It's a story for you

Alex, this is bloody amazing. Seriously.
You are one gifted lady.
Write more. like now.

[BeautyFiend]

Who knew Alex had talent, eh?

[Tears and Rain]

I love you too Nat :P
Heh, not gifted as such Becca, just a very good procrastinator.
Thankyou guyses.

Well I guess it's my job to post more now..
[Zed you still have to proof read :]]

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March 14th 2007

16:30
“Hey Rosie, just wondering why your phone was off? Anyway, give me a call when you get this message, Bye.”
16:42
“Eyup love, what happened today? Give ‘s a ring, Loveya”
17:01
“Rosie, it’s dad, what’s up with this call from your headmistress? Why didn’t you tell the school yourself you were going home? Anyway, we’ll talk about this when I get home.”

Rosie heard the answer phone click off once more and listened out for the beeps. The first message from Jack, the second from Chloe, the third from her Dad, who else is going to call for the gossip, she wondered. Why this, why that. Everything was a question of why. She wouldn’t have to worry about talking to her Dad, he wouldn’t be home early, or sober, enough to string a sentence so, replaying the messages and deleting the record, she settled herself down with a cup of tea in front of the television. Her dad often used to replay her mother’s words to her of how she believed a cup of tea would always make everything better, and it seemed Rosie had continued this trend. She sat there and flicked through the channels looking for any program remotely distracting, however every program she came across seemed to relate in her head in some way. When every song on the radio and every program on the television reminds you, you know you need to get out, she thought silently, and making her way up the stairs again, she unplugged the phone…

March 14th 1997

17:04
A phone rang, the Uncle’s, and he went out to receive the call. Saved by the bell it seemed as the minutes passed with still no answer to the girl’s question. Her eyes widened as she saw a figure she recognised outside of the door.
“Daddy!”
The girl ran forwards towards the door, but unable to open it, watched as her father was led away from the room she was captive in and down another corridor. She turned her attention away from the door and addressed the two other adults in the room who she had been left with, “Where is he going?” she questioned.
“Daddy’s just going to say goodbye to mummy now, Rosie, he won’t be long. We’re here to talk to you first without your daddy here if that’s okay?” Rosie nodded.
“But I want to say goodbye to mummy too.”
The councillor’s reply came strained from her lips, “if Daddy says that it’s okay, you will be able to say goodbye to mummy later.” She paused. “Rosie, how do you feel right now?”
The girl stared at her shoes, she had bought them with her mother only the weekend before and she loved them, pink with white bows on, her favourite colour…

[Potatos]

................Just..........*speechless*........ ...wow.

Alex this is amazing, properly amazing. im completely gripped, you have an amazing talent, i love you! xxx

[PaperClip]

i dont know what to say other than - WOW

its fantastic, i was hooked from the begining! Way to go Alex!

Is there going to be more??

[Tears and Rain]

There will be in theory :] Just.. exams and such atm obviously so not much time/thoughts in my head.. but yehs.
Thankyou :)

I'm not sure I like this bit.
But lyk.
Yeh.

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March 14th 2007

17:30
Sitting in the bathroom, she stared at the tiles around her. One pink, one white, one pink, one white, one pink, one white, she recited the pattern over and over in her head. She hated the colour pink.
She pulled back the sleeve on her shirt, one pink, one white, one pink, one white, one pink, one white, she continued reciting the pattern in her head. She really hated the colour pink.
The pattern of the tiles, the pattern of the scars, the pattern of her shoes that fateful day. She loathed the colour pink.
Reaching up to the cabinet behind her, she moved aside the aftershave and the unopened tubes of toothpaste and clasped her hands around her prize. The untouched blades would soon change the colours from pink to red, from rose to ruby, from peach to scarlet. She opened the new packet of razors onto her lap and removed two from the pile, replacing the unused treasures back into the packet and the cabinet above her head. She sat for a few minutes staring at the two killers before her, just waiting to be broken into, broken apart. And as she looked at them, she watched her fingers pull apart the plastic to reveal the source within…She heard a crash from downstairs, and a shriek of pain. Stashing the blades into her pocket, and the plastic into the bin, she sprinted down the stairs to view the source of the racket.
“Rosie! There you are! Why didn’t you answer the door? I’ve been ringing for ages! And then the phone wasn’t connecting! I forgot my key love, I hope I didn’t startle you too much.”
Rosie was met with the image of her step-mum flailing about on the ground after clearly attempting to gracefully climb through the window.
“Yeh, sorry, I didn’t want any distractions whilst I was working…so I unplugged it.”
“Ah I see, no matter. We really must get your father to leave out some spare door keys y’know, leaving the “known to us all that the front window isn’t locked” plan, simply causes accidents like the one I’ve managed to get myself stuck in. Give ‘s a hand would you?”
As she helped her step mum up, Rosie left her mind elsewhere and set to the menial autopilot mode.
“How was your day?”
“Yes not so bad thank you, a confusing one as it goes, some man came into the bank…” Rosie let her mind wander as the woman in front of her set about her story of torment at her work, she wondered whether she herself had ever questioned calling this woman “mum” after her dad had met this new lady in his life. It was what she was told to call her at the age of nine, and what she had always called her since out of habit. All of her friends, no doubt, thought that this actress was her mother, and Rosie had never bothered to or wanted to put them right. Putting them right made the truth too real. She was always an actress to Rosie though, although she never addressed it, the woman that stood before her never was and never would be her mum…

March 14th 1997

17:58
The girl did not recognise the woman lying before her. As she stood on the chair at the bedside and leaned over the figure sleeping there, she could see none of her mother in them. This woman wasn’t her mother. Her mother was bright and beautiful, with brown curls and deep blue eyes, not this…thing, she saw before her. This figure’s hair was limp by the sides of her head, her eyes could not be seen while she slept and her face did not look beautiful. The grey tinge to her skin made her face lifeless and the unmoving pulse behind her eyes made her dead. The girl couldn’t remember her mum ever sleeping like this…

[Voldemort]

More.

Kthx. =]

[Leo Pard]

Loves ittt.

LOVELOVELOVELOVELOVE it.
But like you know that already. :)

[Zedebee]

'Course I'll still proffread =)
Seeeee you needn't have asked me to post 'cause everybody loves you and this story. If anything, I slowed down your complients =p

[Tears and Rain]

Zed. Shut up :P I'm very grateful for you posting it for me and i'm really glad I did, so shush.

Another bit today.
Duno why.
Felt like it?
Potential *si trig*. Yadayadayada.

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March 14th 2007

18:32
Rosie woke up with a jolt, where was she? Quickly realising she was, in fact, on the sofa in her living room, she calmed herself. As she pulled herself up, she noticed a note on the table in her step mum’s handwriting, “Sorry didn’t get to say goodbye love, you fell asleep and I thought it kinder to leave you be. Out with your Dad, back late, don’t wait up. Dinner’s on the side xx”
No surprises there then, she thought. She walked to the kitchen and proceeded to replace her evening meal back in the freezer, making sure she rearranged the contents slightly to avoid questions. On her way back upstairs she, once again, unplugged the telephone and this time made her way to her bedroom.
Closing the door silently behind her, as if the slightest movement would wake the empty house, she walked with an unconscious force to her sink, and removed the burning objects from her pocket. Looking down at them they weren’t all that special. Thin slithers of cold hard metal with four small round holes placed at equal distance apart along them, and as she drew the blade along her wrist she kept this thought in mind, not all that special. She pulled the blade across like diamonds cutting glass, leaving gaping gashes along her forearm with the red blood replacing the pink scars there and patterning the maimed flesh…

March 14th 1997

17:59
The girl reached out her hand to touch the lifeless form, cold. Her father looked on as he watched his daughter try to come to terms with a fact huger than even he could comprehend. He couldn’t begin to imagine the confusion in his little girl’s head. He watched as she reached out and touched the hair of his wife, her mother, and tried to prevent himself from breaking down into sobs.
“Can I hold her hand, Daddy?” the girl asked, “Uncle Peter said that she would be going to a place where she can be happy, I want to go with her. I want to hold her hand so she’s not lonely there.”
The girl watched on as her father escaped from the hospital room, leaving her there with only her mother and a nurse standing quietly in the corner looking on.
The nurses had tried to clean the body up as much as possible before allowing the girl to see the woman, but no medical training could prepare a nurse to watch a seven year old child ask if she could keep her mother company in death, and it was all she could do not to cry. Now with the child’s father gone, the nurse stepped forward.
“I think if you hold her hand now, she’ll know she’s not alone, but she’ll want you to stay here and keep your daddy company because she will know she’s not coming back from the happy place.” The nurse saw the girl nod slightly in, if not understanding, agreement, and she moved the sheet back slightly to allow for her to hold the woman’s hand.
“What are these white things for?” The girl indicated to the bandages on her mothers arms.
“Those? Those are the bracelets people get on their way into the happy place so that they can look over everyone they love and make sure they’re okay.”
The nurse watched as the girl digested this information slowly, and held her breath as the girl replied matter-of-factly, “I don’t think I’m going to be okay.”…

This bit got me all teary.
You are amazing Alex.

[Potatos]

same here becca!!! aah Alex, you are TOOO TALENTED!!!

[down*in*the*dumps]

oh no! i just read it all and theres no second page!
moooooooore please :D

[Just Believe.]

Alex you're really talented :)

I nearly cried at the last bit!

[Tears and Rain]

Awh, thankyou guys.. provoking some sort of emotion is good right?... (Y)

Clearly my exams mean nothing and procrastination means everything :| Cos like.. here?

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March 14th 2007

18:50
She looked down at her bandaged arm and wished what she’d heard all those years ago were true. She didn’t wish to be dead, she simply wished to know why her mother wanted to be. As she cleaned and dressed the remains of her bleeding wounds, she turned her phone back on. Five voicemails and eight texts,
“Rosie, why’s your phone off? Give me a ring when you get this”
“Hey there Rosie, s’just me, me as in Rachel… not just me… what kind of weird name would ‘me’ be anyway… where was I?! Just ringin’ to check you were okay really. Give ‘s a ring or text when you get this eh, Ciao Bella”
“Rosie pick up your damn phone.”
“Rosie turn your phone on, you realise I’ll just keep calling until you do”
“Okay, fine, I give up. I don’t really, I love youuu, call me.”
She read the texts whilst listening to the voicemails; all similar things, sent a round text to everyone telling them she was fine and turned her phone off again. She didn’t need people worrying about her. Her mind wasn’t worth people worrying about, she’d be fine, she was always fine, everything was always fine. Suddenly Rosie couldn’t stand sitting there any longer, she pinned the bandage together tightly, pulled her jumper sleeve down and jumped up. Running down the stairs she barely had time to grab her keys before she was out of the door and running down the pathway to her front gate. She opened the gate with such force that it clanged against the fence with a great bang, but she didn’t turn around to close it. She ran and ran until her legs could not keep up with her head any longer, but still then she urged them on, pushed them as hard as she could. When she could see the end in sight she didn’t slow down, the view of her finish only sped her up further until she reached the gate and pushed it open. She forced her legs ever further, looking past stone after stone after stone “Died 1995”…”Beloved daughter”… “Leaves behind…”… “Rest in Peace”… “Forever…” as she reached the stone she recognised she fell to her knees. With the tears she wiped from her face she cleaned the plaque, tracing her fingers along the plated words written on it…

March 20th 1997

13:47
The girl stood there and watched as they lowered the coffin into the hole. The headstone behind it read, “Here lies Cathy Griffiths. Beloved mother of Rosie and wife of Ian. May you find the happiness you forever desired.” The girl wondered whether it was her mother who could not bring herself happiness or her, Rosie, who did not bring her mother the happiness she needed. She wondered this out loud to her father standing beside her, but was met with a silence that only fools would choose to break.
Once the coffin was lowered, the girl watched as her father and uncle picked up some soil and scattered it over the coffin. Then, as she was indicated to do so, she moved forward herself and went to pick up the earth in front of her. Only, the girl stopped half way to the soil and instead, threw the white rose in her hand down onto the coffin below her. No one questioned the girl’s actions and no one said anything when the girl sat down beside the grave and began to make a daisy chain. As the crowd dispersed and continued their sad journeys to the wake, a few watched as the young child strung daisy after daisy together in this poignant manner. Slowly even these few, however, left, and the girl was left alone beside the grave of her mother, stringing the small flowers together one by one…

[Potatos]

wow.....:(

You blow me away love.
Again, amazing.

[Tears and Rain]

March 14th 2007

20:56
It was getting colder and colder in the darkness and Rosie found the only warmth she could feel was coming from the tears incessantly rolling down her cheeks. There were no daisies out this early Spring, the Spring came earlier those ten years ago. All that littered the ground around her as she sat there were the weeds from the ground, a lone vodka bottle, and the grasses which grew taller and taller around her mother’s grave. Rosie stared down at the overgrown plot and felt compelled to say something, to apologise for the state it had be left to live in, although no words would come out. She stuttered as she tried to find the right words to say, like her Uncle had done all those years ago, but she could not muster the strength to form the words she so desperately longed to say.
As she reached out her hand to retrace the letters again on the stone, she retracted her fingers sharply as a burst of anger ran through her. Those kids in her class were right, why should she mourn over someone who didn’t want to live, who left her to fight this battle on her own. Why should she cry all these tears if, for one moment, this figure of rotted flesh laying beneath her didn’t think about her daughter, about the tears she would cry, about the fear, the anger, the guilt, that she would go through growing up. Rosie felt a fresh wave of tears burst from her eyes as she screamed at the stone before her,
“Why did you do it mum? Why didn’t you think of me? Of anyone else left behind? Why did you leave us here to do this without you? Did I do something wrong? Was I not the child you ever planned on having? Would you have preferred a boy? Or maybe I wasn’t good enough for you? Were my finger paintings not artistic enough, or my spelling tests impressive enough? Did my hair not curl in the right way or my eyes not shine bright enough? What was wrong with me that you felt you had to do this to hurt me? To hurt Dad? Have you seen him recently? He’s a ****ing mess. All his life contains is him, him and the drink in his hand. Him and his new wife, not even new anymore really is she, nearly 8 years now. “My new mum”, what did you think when he said that? Were you as angry as I was, or did you pass it off, over your head, because you thought I needed a new mum. Mum, I didn’t need a NEW mum, I needed you. I needed you from the moment I turned that corner that day, needed you whilst I was sitting there in that room having the news broken to me, needed you there whilst I held that corpse’s hand. I ****ing needed you and you weren’t there. You weren’t there then and you’re not here now.”
The girl turned away from the gravestone and walked away back down the path where she’d come from, she didn’t see the figure standing only feet away, nor did she hear as the figure walked down to her mother’s grave, paused, and left in the opposite direction to her…

March 20th 1997

19:32
As she watched from the front window of her room, she saw the last people leave the ‘party’ and drive away. It was then only her and her father in the house, alone. She made her way downstairs silently and watched as her father tidied away the dishes to the kitchen leaving only three unopened bottles of wine and one glass on the table. Unseen, she proceeded to look on as her father, her hero, broke down onto his knees in tears and she ran forward from her hiding place to hold one small arm around the shoulders of the shaking man. She felt him pull her towards him in an embrace, and she continued to hug him as he cried into her hair. The girl did not cry, she simply sat there in a daze, letting her father’s tears wash over her, cleansing her with salty water. She did not know for how long they were sat there, she remembered where she was only when her father lifted her up onto his back, and carried her up into her room. From here he placed her into bed, kissed her forehead, and shut the door behind him, leaving only the girl’s night light on to allow her to sleep…

[Leo Pard]

*weeps*