Status: Trying this out. Let me know what you think. If I can improve on anything, please let me know! - Thank you!
"Goodnight, Love."
First
When I was a little girl, my mom would always read a bedtime story to me before I went to bed. Every night shed bring home a new book to share with me. The books always had that distinctive smells about them – I’d thought it represented what the main character would smell like. A smell that was almost comforting to me. I'd always loved hearing the adventures of the characters and someday wished that maybe I could go on an adventure. A adventure with my books. An adventure that would mean something. But, at the mean age of seven – adventure wasn't really an option. So I decided I should wait awhile. My quest would have to wait. At least until I turned ten.
On my tenth birthday she'd come home in a panic. She explained to me that, she had to go to work for a few hours. Before she left, a book was handed to me, and then she was off. Flying out into the world – almost as if she was without a care. As I locked the door behind her, I headed up to my room and settled for reading my book. She'd gotten me Peter Pan! I was overjoyed, I loved reading the book.
Circumstances had changed by my next birthday though. My adventures before bed had been replaced with my father telling me it would be alright, and that he promised she would come back. He convinced me she had just gone out to buy me another book. Or that she'd run to the market for a quick errand. I believed him for the first few months, after that I knew she'd left us. She left us all alone. All my creativity had left, and was replaced with a dark gaping hole of sadness. I just couldn't understand why she'd leave me.
"Libby, you can do this," I told myself, inhaling shakily.
***
Fable was just some sleepy, old, English town of which I'd been forced to live in from now on. The porch was way too modern for my liking. I didn't like the deep green colour of the exterior siding. The fence needed to be painted. The windows were placed haphazardly throughout the walls. Letting what I could already tell was too much sunlight in for my liking. My hand reached up to ring the doorbell without such as a second thought, and I cursed myself. Quickly I gathered my bags and shook my head. I started heading back down the brick sidewalk again. Wondering to myself what the hell I was thinking. Halfway down I heard the door open, and a voice call out to me. I stopped startled at the presence.
"Libby?" The voice rang of familiarity.
I'd learned to hate that sickly sweet tone. It sounded just the same as when she'd left. I turned to look at the source of the sound, there stood my mother in all of her glory. She hadn't changed much since I'd seen her last. Her red hair still hung past her shoulders in it's natural ringlets. She'd lost a bit of weight. Then I caught her eyes, and lost it. She ran down the stairs, apologizing profusely. But I wasn't accepting apologies. Especially not from her. My lungs felt as if they had stopped working, and collapsed all together. So I did the only thing I could think of. I ran. I could hear her shouts after me for a while, but they died down eventually.
It was a pain, I guess, to fight for me. She'd given up once before. She'd do it again. But it was too late for that. I'd given up on her. Before she could give up on me. By nightfall the streets had come to life. The sleepy citizens of Fable had arouse from their slumbers, and decided to face the world. Taking note of the teenagers, and the ages I thought they were. Then I spotted a boy.
He was beautiful. I watched him walk down the pathway from his house. But my staring was disturbed. Someone called his name from the opened door.
"James!" The voice growled, the boy: James, scoffed and turned around to face the house.
"Where are you going?" The voice yelled again, anger seeping through.
It must be his father. I figured. I watched curiously as the boy rolled his eyes and turned around walking down the sidewalk.
Calling out over his shoulder, "To get you your alcohol you ignorant bastard!"
I sighed to myself. I was about to call out to him, when a rickety old car pulled up. A car I knew all too well. I hated the stupid red bug. The seat-belts were worn, and didn't work. The heater was shot. But most of all, my mother drove it.
"Libby, get in." My mother yelled, furious.
As I rolled my eyes, I glanced at the boy. Who had been caught staring at me. I waved shyly and got into the car, awaiting the wrath of my mother.
On my tenth birthday she'd come home in a panic. She explained to me that, she had to go to work for a few hours. Before she left, a book was handed to me, and then she was off. Flying out into the world – almost as if she was without a care. As I locked the door behind her, I headed up to my room and settled for reading my book. She'd gotten me Peter Pan! I was overjoyed, I loved reading the book.
Circumstances had changed by my next birthday though. My adventures before bed had been replaced with my father telling me it would be alright, and that he promised she would come back. He convinced me she had just gone out to buy me another book. Or that she'd run to the market for a quick errand. I believed him for the first few months, after that I knew she'd left us. She left us all alone. All my creativity had left, and was replaced with a dark gaping hole of sadness. I just couldn't understand why she'd leave me.
"Libby, you can do this," I told myself, inhaling shakily.
***
Fable was just some sleepy, old, English town of which I'd been forced to live in from now on. The porch was way too modern for my liking. I didn't like the deep green colour of the exterior siding. The fence needed to be painted. The windows were placed haphazardly throughout the walls. Letting what I could already tell was too much sunlight in for my liking. My hand reached up to ring the doorbell without such as a second thought, and I cursed myself. Quickly I gathered my bags and shook my head. I started heading back down the brick sidewalk again. Wondering to myself what the hell I was thinking. Halfway down I heard the door open, and a voice call out to me. I stopped startled at the presence.
"Libby?" The voice rang of familiarity.
I'd learned to hate that sickly sweet tone. It sounded just the same as when she'd left. I turned to look at the source of the sound, there stood my mother in all of her glory. She hadn't changed much since I'd seen her last. Her red hair still hung past her shoulders in it's natural ringlets. She'd lost a bit of weight. Then I caught her eyes, and lost it. She ran down the stairs, apologizing profusely. But I wasn't accepting apologies. Especially not from her. My lungs felt as if they had stopped working, and collapsed all together. So I did the only thing I could think of. I ran. I could hear her shouts after me for a while, but they died down eventually.
It was a pain, I guess, to fight for me. She'd given up once before. She'd do it again. But it was too late for that. I'd given up on her. Before she could give up on me. By nightfall the streets had come to life. The sleepy citizens of Fable had arouse from their slumbers, and decided to face the world. Taking note of the teenagers, and the ages I thought they were. Then I spotted a boy.
He was beautiful. I watched him walk down the pathway from his house. But my staring was disturbed. Someone called his name from the opened door.
"James!" The voice growled, the boy: James, scoffed and turned around to face the house.
"Where are you going?" The voice yelled again, anger seeping through.
It must be his father. I figured. I watched curiously as the boy rolled his eyes and turned around walking down the sidewalk.
Calling out over his shoulder, "To get you your alcohol you ignorant bastard!"
I sighed to myself. I was about to call out to him, when a rickety old car pulled up. A car I knew all too well. I hated the stupid red bug. The seat-belts were worn, and didn't work. The heater was shot. But most of all, my mother drove it.
"Libby, get in." My mother yelled, furious.
As I rolled my eyes, I glanced at the boy. Who had been caught staring at me. I waved shyly and got into the car, awaiting the wrath of my mother.