Writing

I started writing this a while ago. I have my characters developed in my mind, and I know what I want to happen. Anyway, here's just a small bit of it. Yes, I have more than just this written. And no, I probably won't post more of it online because it's mine and I don't want it to get stolen. Although... if I know you in real life, I'd probably most likely share more of it with you. And there are some friends from online who I've known for a couple years now, who I consider myself to be friends with, who I would probably show as well. So if you want to read more, just ask. The worst I can tell you is "no", right?

Feedback would be greatly appreciated :)


I gazed off into the distance, looking but not seeing. One step, that’s all it would take. I could step off the ledge right now and be done with it all. I could see it, my funeral, what life would be like ­without me. My twin brother, Jaxton, he’d make sure my ­­mom had a funeral for me; he’d make sure she at least pretended to care. She’d barely acknowledged my existence for the past year now. Ever since she found out I was a lesbian, that I had a girlfriend even, it was as if I didn’t exist to her any longer. She never saw me, never spoke to me. When I was in a room, the room might’ve just as well been empty to her. It amazed me how she was my mother and still she could look right though me as if I was invisible, how she could look at pictures of me and only refer to me in the past sense, as if I was already dead to her. I think I probably was.

Maybe there would be a news report about me, and people I’d never talked to once in my life at school would talk about how close we were, how much I meant to them. God, people are so fake. You’ll go to school with someone your whole life without them ever uttering a single word to you. Then once you’re gone, especially if you leave this world “too young”, you were best friends growing up. You hung out all the time. You were the closest friends there’s ever been. It makes me sick.

The sun was still pretty low in the sky, but already it was pretty warm outside. The sky was covered in fluffy looking clouds with bits of blue shining through, but darker clouds were quickly taking over. There was no wind this morning to whip my hair around my face. The air was heavy and felt weirdly still, dead almost. No birds called out cheerful morning songs; a storm was brewing. I wished that the air smelled fresh, the way I thought it should, but that was impossible in a big city crammed too full of people, cars, factories, and who-knows-what-else.

I slid one foot closer to the edge, took a breath, and looked down. Life was going on as usual down there. Cars were stopped at a red light going one way, speeding past each other going the other way. Frustrated people, probably ones who were late to work, were yelling and laying too hard on their horns as if the constant beeping and seemingly never-ending stream of curse words would make the light turn green. People on the sidewalk, adults wearing suits and carrying briefcases, young kids with backpacks and those boxy plastic lunchboxes, teenage boys racing on skateboards, teenage girls huddled in their tight little members-only packs like wolves, pushed by each other without a thought, without a word. I’ve grown up here in the city and still I can’t understand how so many people can just hurry on by one another and never say hello, never ask how the other person’s day is going, never anything. Everyone is so self-centered. Maybe if people cared more about each other, there wouldn’t be other people like me; people who are alone in the world and ridiculously scared of living their lives.

I heard Jaxton’s soft voice behind me. “Jayla.” It was so quiet. If there had been a breeze blowing, his voice could’ve easily been a demon in the wind whispering my name to me. I wondered for a fraction of a second if my brother was actually there or not. But there was no wind, no demons, so he had to have really been there. I jumped, surprised, when his hand touched my shoulder as he said my name again. “Jayla.” The pain in his voice made me turn around and step towards him, away from what felt like the only solution to my life. “Please,” he said. That was it, just “please,” and I broke down crying in his arms. He did the only thing he knew he could, held me close as I cried until there were no tears left. I looked up at his face, into his eyes. Eighteen years, and it still surprised me every time I looked at his face. With the exception of our different hair styles, and the fact that he’s about three inches taller than me, it was almost like looking in a mirror. People always think he’s gay because of their stereotypes and his soft facial features and naturally quiet voice. He’s not though; he’s been with the same girl for almost three years now. They’re so in love; I won’t be surprised the day he comes home saying he asked her to marry him. He cupped my face in his hands and, looking me in the eyes, said “don’t.”

Don’t what? I started to wonder. Don’t jump? Don’t live? Don’t give up? Don’t lie? Don’t be myself? Don’t care? Don’t try? Don’t cry? Don’t worry? Don’t do it? There were so many things he could’ve meant, and yet... I knew which he did.

With hot tears threatening to fall from my eyes again, I took a deep, shuddering breath. “She won’t care. Jax, she won’t care if I’m gone.” It was taking all my strength not to cry. He must’ve sensed that, twin telepathy or something, and the two of us sat down on our building’s roof. He held me close, his arms around me but not imprisoning me. “I love you Jax, but you know she won’t care. It’s been almost a year since she even looked at me. She doesn’t care. I could be gone so quick and so easy and she wouldn’t even notice. I’m nothing to her. Nothing.” I buried my face in his shirt and stopped trying not to cry.