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Soggy Rain

Author: painofthanatos
Elite Ratio:    4.32 - 684 /571 /86
Words: 1525
Class/Type: Story /Depressed
Total Views: 1338
Average Vote:    No vote yet.
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This is kind of the same story as in my poem, only well, in a story. It was for the same class, different grade. (don't worry, we'll get past my creative writing assignments soon). So again, any advice you can give, on anything as simple as spelling errors or crappy sentences, help is greatly appreciated.

Soggy Rain

Glancing up and hearing nothing she slowly sneaks out of her bed. Digging deep into the cluttered drawer she removes a black box. The key she slips from around her neck fits perfectly into the slot. Without a sound she removes her razor and moves slowly back to her bed.
“Hey! What are you still doing up?” Her dad asks with a playful smile on his face.
“God! Can’t you learn how to knock?” She quickly slips the metal into Girl Interrupted hoping her father won’t notice. He doesn’t.
“It’s not like you were doing anything anyway. I just wanted to let you know there was left over Chinese in the fridge if you were interested.”
“Well, you told me.” She looks at him as he slouches in the doorway. “Listen, I’m just not hungry. Plus I’m really caught up in this book, all right? Shut the door when you leave.”
She sits awake for hours just staring at the door waiting for all to be silent so she can finish what she began. When her paranoia settles she widely opens the book and the razor falls into her lap. With shaky fingers she picks it up and glides it across her flesh. Her fingers are now calm as her mind begins to space. She puts the razor to her skin once more but stops before she cuts again. She looks around at the pictures smiling just for her and can’t believe their smiles aren’t made of plaster. She jumps from the bed and slams every one of them into the wall. Gingerly she picks up the family photo from when she was younger with her sisters, her brother, and both of her parents, well sort of. She can still see the black from where she burnt her mother out. With a deafening scream she lifts her arm to throw it though the window, but a hand wraps around her bloody wrist.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Her father screams. “What is wrong with you? I thought you said that you stopped this bs! What the hell is wrong with you, Wednesday?”

She sits in class the next day trying to pretend that all is well. Her girlfriend, Rachel, embraces her from behind and she tries to ignore the lingering smell of smoke in her hair. She pulls her hoodie tighter around clenched fists. The teacher begins to talk in his usual monotone voice and as usual she begins to slip away within her mind…
“Enjoy your meal. This will be the last meal you ever have with me.”
“But why, Mommy?”
“You kids are all so horrible. You are the ones doing this to me. I am going to die and it’s your fault. Do you understand me? This is all your fault.”
“But, Mommy, what did we do?”
“Don’t you ‘But Mommy’ me! You know damn well what you did, you selfish little brat.” Her mother slammed the food onto her plate with such force that it broke.
“There! See what you did! You are so horrible. Why couldn’t I have good kids? What did I do to deserve you? Eat up before it gets cold!”
She remembers how her and her siblings tried their hardest to choke down the meal. She still can’t figure out why her mother did this to them. Why was her mother always blaming them for things they didn’t do? She could taste mashed potatoes soggy with tears as the paper on her desk began to wilt under the salty rain.

When the bus dropped her off that afternoon she walked home slowly, dragging her feet through the brightly colored leaves. She knew her father would be home early; she knew he would want to talk about the night before. She knew she was right when she walked in the door.
“Ashleigh, Kyle, go to your rooms,” he told her siblings.
“But Dad! Pokemon just came on!” they whined in unison.
“No ‘buts.’ Just do it.”
Together they whined to their rooms and she almost felt bad for them not getting to watch their show.
“Wednesday, I think we need to talk.”
"There's nothing to talk about."
“Well, obviously, there is.” He was trying hard to look her in the eyes but his own kept wandering to the marks on her arms.
“Why? So you can give me the same speeches as before? ‘I’m your father.’ ‘I love you.’ ‘I understand.’ ‘I’m here for you, talk to me.’? It’s all a bunch of crap and we both know it. You think you understand, but you don’t. Every time I try and talk to you all you do is yell over me! There is no point to these stupid conversations!” She knew she was yelling, but she didn’t care. So long as she could get to her room before she started crying she was fine. She turned towards her door ready to run.
“Don’t you even think of walking away from me, young lady!” His words were said in vain. No sooner did they leave his mouth then did her door slam shut. “That’s fine, Wednesday. Really, it’s all just fine by me! But when you come out, you are grounded. No phone, no computer, no tv, and no spending the weekend at Rachel’s house. And I’m sure you’ll be happy to notice that anything you could use to hurt yourself is gone.”
“What does he mean ‘gone’?” she thought to herself. Then she looked around and noticed all of the tacs that held her pictures in place were missing, so were her glass photo frames and her black box. She couldn’t believe that her dad would do this to her. What right did he have? Those were her things. Hers. Not his. They should be in her room not where ever he put them. As she paced around in anger she could hear the mini van pull up. Her steps became heavier as she neared the window. How dare she come here, after all that she’d put them through? How could her father still let them go to her knowing all that has happened? Her mother drove away with Ashleigh and Kyle as a leaf fluttered to the ground.

“Look, Kyle, it’s Alison.” She whispered in his ear. She knew that he liked her, and there was a chance she might like him, too.
“Where?” he asked, his young voice raising.
“Right over there, coming out of her house.” She tried to keep her voice down so her mother wouldn’t notice. She continued raking wishing her mom would let her jump in the leaves.
“Kyle! What are you doing! You’re not supposed to be staring at my neighbors like some creepy pervert! You’re supposed to be raking my yard! Can’t you kids do anything right?” Her mother jumped from the deck with such force that she can remember jumping in front of her brother out of fear. Alison stopped to watch as the family had another one of their little episodes. As she continued to guard her younger brother her mother came close, then closer, then so close she almost couldn’t bear the screaming voice.
“Move! MOVE! Don’t you hear me? Move! You can’t protect him from his crimes. You need to let people take responsibility for their problems, Wednesday. You can’t save him!” Her mother grabbed the rake from her hand and hit her in the head with it. She fell deep into the leaves still worrying about the safety of her brother.
She heard herself scream as she ran down the hall to Kyle’s room. She didn’t know how long she slept, she didn’t even care, so long as he was okay. He opened his door frightened.
“Wednesday, are you okay?”
“I’m fine. I’m fine.” She pulled him in tightly so she couldn’t see the scars on his face. The scars that were there because she couldn’t protect him.

Ignoring her father’s grounding she sat down in front of the television, watching her favorite movie of all time. A home video from when she was four. The family is together and everyone is happy. The video from before her mother went crazy. No one blamed her mother, of course, how can anyone be blamed for depression in that case? Not many people watch their father shoot their mother before killing themselves and live a normal life. Still, Wednesday always wondered how her mother stayed okay for so long. What was it that made her mother snap? What day was it that her mother decided to hate them? Her father tried to blame her mother for her depression, and maybe he was right. Maybe it was all the “last meals” or all the trips to the hospital after Mommy had her stomach pumped. Maybe it was all those nights with actions and words we don’t dare to speak of…
“And down will come cradle, baby and all…” Her mother’s voice sang in her ears as she drifted into sleep.

Submitted on 2004-12-05 13:38:19     Terms of Service / Copyright Rules
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  wow... that was the most amazing thing I've read. It was so deep. I felt the pain of Wednsday. I loved the wording, it fit perfectly, I don't know if you could have made that any better. Is this anyhow related to your personall life. I'm defineitly adding you to my stalk list. Thank's for such an amazing piece of work
| Posted on 2004-12-07 00:00:00 | by bleedbroken | [ Reply to This ]
  thanks. lol. that line was suppose to be there, guess when i typed it up again at home i forgot it. and thanx for pointing out the typo :)
| Posted on 2004-12-05 00:00:00 | by painofthanatos | [ Reply to This ]

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