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First Last Ver II: Writing Ex |
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Characters:
Mia Knight
Looks: A decent height, about 5’6, with green eyes and brown hair that reaches her upper back. She’s on the thin side during the flashbacks, even thinner during the story. She has bags under her eyes from lack of sleep, and a bandage on her head (mainly towards the left side) and left wrist. She pretty average-looking, but she has some flair. She’s a guitar player, so she has calluses.
Outfits: The story has her in about three outfits: the accident’s, the funeral’s, and the one she wearing during the story. Basically, she’s wearing a red jacket and light blue tee-shirt with light jeans during the accident, a simple long-sleeved black dress for the funeral, and an orange hoodie with dark grey, cargo capri pants. Designs are up to you.
Matthew Weatherson:
Looks: Blonde, brown eyes, and normal looking. Nothing too special about him. He has a “boy next door,” look, I suppose. He’s about 5’10.
Outfits: He wears a dark blue shirt and baggy, light jeans. An ID bracelet on his bloody hand (the one Mia mentions).
Everyone else:
Do whatever XD
I was an ordinary teenager. There's nothing wrong with me. My grades are average. Never done anything illegal. Not related to anyone who has ever done anything illegal that I know of. I never sang of profanity on my guitar, nor have I ever thought of doing so. But they still took him away.
And I had spent my time for the past week writing a song that he'll never hear. His requiem. My requiem.
It happened too fast, so fast, that when I opened my eyes, his eyes were dying, and he let out his last breath with his last words, and I couldn't even touch him, he was already so far, far, far away, with those tears streaming down his perfect cheek; so far away, so out of my reach, my healing touch! Pain, agonizing pain, a face I couldn't recognize, a smile, and blank looks. He was trying to say something, and was struggling to listen, but he simply left his eyes open, and suddenly, I realized he was gone, GONE! So many screams, and yells, too many voices, and it’s so painful to watch him fade away in a sea of broken glass shards, I was so scared to touch, afraid, and so scared, and the hand, so still, laying lifeless, and blood drowning it with red stains, that hand, the HAND- oh God.
I was so scared that I had lost the only person in my life who had the right to say he was my best friend/
It wasn’t supposed to be like this! He was supposed to live longer than just seventeen! I hold my head, and shake it. We were only coming home from school! It was a trip we had taken hundreds, no THOUSANDS of times.
The muddy grass met my knees, as I stared at the gravestone: Matthew Weatherson. Born March 19, 1992 ~ Died December 31, 2009. He was only seventeen. A loving son, and friend. I pounded my fist into the ground. I guess he never told his parents, I thought, as I scratched, "best," onto the cold gray stone next to friend, and “the one he couldn’t get back to when she confessed because he was killed by a freaking drunk, happy hour driver.”
Not just anyone confessed to him though, it was me. ME. I had to gather up several months of courage in order to tell him!
I have no one to blame for this. Matt was driving too fast, typical Matt, and some idiot ran the red light. So either way, it was Matt's fault for going too fast, and it was the other driver's fault for running it. But that driver had lived. I lived. Matt had died.
Plink. Plink. Plink.
Tears rolled off my face. The motion was as icy as the weather. My hand was still touching the stone painfully, dragging my warm palm down the cruel flat, yet rough, surface.
This was Matthew. My Matthew. This was him now, when only a mere two weeks, ago, he was talking to me, giving me notes in class, and screaming at the top of his lungs. Now he was underneath my legs, and he was in an eternal sleep. What's worse is that I never got to see him after he died in front my eyes: they left the casket closed. I was so tempted to run down the isle, and tear open the lid, that my annoying little brother's voice was only thing keeping me from going out my mind.
"Mia, we have to move, or else people are gonna get mad."
I had looked at him, and just moved along with the flow of people. It led me to the front, where Mrs. Weatherson was crying her pretty green eyes out.
"Matthew, Matthew-"
His father just looked at me, the same blank look I had given Jon, and said to Mrs. Weatherson, "Phoebe, Mia's here." He pointed at me, and Jon. The woman looked at me, and a look of hurt washed over me. The woman was even more of a wreck than I was.
The puffy eyes distracted me as she had touched my exposed arm. The touch lingered, and I held my breath. "Oh Mia," she motioned to her, "Mia."
I leaned in for her tight embrace as she had cried, and cried, and cried.
"I can't believe he's dead," Mrs. Weatherson sobbed, "God, he loved you so much." Her hug got tighter as I gripped the back of her shawl. Her blonde hair tangled into my brown. "So much." It was like she took a knife, then twisted it.
Yeah, rub it in my face, will you?
The hug had almost choked me, but I didn't say anything to her; she considered me her daughter, second only to her real daughter, Justine, who couldn't come to her own little brother's funeral. And I loved her like a second mother. I had known her for too long to think otherwise.
She let me go, and let Jon and I sit next to them as the ceremony started.
That was a little over a week ago. And now, here I am, visiting the grave for the very first time alone. I really wish I had brought Jon with me. He would have at least gotten me to take him home, and away from here, where I could cry for hours.
I could see Matt's brown eyes right now, blond hair, and all of his little freckles. He was my opposite, my other half. I have green eyes, brown hair, and my skin is blank. All the more reason to say I lost a part of me when he died in that car accident- he was half of me, I was half of him. And now he's gone, taking the other half to the grave with him.
I took the lined paper out of my hoodie's pock, and unfolded its messy creases. I had written the song over a few days, wanting it to be perfect: just like he was. And though it wasn't completely there, it was the best I could do.
I coughed, wiping my nose on my sleeve; albeit disgusting, I didn't care. "M-Matt?" I stood, backing up a bit as if I was giving him room to get up out of the grave. No answer, of course, but I continued like he had answered. "Matt, it's me, Mia."
I moved my fingers on the paper, making small noises. I looked down in shame. "Look, I know it's been a while, and I know it's late, but I wanted this to be absolutely the best thing I had ever written, because you know, it's you, and-
"Great, I'm rambling again." Usually Matt stopped me at this point. Habit I guess.
I glanced at the stone beside him. "Matt, you've always told me you wanted me to write a song for you, and I always promised I would. But it's kinda obvious I never got to writing one... I... I just thought we had time, you know?"
I placed the paper onto the grave, and backed up again. "I finished it, Matt. All for you." I smiled, and said, "I'll always love you, you hear me? Always." I began taking steps backwards until I turned, and walked towards my car.
As the wind blew, the piece of paper was taken away. The first lines, written on tear-stained paper, stated, “You gave me the strength to stand free / Will you give me the power to let you go? / I think I might have to do this alone.” I look back at his grave, and sing softly, “If you just reach out, and touch a bleeding heart, you wonder what your hands were meant to hold…”
THE END! O.O
 Ukeire · Sat May 23, 2009 @ 07:49am · 0 Comments |
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