drops roll down the window, through blurry eyes, through the tears I had been crying for awhile now. I couldn’t recall the last day I hadn’t cried. It seemed like forever ago.
The thoughts that ran through my head were seldom; thinking about anything hurt too much. So I sat there, on the light brown, old-smelling, faded leather seats in Grandpa’s car with this empty, hollow feeling where my heart should’ve been.
Grandpa and I didn’t say much to each other. What was there to say? What do you say to someone who, pretty much, has lost their entire family? There’s nothing you can say, nothing you can do to change that. Nothing can take the pain and emptiness away, either.
Feeling empty was not an unfamiliar feeling to me. I had known that feeling practically my whole life. My mom left when I was six. I never heard the details. Dad could never find the strength to tell me, or my older brother, David. After Mom left, Dad and David were all I had. We were very close, but you can’t talk to your dad or older brother (by three years) about everything. There are some things an eleven-year-old girl can only tell her mom. For most of my pre-teen years, I tried to play ‘matchmaker’ for my dad. But Dad refused to date. He didn’t want to ‘go through all that’ again. I could understand that. Having Mom leave tore me apart. That’s a hard thing for a six-year-old to understand. That sort of thing makes a little six-year-old girl wonder why nobody loves her.
But Dad and David loved me. They told me so every day. Until one day, they were gone. The only family I had left was gone.
They were killed in a car crash on their way home from David’s baseball game. I never even got to say goodbye. They left before I was awake, and they never came home.
The two people I loved and the two people who loved me were gone.
The next time I saw them was at their funeral. That was also the last time I saw them.
That’s how I ended up sitting on the light brown, old-smelling, faded leather backseat of Grandpa’s old brown station wagon, wondering why I was so alone, what I did to deserve to be in this situation, and why nobody loved me.
Grandpa continued driving down the highway. Aunt Brooke only lived another forty-five minutes away.
Aunt Brooke was my mother’s younger sister. She was twenty-six, blond, lived in Pennsylvania, single, an aspiring musician, and that’s all I knew. I had only met Aunt Brooke a couple times; at Christmas a few years ago and once on my birthday. I never thought she liked me that much, and I wondered why on Earth I was going to live with her.
“Because you need her and she needs you,” Grandpa told me.
Honestly, I had no idea what he meant, but I just said “okay” because Grandpa’s usually right. Aunt Brooke is his daughter, and he probably knows her better than I do.
It might also have been because she’s the only other relative on the east-coast I had. The rest lived in Washington state.
We drove for a little while longer and got off the highway in Philadelphia. We drove through the City of Brotherly Love and soon we came to a quiet town with a few plazas, a couple gas stations, and some restaurants. Grandpa turned down a side street and drove through a very friendly-looking neighborhood.
The rain had stopped awhile ago, and the sun made it easier to enjoy the view out my window, although the empty feeling in my chest made it harder to enjoy the view.
After turning onto a street called Pride Lane, Grandpa pulled into what I guessed was Aunt Brooke’s driveway. Her house was way different than I expected. It was big. Like not mansion big, but still big. It was a beige color with a brick driveway and a stone walkway to the porch. The front window was huge and gave a direct view into Aunt Brooke’s dining room. The garden was full of pink and purple flowers, a couple little bushes, and a tall, very pretty magnolia tree, blooming with soft, pink flowers.
“Well, we’re here,” Grandpa said, speaking for the first time in awhile.
Nervously, I opened the door and slid out. I got my suitcase and four other bags out of the trunk. (Keep in mind all my belongings were contained within them.) I met Grandpa around the side of the car and set my bags down. I wrapped my arms around him and he hugged me back.
“I love you, Grandpa,” I whispered, trying to hold back the tears.
“I love you too, Eliza.”
His voice sounded old, and tired. His blue eyes, which usually sparkled with joy, held a feeling of sadness.
“Remember, I’m just a phone call away,” he continued.
“Why cant I just stay with you and Grandma?” I asked.
“Living with your Aunt Brooke will be good for both of you,” he reminded me, “I think you’re exactly what she needs and she’s exactly what you need.”
I nodded and picked up my bags. Grandpa got back in the car, backed out of the driveway, and drove away. I waved tearfully as he left.
Once I couldn’t see his car anymore, I wiped the few tears off my cheeks, picked up my bags, carried them to the porch, and rang the doorbell.
Soon, Aunt Brooke came to the door. Her hair was a mess of light blonde curls that bounced as she walked. She was dressed in an aqua blue t-shirt that matched the color of her eyes, and jean shorts that came to the knee. Her earrings, hoops, were silver and big enough to fit around your wrist.
“Eliza!” she exclaimed, “You’re here!”
“Hi Aunt Brooke,” I replied, shyly.
“Let me help you with your bags,” she said, reaching out to take a few of my many bags. I handed her two of the lighter ones.
“Let’s take these to your room for now,” she said, “we can unpack later.”
I stepped inside and kicked off my flip-flops. I followed Aunt Brooke through the house, noting the color of every room. The living room was white: very modern and chic. The kitchen was sunny and yellow, and the hallway was a calm beige tone. We walked past a blue bathroom, a pink one, and a blue bedroom, which was Aunt Brooke’s. Finally, we came to the guest room, which was now my room. Coincidentally, it was purple, my favorite color. The bed was a queen, and above it hung a canopy, a lighter purple than the walls. The comforter was crisp and white, with curtains hanging on the windows that matched. The headboard, footboard, dresser, and night table were wood, a light color wood. The room was very pretty. I liked it instantly. I set all my bags on the bed and tried to notice every detail of my new room. I loved it. It was very ‘me’: very pretty and purple. The only problem was, it didn’t feel like home. It was foreign and unfamiliar. I wondered if it would ever feel like home, and I began to feel homesick. I sat on the floor with my back against the bed, holding my knees to my stomach.
“Hey, you okay?” Aunt Brooke asked, gently.
I nodded, and bit my lip to try to hold the tears back, even though I wasn’t okay.
“No you’re not,” Aunt Brooke replied, knowingly. She sat next to me and put her arm around my shoulders.
“What’s wrong, Eliza?”
“I want to go home,” I cried softly.
“You are home now,” Aunt Brooke replied.
“I want to undo everything that happened,” I cried, beginning to sob,” I want my house with my room and my dad and my brother… and… and… I want my mom!”
I buried my face in my knees and bawled. The empty, hollow feeling was taking over me and I couldn’t contain it. It was a force stronger than me and it led me to crying harder than I had in my life.
I stopped for a second.
“I just want someone to love me and help me through life and tell me its okay, even when its not,” I whispered.
I looked up at Aunt Brooke and our eyes met. Her blue eyes were tearing up and mine were probably red from crying. She pulled me into a hug and let me cry on her shoulder while she whispered, “its okay, its okay,” even though it wasn’t. She knew I was crying, I had told her, but I didn’t have to ask to know that she was crying because of her sister, my mom, too.
That’s when I realized that Grandpa meant when he said I needed Aunt Brooke and she needed me. I needed her because she was the closest thing to my mom. Aunt Brooke needed me because I was the closest thing to her sister. Not only that, but we both needed someone to love us.
We were the perfect match.
