Can I Lay By Your Side?
She sat in the middle field of the park,
wearing an oversized hoodie and tribal print leggings. Her blue, Nikey trainers
were worn away, like the makeup that flooded her rosy cheeks. Amelia was 16
years old when she realised she was all alone. She held a small photo in one
hand and a lighter in the other.
It was a hot day in Bristol. I
believe, it was 25 degrees centigrade; the hottest day of the year so far. It was one of those days where even the
most well-dressed dandy couldn't hide the massive sweat pits under their arms. It
was one of those days when a neckerchief wasn't such a bad idea, a day when the
perspiration beaded on your forehead and ran in rivulets down your face even
while you were standing still. I remember the smell of freshly
cut grass that lingered in the air as I led against the hot ground. I was at
the park trying to get a tan, ready to go back to school next week.
I looked up and I saw the heat bounce off the streets, and caused a mirage of wavering images. Then.
I looked up and I saw the heat bounce off the streets, and caused a mirage of wavering images. Then.
[Pause]
Then in the corner of my eye, I
saw a little girl. She was so young and so pure of life. She turned to face me; her emerald eyes sparkling
in the bright sunlight. Her hair was dark brown, almost to the point of being
black and it hung loosely over her shoulders. She grew up in a little
town south of Bristol. She lived in a large house with her older brother and
sister, and parents who all carried the same surname with them; Jenkins.
She was playing football in the park with her brother. The football rolled down the hill, and with pure excitement, she chased after it. I remember seeing her luxurious hair gently flowing in the wind as she ran after the ball. Her red dress glistened in the wind (I think it was red anyway). She was so confident, it made me jealous. I knew she was only 4 years old, but I have never worn a dress because of my flaws that appeared upon both my legs. They were slightly bigger than the other girls at my school. I’m 5”4 weighing a little under 9 stone at the age of 16. I hate being in my body. I hate the fact that every time I looked at myself in the mirror, I just wanted to cry.
She was playing football in the park with her brother. The football rolled down the hill, and with pure excitement, she chased after it. I remember seeing her luxurious hair gently flowing in the wind as she ran after the ball. Her red dress glistened in the wind (I think it was red anyway). She was so confident, it made me jealous. I knew she was only 4 years old, but I have never worn a dress because of my flaws that appeared upon both my legs. They were slightly bigger than the other girls at my school. I’m 5”4 weighing a little under 9 stone at the age of 16. I hate being in my body. I hate the fact that every time I looked at myself in the mirror, I just wanted to cry.
[Starts burning photo]
I carried
on day dreaming about my weight, when suddenly I heard a bang. A few seconds
later, I heard screaming. It wasn't screaming of fun or laughter. It was the
sound of terror. I quickly snapped back into reality and there she was. This
time when I looked at the little girl, it wasn't just her dress that was red.
Her hair and face were also stained red. Then I realised. She was lying in a
pool of blood on the side of the road. I ran down the hill to where she was. I
broke through the crowd that surrounded her. I kneeled down and held her in my
arms.
I remember hearing the constant chatter of “Oh my god” in the background. I looked down at her and started crying even more. I remember franticly trying to feel for her pulse. Not long ago she was running around playing, and I couldn't feel her heartbeat. She was dead. I started crying continuously. How could this happen? She was my only sister.
I remember hearing the constant chatter of “Oh my god” in the background. I looked down at her and started crying even more. I remember franticly trying to feel for her pulse. Not long ago she was running around playing, and I couldn't feel her heartbeat. She was dead. I started crying continuously. How could this happen? She was my only sister.
[Reaches into pocket and pulls
out a small box]
Ah, paracetamol... My friend, yet
also my killer. I must have taken over the daily allowance in the past hour. I
can’t think straight.
[Cries]
I can’t do this anymore. I want
to be with my sister again. I miss her. I’ll reunite with her again soon. I will lay by her side again.
-26.09.2014-
An emotive piece and a strong sense of the visual. Just to enhance the sense of being "alone", I would avoid giving her a brother, perhaps. Play more on the fact that she lives vicariously through her sister to help us understand why she will take the paracetamol - we get hints of it in the narrator's loathing of her own body and the contrast with the red dress of her sister but this could be hinted at much more in the language throughout and that would draw us in - we have to get to know the narrator better - better even than she knows herself. Also check the uses of semi-colons vs colons.
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