Short story 1.... Name Less Once upon a time in a dreary, gray and rainy town of Wynantskill lived a lonely girl who reeked of sadness and melancholy. Her parents were dead and her friends were non-existent. Her foster mother beat her like a drum and her foster sister exploited her the way a writer exploited a metaphor, still she called her a friend. Everyday she would paint her sadness as some sort of happiness. Her belief in magic was slim to none like a drunk out of rum. Her hair was as blue as the sky and her heart was as big as the sun and her tears could fill an ocean.
One day she met someone as plain as she was and was equally vain too. His music was enchanting and euphoric like the final drop in the syringe of happiness. Their minds were stuck on each other like a whore and money. They both wore cheap hand-me- down Converse that were as torn and tattered as their smiles.
When her foster sister heard of her recent happiness something in her stomach turned out of hatred. She was still in disbelief, so because the foster sister was the only person she could call a friend she told her the truth with as much happiness as a child on her birthday. Hearing the truth only made the foster sister sicker, so she told her mother the dreadful news that they may never feed off of her sadness again. So they hatefully planned to stop this from happening.
So when she was with him she was called on her cell phone and told she would have to run home in the freezing rain like a dog to its owner. When she did this, one of her Converse fell off. When she got home she was beaten so hard one couldn’t recognize who she was. Her hair was as red as wine. When she went to go paint she saw something that made her cry more. Every painting and drawing she created was burned to nothing more then cinder. All she that was left was the word “freak” spray painted on the wall. It was a constant attack of hatred like an innocent prisoner feeling the full blast of a firing squad.
All she had loved was gone. Her mind was on the brink of insanity. In her mind every step she took was like walking on an infinite patch of burning coals searing into her skin. She soldiered through the physical and mental anguish to find a place where she was wanted. She felt like a refugee in her own house.
When she finally found that place it took the form of a school art room, which commonly housed local stoners because they sniffed the paint to drown away all their sorrows and memories of something they would want to forget and create something beautiful out of something tragic. This was only known by the stoners themselves and no one else but them. Often the art teacher will come across these paintings and refer to them as “The final ideas of ghosts” or “ghost paintings”.
But that night was an oddly quiet night, there were no “ghosts”, no paintings and no activity. There was just silence. She brought only 3 things: a pen, paper and a rope. As she was writing on the paper she being watched by boy that she had loved and never even realized it. Because of her scars he didn’t recognize her at first but when he had seen her climb on one of the chairs he noticed she wore a necklace made of rope and also that her shoe was missing.
She looked down and took a deep breath of air as cold as the heart of those who owned the roof she had lived under. She jumped from the chair but was caught by the familiar face and at that moment she didn’t feel alone or sad. They talked for hours and shared the similarity of their dreams.
Years later they still love each other as they roam the planet by foot never being held down by other people or places. She was brighter then any light bulb and her smile was an infinite source of happiness. The End.
- by me....Charley Prefore
what do u think?
Short story 1.... Name Less Once upon a time in a dreary, gray and rainy town of Wynantskill lived a lonely girl who reeked of sadness and melancholy. Her parents were dead and her friends were non-existent. Her foster mother beat her like a drum and her foster sister exploited her the way a writer exploited a metaphor, still she called her a friend. Everyday she would paint her sadness as some sort of happiness. Her belief in magic was slim to none like a drunk out of rum. Her hair was as blue as the sky and her heart was as big as the sun and her tears could fill an ocean.
One day she met someone as plain as she was and was equally vain too. His music was enchanting and euphoric like the final drop in the syringe of happiness. Their minds were stuck on each other like a whore and money. They both wore cheap hand-me- down Converse that were as torn and tattered as their smiles.
When her foster sister heard of her recent happiness something in her stomach turned out of hatred. She was still in disbelief, so because the foster sister was the only person she could call a friend she told her the truth with as much happiness as a child on her birthday. Hearing the truth only made the foster sister sicker, so she told her mother the dreadful news that they may never feed off of her sadness again. So they hatefully planned to stop this from happening.
So when she was with him she was called on her cell phone and told she would have to run home in the freezing rain like a dog to its owner. When she did this, one of her Converse fell off. When she got home she was beaten so hard one couldn’t recognize who she was. Her hair was as red as wine. When she went to go paint she saw something that made her cry more. Every painting and drawing she created was burned to nothing more then cinder. All she that was left was the word “freak” spray painted on the wall. It was a constant attack of hatred like an innocent prisoner feeling the full blast of a firing squad.
All she had loved was gone. Her mind was on the brink of insanity. In her mind every step she took was like walking on an infinite patch of burning coals searing into her skin. She soldiered through the physical and mental anguish to find a place where she was wanted. She felt like a refugee in her own house.
When she finally found that place it took the form of a school art room, which commonly housed local stoners because they sniffed the paint to drown away all their sorrows and memories of something they would want to forget and create something beautiful out of something tragic. This was only known by the stoners themselves and no one else but them. Often the art teacher will come across these paintings and refer to them as “The final ideas of ghosts” or “ghost paintings”.
But that night was an oddly quiet night, there were no “ghosts”, no paintings and no activity. There was just silence. She brought only 3 things: a pen, paper and a rope. As she was writing on the paper she being watched by boy that she had loved and never even realized it. Because of her scars he didn’t recognize her at first but when he had seen her climb on one of the chairs he noticed she wore a necklace made of rope and also that her shoe was missing.
She looked down and took a deep breath of air as cold as the heart of those who owned the roof she had lived under. She jumped from the chair but was caught by the familiar face and at that moment she didn’t feel alone or sad. They talked for hours and shared the similarity of their dreams.
Years later they still love each other as they roam the planet by foot never being held down by other people or places. She was brighter then any light bulb and her smile was an infinite source of happiness. The End.
- by me....Charley Prefore
what do u think?
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