It’s inspiration Monday again! Anyways. I’ll probably post again with more of these wonderful prompts. This was just the first to catch my eye. Thank-you to bekindrewrite for the wonderful prompts.
I’m not crazy.
I’ve been asked before. In fact, I get asked so much I’ve started introducing myself, ‘My name is Charlie, I’m an average, everyday seventeen year old girl, and I’m not crazy.’
Forget the stares my statement usually draws. I am simply saying the truth before the accusations come flying at me. Admittedly I’m eccentric. However, it should be remembered, you would be too, in my position. If you had watched your best friend die, you would be ‘eccentric’ too. If you didn’t know who, or what you were, would you be entirely sane?
Awhile ago, I wrote down a list of all the things that just make me happy. Someone told me it would help, because at least then, I’d have a little bit of something to look forward to in the world. At least I would if I did the things I wrote. I think they wanted me to remember that I’ve got a reason to live. At first I couldn’t think of anything. It took me a really long time. Finally the person who told me to do it in the first place told me to write it to someone. That was easy. I would write to you. After that it was a matter of finding enough paper. The first thing I wrote led to the second and after that it was all I could do to stop. It was the happiest I’ve been in forever.
The first thing I wrote down on that list was the smell of peaches, on a late summer day, right after an afternoon thunder storm. The rain has just cleaned the world again, and somehow, it seems like evil is just gone. And then I wrote, ‘ice skating at midnight with my wool red scarf flying behind me while I race after you.’ I remember the sound of our laughter. The memory made me think of the next thing I love. I love the sound of crickets on pre-dawn fishing trips. The way I squealed when you showed me how to bait a hook the first time; and when I all out screamed when a little later you reeled in a fish and plopped it on my lap. I remember jumping up and ripping my new turquoise hoody off like a snake bit me and then I threw the fish back into the creek like it was a bomb. My shrieks of laughter scared off every fish for miles, but it didn’t matter, you were laughing too. I loved–and still do love–that day, because it defied the world. Rebelled against all that wished unhappiness. And the best part of that day? It was the way your eyes sparkled with mischief when you dropped that slime-covered fish in my lap.
My next favorite thing is the way fireworks crackle, just before they go off. It reminds me of all those times we sat together, hand in hand, watching the night sky in all of its spectacular glory. I love the feel of your fingers, entwined with mind. Rebelliously telling the world that I was yours and you would not let go. But even you could not hold on forever. And for that betrayal I cannot help but hate you–though I’ve found that love is a far stronger emotion.
I love the way my fingers would get stuck together, on the days we would buy fudge bars to share, and see how far we could run before we had to eat them because they were melting, or already melted. Sometimes I think that the things you and I would come up with on summer days could rival the most extensively planned military operation. I always laugh when I think about how we would plan out route right before we bought the ice cream, so carefully planning each step, then race to see if we could finish it.
The crackle of leaves as we rolled through them in the fall came to me next. I have no trouble remembering that. I remember how happy we were. We were wearing our “‘ol blue jeans” and you had given me your Letterman jacket. I remember how proud you were when you got that jacket, you told me that you wanted to see me wear it for you and I didn’t understand, but now I do. You wanted me to be wearing your colors, and everyone else we knew to know that I was your girl. I wish I could still be your girl now.
After I got started, the list of things I love was easy. But the last thing I wrote on that list, was the thing I hate. I hate the world. They took you from me. He took you from me. The day you were murdered. So yes, I’m strange, a little off maybe, but there’s a reason why. Because you’re gone. I will never do a single one of my favorite things with you again.