Short Story : My Story

I woke up to my alarm clock playing a random song from my playlist, like it does on any typical school morning. Just like any other typical school morning, I hit the snooze button four or five times before my Mom has to come and drag me out of bed. Her way of waking me up is turning on my desk lamp so that it shines right in my face. I get up, dragging half of my blankets along draped over my back. I slip on my fuzzy slippers and slowing stomp down the stairs.

Arya’s toes sink in the soft carpet as she runs down the stairs. The smell of breakfast fill her nose with joy.

My life wasn’t always so phony and insubstantial. I had a life once , a real one, but I threw it away for the “better” make-believe version. Now here I am, standing on the ledge, with no parachute to catch me in my decent. Staring down into the vaporous abyss that is, my ticket out. All I have to do is leap, and gravity will carry out the rest.

My name is Stella. My parents gave me this name because they thought I would be the light of there lives. They could not have been more wrong.

I have a scar on my right hand. It is just under my thumb on the backside of my hand. It is a thin, pale mark, roughly an inch long. How did it get there? Well, I’m glad you asked. It is an epic tale, not meant for the faint of heart. It conveys the utmost bravery on my part, more heroic than King Arthur’s knights! If you so insist, I shall recount the tale.

“Piss it out like a fire rocket!” She screamed, while repeatedly slamming the bathroom door open and closed. I was 16 years old when I sat on that toilet. Eyes wide, full of bright ideas; like the one that led me to try out Marine Corps boot camp. The drill instructor in front of me showed no mercy, standing tall and proud, Sergeant Gidean had Marine Corps in her blood. As I sat there, pants around my knees, I thought I would never pee again. How could I ever amount to a person with such courage and tenacity? Often joking with myself that I had developed Stockholm Syndrome, I yearned to be like the woman who was screaming at me, and gain her approval in every way. For two weeks we lived in the same bug filled barracks together, marching side by side, pursuing some form of self-improvement. Okay, maybe that last part was just me. But we were both so different from one another, and yet I found resemblance between us. A resemblance that kept me calm, that said “she’s human too.” But the difference that kept me motivated to change and be a better person.

Kassy Moon stood in the crowd, covered in sweat, (both hers and strangers) and pig blood. Her hair messed, her Slayer T-shirt torn, her right breast exposed while some long haired tattooed stranger groped her ass through her black booty shorts from behind her. It was truly a grand departure from what she looked like just a year ago, and to any who knew her she was barely recognizable from the person she once was.

I hear several loud bangs while I sleep. I soon realize my mom is knocking on my bedroom door. Confused, I get up to unlock and open my door. I immediately notice that my mom is crying. My mom says, “We have to go, grandpa is dying.” She can barely get the last three words out. My heart drops. I initially think I’m dreaming but I soon realize this is very real. I instantly get dressed, when I walk out to the kitchen my mom is waiting. We leave for the hospital.

Have you ever found something strange while you were looking for something or cleaning? Well, that happened to me, Cara. I was cleaning my old and dusty basement, when I found something that was unknown to me. It was a picture of me and this girl, who looked the same as me. I was confused and shocked at how much this girl looked liked me. Was she a sibling, a long lost family member, or maybe even a twin?

It is a brisk summer day at Porretto Beach in Galveston, Texas. I, Casila, lay in the sand with my luxurious dark black hair spread out, hidden in the the sand. No matter how much the scalding heat bothers me, I do not dare enter the water. I lost my mother to the water not a year after I was born. I lost my brother fifteen years later to fire coral, which lives in the water. Now, twenty-three years after my mother’s death, I still live in fear.

My story begins in London, England. I have two parents who seem to form an oxymoron, because even from a young age I could tell that they were the complete opposites from each other. I vividly recall living with my school friend for around a week and wondering what I had done to deserve such a fantastic vacation. When I was finally allowed to return to my parents, I did not return to the apartment I was familiar with, but a duplex house with another family I had never met before. It was much later in life, through discussion with my parents, that I learned that we were evicted. This kind of financial struggle has followed me all throughout my life. There has only ever been enough revenue to make sure our stomachs are full and to pay the bills. Afterwards, barely anything. However, these struggles have taught me that money is not happiness. In my house, there was and still is, consistent laughter. The oxymoron made it known that they loved me, no matter what the circumstance may have been. They taught me that family is important; life is can never terrible when family is there. I vowed that when I have my family, I would work as hard as I can to maintain happiness at home because happiness is the greatest medicine, the healer of all ailments.

I was tired of my parents telling me what to do. I couldn’t live like that. Not anymore. As I sat on my bed, I heard a knock on the door. My parents came in, and they told me to get in bed. It was the last time I was being ordered around. They tucked me in.

“There are none to tell you. My life wasn’t interesting. I don’t even remember anything.”

Death is the thing you hear and know about but never truly know until you face it. I never thought death would frighten me until I was looking at my mom in the hospital; her face bruised from going unconscious and hitting the floor from what the doctors diagnosed her with “unclassified cardiomyopathy”. Not only did death caused me to worry for my family, but it also even made me worry for my future. With almost losing a special person, I realized that life can suddenly be taken from you. Life is valuable and should not be taken for granted and to savor everything.

I don’t really know where to begin, but i’ll give it a try. My names Jethro (JuJu) Melse also known as Jet. I turned 16 this month on the third of September. I was born in Orlando, Florida. But was raised in Paterson ,New Jersey. My nationality is Haitian. Im also a Christian. I am also the first born. I grew up with two younger siblings. But I had a lot of responsibilities from a young age. I will be telling you the story about me.