Short Story 3

For the last two days, my Mother and I have been cleaning my study room. That is, completely cleaning it after nearly 2 years. I've found lots of funny stuff and little memories and notes among the piles of junk.

So here's an extract from a story I'd written in the tenth grade. I was supposed to be studying for my History Pre-finals but I'd already perfected the book. So I thought I'd try my hand at story-writing.
Note: There are soo many spelling mistakes and grammatical errors. Please don't mind them.
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December 15 1865

       The french troops first came to Vietnam just a few days ago. They are coming in so fast. Father says that they can never take control of Vietnam, our home! But there is something he is not telling me. The words he speaks just aren't truthful. I fear something bad will happen. They all are hoping for the best. But will hope really save us?

My name is Trang, I live in Da Nang, Vietnam. Our family is big but our home is small. My mother says that the French are the reason behind our miseries. We can barely get a full meal. My grandfather and grandmother also live with us. They are too elderly to live on their own. All they do is sleep and occasionally get up whining at mother for food. My parents are very kind to them. They respect them greatly. I have never heard Mother complain abut them. 

Trieu, my older sister. She is eighteen years old. She is quite troublesome as my parents would describe her. Trieu is not pleased with our family's wealth. She always says that she wishes to have been born into a wealthier family. My parents hurt greatly at these words. They try so hard to please her. 

Even my brother works for our family's benefit. Anh, my brother, makes most of the family income. But even so, I heard my mother saying that the job will not last forever.

January 4 1866

       Brother came home with the most wonderful news today. He was offered a job in Tonikh as a translator. One of his friends' uncle has offered to teach him French as they are in need of a translator. For once, our small home had a cheerful atmosphere. My parents were so proud and my sister was babbling on about how she would go there and marry some rich fellow. Even our old grandparents were filled with joy.
But there was something wrong. I felt as if we were forgetting something.
"Wait!", I told them. "Is it just you moving to Tonkin", I asked my brother. Everyone's expressions grew grim. But he only smiled and said, "I am not going, we are going". My mother immediately disagreed. "Your grandparents cannot take the journey", she explained. "I have to stay here and take care of them". My parents went outside with my brother to discuss what must be done. I looked at our grandparents. They were sad again, the happy atmosphere was gone. Our house was back to normal. My sister had left the room already. I went and stood at the window for what seemed like an eternity. My legs grew numb, but I stayed there, waiting for my parents to come in. After about two hours, they came in with satisfied looks on their faces. "We decided", my father said, "Trieu and Anh will be going to Tonkin, you will stay here with your Mother and I". 
"What?!", I screamed. "Why do I have to stay here?"
"You are too young", my father replied.
"I am not young!, I am fourteen years old". before my father could say anything more, my brother interrupted, "I am perfectly capably of taking care of both of them Father, and like Trang said, she is not young". My parents only stared at Anh for a minute. A look of understanding spread across their faces. 
My father turned to me and said, "You are right, gather your belongings, it's a long journey". I jumped up with excitement, I hugged my parents and thanked my brother. I flew from the room before they could change their minds. I could hear mother say, "Only take what you need", to my sister. I giggled, I was going to Tonkin!

Short Story 2

Here's a short story I wrote at 3 in the morning on the 15th.

I was given this picture and told to write something.

I woke in the middle of the night to see a light snowfall outside my window. The thick flakes settled lightly across the front lawn. There was a sort of morbidity to it. The way such beautiful, delicate things disappeared into nothing as they made contact with the grass. I look away for a few moments to glance at my phone- a message. “Happy Anniversary! Love you! XOXO”  Why do we take time out of our lives to celebrate days like these? I can’t bring myself to reply as it would just add onto my long list of lies. What is love,really? Just reading the four-letter word is enough to send a chill down my spine. It’s lost it’s meaning to me over the years. Now it’s just a reminder of how often I’ve been lied to and vice-versa. I put my phone on the night stand before hopping onto the bed. The floorboards creak and I fear that Mother might hear. Ha. I forgot again. Mother isn’t in the room next door anymore. She’s not here. She’s gone. Forever. She disappeared last winter. She didn’t even leave a note, just packed up everything and walked out. I wish she’d at least said goodbye. Or maybe she wouldn’t have been able to leave if she tried. I know I wouldn’t have been able to leave my 15-year old daughter and 18-year old son all by themselves without a word. But who could leave? The acceptance sunk in sooner than I thought it would. I feel nothing towards her now. I don’t hate her for leaving or sympathize her for what she must have been facing. But leaving us here in Lameville Central- also known as Nettatown, that’s something I’ll never forgive her for. These people look at my brother, Liam and I like  we’re vermin. That’s all thanks to my wonderful Mother. They’ll never accept us here. We’re just a couple of orphaned brats in their eyes. A time ticking bomb of responsibility that is bound to explode in one of their hands sooner or later. But I won’t give them that pleasure of handing us over to foster care the next day, feigning ignorance to our ‘terrible situation’. It’s not like Dad’s any better. He’s somewhere in Egypt running after some stupid fossil expedition. I doubt he even remembers our names anymore. He called me Lucy last time we spoke. I literally had to scream over his rant, “My name is Shelby! Don’t you remember your own daughter’s name? You named me after your grandmother for Pete’s sake” But I must give him credit for at least remembering the name of my cat. Oh that’s right, she died two years ago as he was reversing his stupid Volkswagen into the garage. I nearly lost it when he asked me to donate it to his friend, the taxidermist. The phone starts vibrating against the wood. I grab it before the sound wakes Liam. He’d see my face and tell me to talk it out again. Am I the only who lacks any sort of emotion in this house? I peer out into the yard to see a thick layer of snow over everything. It covers every inch of the street. I suddenly feel like getting out of here. I can’t stand these four walls anymore. I grab my red coat and fur boots in the darkness before leaving the house. The note I left on the fridge is reassurance that nothing happened to me. That I didn’t suddenly disappear into the night to never come back. I walk down the icy sidewalk towards the high school. I don’t really know where I want to go. Hopefully, I’ll just keep walking and before I know it, I’ll be out of this godforsaken town. I pull my Ipod out of my pocket. I’d stuffed it in there before church last Sunday. The elderly woman seated in front of us barely noticed me singing along to Thrift Shop as they said they’re prayers. The boy sitting next to me gave me a pointed glare before I’d finished with ‘I look incredible! Amen!’. He would’ve burst into laughter if it hadn’t been for the well-deserved flick I’d delivered to his forehead. I stop in my tracks as I see movement in the trees. Someone’s following me. What do you do in these situations? I’ve never been stalked before. I dig around in my pocket for my phone. Shoot! I left it at the house. He’s coming closer now. God, help me. I turn around and deliver a square punch to his face. He dodges as he grabs my arm. I get ready to scream as loud as possible. I hope someone hears me. ‘Hold on there! Why are you hitting me Shelby?!’, he says with a heavy British accent. ‘Who the hell are you?!’, I exclaim. ‘First, you promise not to hit me!’, he says. 

I can’t help but laugh at his accent. I pull my hand from his grasp before falling into the grass laughing. He stands there with such a bewildered expression on his face with his hands hanging by his side. He looks somewhat like a lost puppy. As I bury my face in my hands to control myself, he plops down next to me. “Why do I always find the weird ones?”, he says.