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Chapter 3

(Elita's P.O.V)
As I walked up to the front door of my old home I tried to hide my three treasures, when I knock on the
door my sister Arcee answered and boy did she looked scared, she walked over to the stairs and called
down stairs to the mech's. When they finally came up stairs Sentinal looked like he was about to have
a spark attack, all of a sudden I was bombed with questions."Where have you been? Are you alright? What are
those?"That last one caught me off graud, cause in my arms were three little sparklings."These
are my sparklings."I said nervously, Sentinal just glared at them."Whos the sire?"He growled, I tried
to keep my temper in control or else my organic side would be reveled."I don't know." I admitted before
entering the house."I just want to get some sleep, here look after them for my."I yawned passing the three
sparklings to Optimas and ran up stairs.

(Optimas's P.O.V)
When Elita went up stairs I looked at the three sparklings in my arms, their names were on their blankets.
The green mech with black stripes and purple eyes was called Wasp, the peach femme with a white chassis and
blue eyes was called Sari and the yellow mech with black stripes and blue eyes was called Bumblebee."Awww
their so cute."Arcee smiled when she picked up Sari."I guess."Sentinal mumbled as he picked up Wasp.
"Night guys."Arcee said and went to her room with a sleeping Sari in her arms, Sentinal and Wasp left
as well leaving me with Bumblebee."Come on little fella, time for a nap."
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Black coffee, sanitized floors and the ever pungent odor of urine stuck to the air like thick honey between two buttered biscuits; it wasn’t as pleasant as all that. You were used to the stale air by now, though. Most of the time all you could smell was the plastic tubes that were stuck in your nose; they said it would help you breathe. You didn’t believe them, but you left the tubes alone most of the time.

He said he would come to visit you more often if you were good.

Countless times you would lose track of how long it had been since you saw his face. The picture of him that you kept by your bedside had been knocked over so often that he told you it was best to leave it in your drawer.

You soon forgot about it like so many other things.

It was scary for you sometimes. You would cry out in your sleep, unsure of where you were and terrified that you had lost him. Some time would pass and you would soon remember that you hadn’t lost him. He said he would be back the next day.
That was so long ago.

Sitting by the window had become a sad habit of yours. Occasionally you would move yourself to a regular chair, forgetting that you weren’t supposed to do that on your own. You only fell one time, although if anyone would ask you would say that you never did.

Days would pass and to anyone else it would be a Groundhog Day, but to you it was brand new every time. A hopeful and content smile would play upon your lips which always insisted to curve downward. You wouldn’t let your frail muscles hold you back, though; you always smiled when he was coming to visit you.

They would watch you intently sometimes. You could feel their eyes and their hushed whispers, “Poor girl.” Why would they say such a thing? Perhaps they believed that he would forget to visit you today. You knew better; he came to see you every day.


“Hey there.”

Your head jerk up at the sound of his voice. You didn’t feel the saliva dribbling down your chin that had aqumulated during a nap that you didn't even know you had. A heartwarming smile lit up your face, “Darling! I missed you so much.” Your bony fingers reached out to his hand; he let you take it as he sat in the chair across from you. His smile was small, but that was probably because he had a long day of work.

“I’m sorry that I haven’t been visiting you very often.” He said solemnly as he wiped the spit from your chin with a crumpled napkin he had in his jacket pocket.

You shook your head, “Nonsense sweetheart! You were just here yesterday.”  His apology seemed silly to you, but he was a kind man and you loved him for it. He let out a heavy sigh as you patted his hand reassuringly.

"Right. Here, I bought you these."

You didn't even notice the blue shopping bag that he had brought in with him. He slipped his hand out from between yours and you watched with bright, curious eyes. He fumbled a bit trying to take the bag off of the plastic container, but he managed to reveal his gift and you clapped your hands with glee.

He had brought you strawberries just like all of the other times he had visited. He knew they were your favorite.

"I wish I had a present for you, but there isn't really much in this place besides orange jello and bad coffee." You laughed and he even chuckled along with you. He set the carton of sweet fruits on the table.

You noticed his eyes didn't seem that happy.

You placed your fingertips on his cheek. You missed the feel of his 5 o'clock shadow. "There, there darling. Don't be so glum. How are the kids?" He dropped his gaze. Your hand slid off of his cheek; his stubby whiskers tickled your palm. "Are they alright?"

Most of the time you reffered to them as those strangers that sometimes visit you.

He looked up to you, giving you a pleasent grin. "They're doing great. Hayden just had his second kid with Rachel. She's very adorable. Has her mom's looks, thank God." You've heard that joke about fifty times before, yet you laughed as if it was the first time.  "AJ got married." That made your heart swell. Your baby girl settled down.

You don't remember the wedding scene you created from your first instance of a memory lapse. It didn't happen as often back then, but she still hasn't forgiven you and the memory still hasn't come back.

"And our little one?" You asked enthusastically. There was a pause as he reached for your hands, "Danny really wants to visit you, he misses you very much."
His voice was almost pleading.

"Bring him tomorrow! You two look so much alike ever since he hit that growth spurt. If you both stand side by side I won't ever be able to tell you apart." The two were definitely one of a kind and you loved them dearly.

His eyes swelled up with tears and he dropped your hands as if letting go of hope. You couldn't help but be sad with him for whatever reason there was. "Darling?" Your voice came out in a childish tone as if you had done something wrong. He wiped his eyes with his sleave and stood up.

He gave you his last smile with everything he had left. "Danny will be here tomorrow. Just wait for him, okay? I love you." He hugged you goodbye and kissed your cheek.

"I love you too. Say hi to the kids for me." You watched him leave then you turned to face the window once again. The strawberries on the table were a distant memory. All that you could think was that you will see him again tomorrow.
96. Forgotten

Skipping around a bit in the theme challenge, but this idea just blossomed.
For some reason I imagine this being my future... kind of sad.

Constructive criticism is much appreciated. I like to know what I can/should improve on.
Challenge by IceDragonQueen22

See how far along I am? ~~>…
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This story includes Rökkurró - Frozen - Tear Drop - Ljósvaki - Disneyland Acid Trip - Eldhjarta and Merida or my entire faime herd at the moment =D More stories will come for sure of the gang.


On an island in the north of Atlatnic ocean rested a farm called Skjólbrekka. It was just one of many farms of that country. The land itself was full of mountains, glaciers, valleys, fields, forests and other breathtaking landscape that you could find. Water fell from the cliffs and made strong and beautiful waterfalls. It was truly a magical place. You kind of did not believe it until you saw it with your own eyes. In Skjólbrekka lived a very normal family. Grandpa, mom and dad with their 3 children. Of course the oldest daughter was not a child anymore. But she still lived at home since this was a family farm and everyone helped each other to make it work. All good farms needed a good dog. The dog that lived at Skjólbrekka was named Snow. A stunning white giant Faime Crias dog that was a master at rounding up sheep and horses. The lazy farm cat was not so lazy at all, her name is Silfá and was actually just as tall as some of the horses. Since she was a shedu cats. Around 100 sheep lived on the farm, some Scandinavian Riding Ponies, Alrún horse and an Icelandic one. Last but not least were the faime horses. Very stunning breed of horse that the family at Skjólbrekka adored more than anything.


Six faime horses were chilling in a field. A fence was lying between some of them. Stallions were in one field and the mares in the other. Right now the family at Skjólbrekka was not taking any chances that the mares would get pregnant by the stallions. It was summer time, so there was a big chance the mares were in heat so for now a fence would have to separate them. They could still see each other and whinny at each other so it was not like they were completely hold apart. From time to time the entire herd ran down the field along the fence and up again all together. Like they were playing. The two faime foals, Eldhjarta and Merida were with the mares. Since both of them were only like 1 months old it was not time to move Eldhjarta to the big boys. He could still be a young careless foal and was often the one that started the run. Extremely high spirited boy with tons of energy. Merida came out more like a lady though in heart she was an adventures little girl that loved exploring around. She was often found way out of the herd, just sniffing at things and not caring at all what the others were doing. Poor girl had not been allowed to grow up with her mother, so when Skjólbrekka bought her they decided to see if Rökkurró could not spare her some milk. Since she had just given birth to Eldhjarta few weeks ago and had plenty of milk for both of them.


Rökkurró, Frozen and Tear Drop were standing calmly on the one side of the fence right this moment. All of them were grazing. Merida and Eldhjarta were playing around not far away from the mares. Even though Eldhjarta was a boy Merida was a bit more brave then him and didn’t mind going further away. On the other side was the cream pearl stallion, Ljósvaki. He had been brought to the farm not that long ago. Only been around for a week or so. He was a draft build stallion, gorgeous looking guy. All of the mares had agreed on that. Tear Drop even found him extremely charming and stayed closed to the fence so she could look at him from time to time. Rökkurró was always busy watching the foal so she had no time to watch some stallion and dear Frozen was the sweetest horse out there so she would never do anything stupid. Even though she was an extremely large draft everyone could ride her. That was just who she was. A big fluffy bear that everyone should have at their stable. Stunning though with her light color and white markings. Today had been a very normal day. Though it was Sunday which meant all of the horses got a time off. No one had been trained today and they could just stay in the field and eat all day long if they wanted. If the weather would be good tonight they might even be left outside for the night. Being outside in Iceland over night at summer time was magical. It never went completely dark. The sky was always filled with some light.


All six horses raised their heads when they watched a car with a trailer driving towards the field. They were curious. Was someone going to be taken away or were they adding a new addition to the herd ? and if so would it be a mare, gelding or a stallion. All six horses stood there with excitement. Birna who was driving the truck smiled when she saw her horses like that. Oh they should just wait and see the stunning new stallion she had in the trailer. A stunning looking sport type faime stallion. Standing seventeen hands high though so large. He had this stunning golden palomino color on him, with white mane and tail. Four high stockings and a blaze. It was safe to say that Birna was already in love with her newest addition. This stallion was called Disneyland Acid Trip, though normally he was just called Trip. Birna had big plans for that boy. He was going to become her show jumper and cross country horse. She would need to train him for dressage as well to do eventing with him. She sure had high hopes for that gorgeous boy. The car came to a stop and Birna walked out. Past the trailer and behind it. For a moment the six horses could not see anything and then Birna took out Disneyland Acid Trip.


A big whinny came from the group. Like they were welcoming the new stallion. The mares were talking together in their own language how handsome and slender looking that stallion was. Rökkurró and Frozen admitted though they preferred draft stallions but Tear Drop who was the most slender looking off them almost fell in love with that handsome stallion. She clearly did not mind if they were sport type or not. Ljósvaki was just thrilled to get someone to hang out with on his side of the fence. Trip danced around beside Birna. He was clearly a bit unsure of where he was and those horses that were standing there watching him. Birna had no doubt though that he would fit perfectly into her little group. She opened the gate into the stallion field. Brought Trip inside and closed the gate. She allowed Ljósvaki to come and sniff Trip and let Trip sniff back at the pearl stallion before taking the rein and halter off. Everything seemed calm and the stallions seemed to work together so she took off the halter. She watched the herd take off, running towards the other end of the field with Disneyland Acid Trip with them. Welcoming him into the little faime herd they were building up. Seven horses ran like crazy and Birna stood and watched them with a big smile on her face.


Word Count = 1224
This story includes
Tear Drop
Disneyland Acid Trip (ooh don't know him ? stay tuned!)
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It was three years ago when we had met.

It was a cold, early November. My mother, who had survived my father, had once again fought with my grandmother. Telling her that we wouldn’t be attending Thanksgiving dinner, again.

This fact crushed me.

Thanksgiving had been my favorite of the holidays, for many years. Halloweeen I found myself too terrified or too lonely to go out on my own. After that, Christmas was just a mess every year. Thanksgiving I would get my grandmother and I plates filled with food, so heavy I’d have to tip-toe to not drop them. We’d sneak away into Grandad’s den and watch taped soaps she’d had for years. We’d eat and she’d tell me I’d fall in love someday. Find someone just perfect. Mom would find us and tell me we had to go, due to one of her siblings or her father patronizing her for something. I would give my grandmother a sad smile and then hug her, taking up my half eaten plate and follow my mother to the car.

I couldn't blame my mother though. We are what we are risen to be. She had her moments of redeeming qualities. She could make anything taste good. She was also an amazing pianist. We had a grand piano, a gift from my father before his death. With the promise of a piano, she took lessons that were all but thrust upon her as a child.

But I am rambling..

We weren’t going that year and no matter how much I argued with her about it, how much I wanted to see my grandmother. I found myself storming through the front door and out into the street. It was 9:53pm at night, the light rain began to slide along my scalp and down the back of my neck. Soon enough my hair began to cling to my face as the downpour started.

It was at that time I decided to kill myself.

My mother kept me away from people, always told me no at any chance I'd muster up the courage to ask her for anything. Including seeing people who had chosen me to be friends with, or to enjoy any kind of social activity. The lack of freedom turned into a fear of even going outside. It was amazing how far I got that night.

We lived two miles from the Pacific seashore. It would have taken me twenty minutes to run due to the crossing and curving of many streets. There was a small wooded area just a ways before the ocean, but the worry of bears, snakes, or spiders kept me away. Even if it was faster.

The rain died some when I stepped out onto the beach.

I stared out over the ocean, hoping that if I was going to do this I wouldn't be found. I hoped that sharks would come and devour me after I slipped into death. Or I could get caught in a boats rudder, anything to identify me destroyed.  Then I remember that if I had my clothes on my mom would know.

So despite all this anxiety, and the fact that it was less than 40 degrees out, I started to strip, wanting to be an unknown body.

I was shivering, frightened of getting caught, but I knew I had to be alone right?

I wasn't.

Rain started to fall again in sheets. I loved it, yet it brought along with it more cold. I was shaking so violently I coaxed my mind further towards the water. Telling myself it'd be warm in there, warm in death.

Death wasn’t going to be warm at all. A shiver ran up my spine as the first wave hit my feet. It drew me in like a weak tiny shell. It was dark, and the entire ocean was black as ink. 

Fear and anxiety weren’t going to win me over, I moved along, my feet moving further in the water. 

If I could get my entire body wet I wont be as cold. 

Justification after justification came, I wanted to be dead, and my will was stronger than my fear. I could only remember all the horrible things my mother would say, all the picking and prodding from my cousins or aunts and uncles.

I was waist deep when a large wave crashed down on me, pushing me over into the water. Its powerful body dragging me down under the current. 

It was then I felt something much stronger than a small wave grasp me. 

A riptide.

I felt yanked through the air, and the air stolen from my lungs. I could feel the water filling my chest as I tried to fight back. The saltwater stung my eyes as I tried to close them. 

My skin raked along coral as I passed and the sand along the ocean floor. The current pulled at all parts of me. I was like a petal in a wind storm. Weak and tossed around like I wasn't even there. 

No one knew I was out there, no one knew that I was more than a thousand feet away from shore. The rip currents were always bad around this time of year. 

When I finally broke the surface of the water I tried coughing out the water, expelling it from my lungs. But I couldn’t even get more than an inch above it while fighting to breathe. I had no footing, and I knew that this was what even God above wanted. I was drowning because I never learned how to swim.

I needed to die. 

I was spat out of the water a little after ten. I was always a good judge of time as I would constantly count minutes alone. My eyes burned from the sand and salt water that slid past my eyelids. Everything was blurred for several moments. There was something, an outline of a person, something above me staring down. 

Its eyes were illuminated in the darkness, even though they were so dark in their blue color, they stood out. Like a black light almost. Not bright, but not unseen in the dark. The person looked down at me, their eyes boring down on me. They didn't ask if I was ok, they didn’t say anything. They just stood there, soaked in a black hoody and dark pants, no shoes on their long, thin feet.

After expelling some saltwater, and a mouthful of sand and something gross I came to the realization that I was naked. The feel of the icy November rain and wind stung at my bare skin. I got up, wordless as I went to try to find my clothes, and run away. Another situation where I just want to disappear or drop dead. I nearly tripped over my shoes and started to sob as I pulled on the clothes. Sniffling and holding back screams of resentment for myself as I tried to wipe away the memory that someone saved me, someone cared enough to save me. 

I went to my knees and just screamed. I would get home, my mother would have found me gone and screamed at me. I would become ill and draw out my further unemployment. Which would hinder my having to pay my mother for rent and utilities. She would kick me out and I would have to go to a homeless shelter. It would become a cycle of not having the money to get to the job, but not having a job to collect the money. I was barely out of high school, I couldn’t handle all this responsibility yet. My mind wound around and around and I had forgotten about my savior for a moment. Left standing there after my attempt to run away from another situation that was too big for me.

A hand grazed over my back, it was cool and firm. I cried louder, not wanting, but needing the security of assurance. I heard knees hit the sand as the pair of arms wrapped around my shoulders. A stranger, a person, possibly the one who saved me was holding me. They had been the one to save me. The cold and damp feel of material against my sore back felt nice, promising.

I wasn’t going to question how or why.

I was just going to cry until all the thoughts stopped being so important. Until they would melt away as trivial things. 

"You are alive.." It said, the voice was soft, barely audible. I couldn't place anything about this person, gender, age, or even where they came from. 

I doubted that had mattered, but to me at that time my thoughts and anxieties ruled my life. After seven minutes, I stopped finally and the other pulled away. Pulling on the shirt that had been wet from rain and tears I whispered a “thank you” to the other. Turning my head, I was only met by and empty beach.

I could barely remember it’s voice, the soft tone was barely audible and it felt like something you’d hear in a dream.

Christmas the next year had been the second encounter. I had locked myself in my room the entire day. After the meltdown over wanting to see my grandmother. I couldn’t face my mother. I couldn’t take the face she would make, the scorn in her eyes. She would talk about how she felt betrayed by me, that I would take the family's side instead of hers. While they all had a party and exchanged gifts at my grandmother's house I was alone in my room, my stark and empty room staring off out the open window. 

I had alternative ways of killing myself. Getting dragged out by a rip tide and drowned accidentally was probably the most obscure. This time however, with it barely 20 degrees outside I had slipped into my bathroom and taken a cold shower. Then laid on my bed and hoped for pneumonia. For my mom, it was normal if I shut myself away for a few days and only came out when she worked. She didn’t bother me, I didn’t bother her. Untreated pneumonia was probably a good way to go, especially if she didn’t check on me.

Naked again, I hoped that this at least would be easy, and virtually painless. Though I knew that with it came fevers and aches right?  

What would happen if my mother found my body? Would she cry over me for hours before calling the police? Would my family disown her or support her through her grief and then secretly resent her? Would anyone miss me? I wasn't popular in school, and I had no real friends. So the amount of people who would say "Oh, this is so tragic" were less than the people who would say "No clue who that was.". 

 I was shaking violently after only an hour, sixty-four minutes into having my window open, sixty-seven minutes from being in the shower. Nausea started to well up in my stomach as I pressed my face into my pillow. It was Christmas night and here I was hoping to get pneumonia. My mom had to work in the morning so she’d leave without saying goodbye, I hoped at least I’d be dead before she got back.

I closed my eyes several minutes later, I knew I wasn’t in any real danger this soon. I woke a couple times, looking at the clock to see barely 50 minutes had passed. Awaking again at an hour and twenty minutes later, however at 11:40pm, I had pulled an errant blanket over me. I tried to kick it off but my foot knocked against something hard.

My body went stiff as my eyes shot open, wide and I could feel the burn of blood as it began to rush. I was shaking for a new reason now.

I lifted my arm a bit and found it pinned, heavier than normal. How come I was finally noticing that there was something, someone in bed with me. Their arm draped over my ribs haphazardly, the pair of legs that were long, toes that peeked over the foot of my bed.

I wanted to move, to see who it was, my mother? She wouldn’t be this soft around me. She’d never cared before. Maybe she saw me, laid here and worried.

I sat up, devoid of care of whether or not it was going to wake up the other.

It wasn’t my mother, not even close. The height alone was a dead give away.  It was them, the person who had saved me once before. The same black and gray hoodie, the dark pants and the lack of shoes.

And then the piercing eyes that slowly opened, the indigo black eyes that shone so brightly despite the dark shade.

I jumped back and fell off my bed, spraining my wrist a little. The pain was less intense than the fright I was experiencing.

Their hand reached down, and pulled me up from the floor. I tried to struggle, but my voice wouldn’t come out.

“You’re cold...”

I was shaking, but it wasn’t the absence of heat.

The pair of hands not mine reached down and grabbed my blanket, and draped it over my shoulders and wrapped me up loosely. “Ok now?” the owner asked.

I was still shaking. “How... did you..”

A gesture to the window, now closed.

I was visibly frightened, shaken from the intruder’s easy access.

“I am sorry,”

I shook my head, I had wondered if that night at the shore, seeing them, had been dream. This could as well have been a dream. “Why... are you here?” I asked, hoping to further more reason, more logic into this questionable dream.

“You called out..”

I shook my head, rejecting the implication.

Their hand moved close again, sliding between the folds of the blanket I kept close to the middle of my chest and over my rushing heart. “You were calling out, from here.” The cool skin brought upon more shivers from me.

The hand fell away and back to it’s owners lap. I couldn’t tell right away who this was, the bit of hair that hung out from the hood was longer, darker in color. But in the dim light of my room it could have been any color.

We sat in silence for another minute and twenty-three seconds before I found something to ask. “Who... are you?”

The other seemed really surprised by my sudden question. After a few seconds the word “Abraxial.” came from the other’s lips.

There was no chance I knew anyone by that name.

Abraxial stared at me after a few moments. I took my time in trying to think of something else to say. My words were caught in my throat, too scared to ask or comment.

I just stared at the mostly shadowed person across from me. Even sitting I had to look up, which was still unfair as Abraxial slouched some with one hand on the bed. Even in the cold, still room I couldn’t hear any breathing except mine.

“You... human?”

Before I could redact the question a shake of the head was my answer.

“Ghost?” I shivered out, barely able to even consider it a valid suggestion.

Another slow right to left turn from Abraxial’s head.

“W-what?” My throat tightened, this was probably the most invasive conversation I’ve had in a long while.

“Demon.” Then I could see them, shadowed beyond the other that sat on my bed. Two semi-transparent dark wing shapes, like shadows that hung in the air. They spread from Abraxial’s back, taking up most of the room.

Suddenly I was heavy again, my head swam and my skin numb. My cheek hit the bed spread as I lost sight of everything.
Sometimes it's hard to put yourself out there, with anxiety it seems almost impossible sometimes. The feeling of fear when you walk out your door is almost as natural as breathing for some. 

The main character has no defining gender, orientation, or features that define them. I did that for a reason in this story, showing that it doesn't matter who or what you are, you can feel the pressure of anxiety and family issues. I want you to put yourself in the place of the main character, the main character is everyone. 
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Name:Kikyo Clayworth
Race:half human half vampire
Age:16 years old
Hair:reddish brown
Look-A-Like Body:  Yakumo from shinzo
Likes:her old childhood friend moordryd paynn and his psi-class dragon  
Dislikes:kill humans and kidnapping her old friend moordryd paynn
Story:Kikyo Clayworth is the oldest daughter of the vampire man and the human woman when she was 5 years old she met moordryd paynn in the hospital when he had a fever.
Family: Kat clayworth:younger sister Sango Clayworth:youngest sister
Name:Sango Clayworth
Race:half human half vampire
Age:11 years old
Hair:light brown
Look-A-Like Body: Kanami from s-cry-ed
Likes:cats dogs and psi-class dragons
Dislikes:spiders snakes and thunder
Story:Sango is the youngest daughter of the vampire and the human woman she loves kittens puppies dogs cats and psi-class dragons
Family: Kikyo Clayworth: older sister Kat Clayworth:younger sister
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Her eyes are burgundy and round. Sometimes you can see your reflection in them, and other times you can see the things that she keeps pushing down. I watch her bite her lip as she draws her heart onto her paper. It brings me to a final thought: I never forgot her burgundy eyes shimmering beneath the sunlight rays.

I'm seven when she teaches me how to ride a bike and when I don't fall. I smile wide until my face splits. She wraps a delicate arm around my neck: "You did good." It only mattered because it was from her. We walk home together, this pink bike at my side (no training wheels!). The sun was bright and I watched how long our shadows stretch and we toss ourselves into a fit of giggles, because for a moment, we rule the world.

About a year later, she's sitting on the couch with scraped knees, scraped palms, and trickles of blood rolling down the side of her face next to her road rash. I'm shivering, shaking, weeping. I witnessed a van collide into her when she was on her way to school. I know I should be sitting next to her and telling her that she's okay, she's alright, she's a legend because she had strong bones that never even cracked from the hood of that car when it came rolling around the corner. The scene plays over in my mind. I reminisce the way she falls, the way her head hits the pavement, and the way she stumbles over to my mom. The only time I'm afraid to hug her because if I wrap my arms around her, her body might crumple like one of those pieces of note paper I've tossed under my bed.

The weird thing about this moment was the fact that she's bruised and bloody, sitting on the couch and she's telling me that it's okay. A car had caused her to tumble down, to scrape her skin, chip her teeth on that road in front of our house. I should tell her that it's okay, but I don't. Maybe I'll leave that to the eight year old who sits across from me, still battered. Her burgundy eyes still sparkled somehow.

I'm thirteen when my heart cripples, but she always made the load a little lighter, because she smiled and her burgundy eyes always had a teasing glint inside them. I don't want to follow in her footsteps, I want to jump inside her bones because she was built strong in her spirit, always blind by nothing other than her ambition that keeps driving her down the road that has begun to crack beneath our feet. She doesn't waver, she doesn't fall.

We never did talk about anything. We never spoke about the ice that was hardening around our hearts, maybe that's why we were growing to love winter so much. I tried to melt the thick pieces of snow from my spirit, but instead it soaks inside until I can feel the cold layers beneath my finger tips. I lay a palm on my chest and I swear, my heart stutters, stutters, stops. Then I sneak a look to the girl with burgundy eyes and I can see it in her face: Her heart has stopped, too. Along with the world, along with time. We are just frozen in a time stopping era. Everything counts.

I'm begging her to stop destroying herself. I'm telling her not to stare at the mirror with hatred every time she counts a broken sparkle in her burgundy eyes. They have swirled to a darker shade and I wondered if that's how she looked inside. She had begun to self destruct slowly within each hospital visit, every piece of news that settled on us like racks of nails, each time we were shoved to the corner left to deal with this mess ourselves. We string ourselves back together every time we leave the house. Sometimes I'm still surprised how real a false smile can look. We sew strength on our bodies and hang polished armor over our bones so they will not crack. The scariest part is when you look at your sibling and their armor is so thick, their smile so fake, their soul so captured inside of them, that you can't even see the broken parts anymore but you swear to all of this, that those broken parts are still there. When had we become so good at hiding inside our bodies?

I hate being fifteen. I hated it because I got to read her like a book when her arms wrap around my neck and all I can feel is her chest vibrating within every sob that wracks her broken, battered body. The battered body that only I can see, because I think it's nearly as broken and battered as my own. I hold her, too, because when you're this broken, you become a shield. People have assumed that you fall to the floor and you break like the shards of your heart, but that was something I learned was false. When your heart falls to pieces, you are a shield. You dig the heels of your feet into the earth's soil and somehow you manage to pull yourself up and slap the world with fists and bloody knuckles. You will not stand to watch this world break anybody else, you will not stand to watch this world break your family. It's worse when, despite all the time you've taken to shield your family, the world has managed to carve its name into their ribcages and pull out pieces of them and give it up for some auction that declares how broken we are. We sell it with a fake smiles and the world buys it. My shield was full of bloody scars, battle wounds, and I see it again when I look into her burgundy eyes.

The number sixteen wasn't much of a lucky number either. The world looks lonely and every night is a broken weep. I can't tell if the weeping comes from me, I don't feel anything. I'm numb. I haven't felt a tear fall down my cheek for months, it's just a simple numbing sadness where the bones in your chest have become hollow and there's still no pulse in your neck, no beat behind your breast bone. I guess it's the same for the girl with burgundy eyes, because I look at her and I can see it like it's just been painted on a canvas without a hidden picture in the mix. It's just there, on the surface. She doesn't tell me that her wrists are sore or that she thinks about sleeping a little bit too much, I just figure it out on my own from looking inside those burgundy depths, those cappuccino irises.

She bites her lip until she draws blood, but it doesn't seem to faze her. She doesn't even flinch. Her dry lips curl upwards into a smile and sometimes when you hear her laugh, you'll see how much she has suddenly started to hate herself, how much she's suddenly begun to love the stars at night because they could take her away from all of this.

Somehow, she manages to stay put with her feet on the ground. She manages to build strength on her bones and somehow they manage not to crack with the pressure. I can see her heart clipping, little pieces breaking off and splitting the floor. I wondered how much our hearts were made of to put up with this stuff. I decide that we're made of something that nobody knows about, nobody's ever seen, I mean, we must be built of something! It wasn't a tough conclusion to stroll upon. It was simple. All I needed to do was realize that we're still here.

Her eyes are burgundy and round, mine are like a narrow ocean. Somehow we're not swaying, we're standing still. I was still surprised how much we'd managed to stay like that, even after all the mountains we tore down, the dragons we slayed, and the ice we carried in our hearts. The best part was that I think we were gonna make it now. We got this far and although I'm not up for another challenge to see how much more I can take, I know that there's no quitting now. We were just getting started.

A note to the girl with the burgundy eyes:
We have seen all kinds of yesterday's and tomorrow's, I don't think we plan on living a rerun of those days. Look at today, focus on today. Let's focus on the fact that we did it, despite how it looks right now, we actually did it and we couldn't have done it better or braver. When you feel your heart hurting, just remember the way it felt to laugh, or what it felt like when your cheek bones would ache from smiling too much or too wide, don't forget how to sing even if your voice is cracking. This isn't where it ends. This isn't where you end. I know you.
This is not something I'm used to writing. It's neither a short story or a poem, it's more like a letter to a specific person.
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