writerslock

[writerslock]

that fateful day in December-chapter one- intro

The weather was cold, every breath and word being accompanied by a cloud of white smoke. Everyone in town was wearing puffers or a thick jacket, and life seemed peaceful in town for once.

except for one crucial fact.

It was Emilia's birthday.

But, she was nowhere to be found.

It's 7am on a Tuesday, and the house is silent. This is why I love early mornings. The sun is still peering through the clouds, creating a beautiful,dim, relaxing light. I rolled out of bed and put on my slippers. As I got up, I took a deep breath, and headed downstairs to make emils breakfast. I would usually bang on her door to wake her up, but I'll let her sleep in, my little birthday treat.

The light peeking through our kitchen window shows the dust particles flowing through the air. I twist the knob on the stove, pull out some pans, and then head to the basement refrigerator to get some bacon. When I get back, I throw a slice of butter in the pan, watching it melt and sizzle from the heat.

it’s so calm, i could melt.

I stuck the bread in the toaster, fried the eggs, and then cut open the plastic packet of bacon.

i set the table, pouring orange juice in the glasses, as well as a mini water bottle to keep the cup company.at this point, my parents have made their way downstairs, barely waking up with a groggy voice and soreness in their eyes. my siblings followed.

in fact, it seemed like everyone but emila was here.

“hey hon, can you put a pot for me?”my dad asks, rubbing my back in a way to say “goodmorning”

“yeah! two cups?”

“you know it”

“has anyone seen emilia?” my little sister anna asks, sitting down in her seat”

“I was just about to wake her. be right back”

I say with a smile.

As I walk up the stairs, my stomach feels like I just ate bricks. my legs are shaky, and I feel a sense of worry. extremely contrary to what i felt just an hour ago.

it feels like a eternity before i get to her door, and it’s suspiciously quiet. i’m scared.

“Emilia? are you awake” i say, knocking sheepishly at her door.

no answer.

“Emilia? please open the door?”

again, no answer.

“I’m coming in”

I open the door, and through the crack I can see blood.

and then i see Emilia.

in a way i would never want to see her.

laying on the floor. the blood belonging to her. with a gun laying by her side.

.it hasn’t hit me yet

this isn’t real

it’s a mistake

it’s a bad dream, and i’ll just wake up from it.

right now.

and then it hits.

my legs fall to the floor and a silent cry escapes from my throat.

my dry, achy throat.

i can’t believe it.Emilas dead.shes fucking dead on her birthday and i had no idea. so many questions are racing through my mind, yet none of them have a direct answer. What should I do? i’ve been laying on the floor, mouth gaped. I want to scream, to yell, to save her, but again, I don't know why this happened.

I can hear my dad talking up the stairs, and then I can hear him behind me.

9am and the police are at my house.

My siblings are grandmas, and me and my parents are the only ones who stayed. they found a case of letters next to her with names on them, thinking it was linked in some way to her suicide. they asked if they wanted to read mine. I don't say anything. they tuck the note in my tucked arms, and i end up pulling it out and opening the letter anyways.my heart sinks.

“to my sister, bea. you know more than you think.”

what.

“don’t let them take the letters.”

Who is she talking about??? the police???

“I have some unfinished business and a favor to ask?”

anything i can do to hold on to you emilia.

….

What did you do emila?What business did you stick your nose in that caused you to end up in this situation. Recently it seems like all Ihave is questions, but no answers to anything. All I know is i have to get my box of letters, like my life depends on it.

i’ll fulfill your wish emilia, i just hope it doesn’t cause me the same fate as you.

[writerslock]

chapter one- who he never was- introduction

I’m not sure how to start this off.

The doctors told me it would be better to write all this stuff down to help with my memory, but I've never been good with introduction paragraphs. or introduction thoughts in this case, so i’ll start with the basics. My name is Anastasia, and I'm 16 years old. I have a lot of personalities, but my favorite one has to do with the fact I love love. if that makes sense. I love the feeling of love, I love loving others, i just.. I love love love.

I'm inferring that at least, as almost all of the posters in my room have a quote about love. My assumption is confirmed after seeing that the lights that adjourn the first clump of posters are hearts, and after skimming through my white bookshelf covered in dust, 99 out of the atleast 100 books have to do something with love.

I was told that I suffered a concussion during a crash I was involved in during the summer. my mom refuses to let me know what happened, telling me it will come when it comes. i don’t remember a lot to be honest, which is why i’m snooping around my own room, like a creep, but i guess not a creep in a way? I mean, the person i’m creeping on is myself, and technically I have permission. or is it just the creep in me- you know what, i’m just gonna stop talking.

back to what i was saying. I remember some names, and only two people including my mom, and also some feelings associated with it, but other than that, I can't remember jack shit. However, I still know all of the bracelet patterns I learned at summer camp in 5th grade. camp chattanooga 1, concussion 0. After I scour the underside of my bed, I find a box full of letters. all addressed to PEOPLE. WITH NAMES! AND STORIES. thank god past me had a passion for writing. The only issue with that is, some of the things I've made up or changed for, you know, my stories.

for example, test subject one. Wait, I hate that name, it makes me sound crazy. crush 1? no, basic. I know! victim 1. eh, it sounded better in my head. Whatever, code names don’t matter right now

victim one, carmen-

my first boyfriend, despite his name making him sound like a girl. I know this is a code name , but I know why I picked it. He had a girly name. That also made him sound like a summer boy.I had boyfriends before, but he was the real one, the one that stuck. We dated for a month in 7th grade, but he broke up with me shortly after. He wouldn’t even tell me why, had to find out a year later (by also being nosy). in the letter, one of the main points is an argument.. that happened a year after we dated.

what.

I don't know what to do with this information.

It feels like it’s pointing me in the right direction, but also pointing me right to a dead end. Also note that his name is on multiple letters in this box, and I have a hunch that there’s other things leading to him hiding in this room. I'll take this letter to one of the only people I remember, my best friend steve. she’ll remember something.

our weather might be bipolar, but i feel like recently august has always been hotter than it should. I'm wearing leggings, my white sneakers that have turned off white because of how dirty they've turned, a white tank top that was way too overpriced but made my boobs look good, and to top it all off, a zip up gray jacket. a cliche august core outfit, but i'm somehow still crisping up like a marshmallow.

I wanted to walk to be more aesthetic, but immensely regretted it a mile in, forgetting that even though it’s considered walking distance, it’s still 3 and a half miles.

As I walk into the small, low key library she works for, the century old bell rings throughout the store, alerting all of the college students just trying to study and the prestigious book worms I've entered the area.

As I walk up to the counter slowly, I scope around for steve. tilting my head to get a better angle around the shorter bookshelves, I still can’t find her anywhere. I end up walking up to the counter for help.

average height, brunette is at the counter. He has a lot of cologne on, as I can smell it from far, but it’s surprisingly not suffocating. it smells like he just came back from the beaches of Florida, so what’s he doing here? for some reason, it feels like he fits it but is a total outlier all at the same time. He doesn’t even notice me, as he seems preoccupied with sorting the $1.25 bookmarks they sell by color on the counter.

“hello welcome to legre scriptum-

…

anastasia?..”

oh shit.

[writerslock]

hey guys!!

i’m gonna cut this short and not tell you my whole life story, but i’ve always wanted to write a book, or a series at least!i will be posting two ideas, and on a separate post i will post the first chapter of those ideas. please feel free to critique or comment on my work, and if you have any suggestions, let me know!

peace and love from vita ❤️