Prompts used: Three
Jayne. 15. She was wearing a hot pink and cyan jumpsuit.
Miles. 16. He was in a completely black suit.
“Hi. I’m Karin. …”
“My deepest regret?
I… murdered someone.”
Total Points: 24 (GO LAVENDER!)
Hi. I’m Karin. People would call me a dreamer. I personally like that title very much, because I pretty much am a dreamer and have no regrets about it. I often find myself lost in a world of my own, with my head floating somewhere among the clouds.
I’ve been a writer since forever. In school when I was little, they would tell us to write these essays on dogs, or cartoons, or our best friend. I really liked doing that. But I didn’t really understand what I was doing back then. I’m not sure if I know now, either.
I’ve always been a vigorous reader. I’ve had spectacles ever since I was ten. I’m not sure if it’s hereditary or what. I’ve always been attracted to artistic things. Painting, music, writing… Those things snatch me into their realms and keep me there round the clock. I can see the bigger picture and notice the little things in life at the same time. That’s one of the things that makes me different. And I also have a certain obsession with pineapples.
My name is Karin. I am a dreamer. My life is beautiful. My biggest strength? I can stand strong when problems are thrown at me. My biggest weakness? My temper’s even shorter than I am. My biggest regret?
I murdered someone.
Jayne. 15. She was wearing a hot pink and cyan jumpsuit. Miles. 16. He was in a completely black suit. Those two were the best friends I had. They were born from my pen, from my seemingly ridiculous imagination, and ever since they came to be I have been with them all the time. They live in my notebook, I carry it everywhere I go, it’s like having two of your best friends fit into your pocket.
Well, it was like that, until that day.
It was a terribly hot afternoon. Miles and Jayne were in an open field armed with heavy guns, their brows wrinkled, their foreheads glazed with sweat. “Shoot on the count of three,” Jayne murmured. It was a matter of life and death. Zacharias, the fated destroyer of the world, was standing face to face with them laughing like there was no tomorrow. What they didn’t realise was that for one of them, there really was no tomorrow.
Zacharias could burn things by just thinking about them. The two of them knew that. Their suits were fireproof so that if he focused on them, they wouldn’t stupidly turn into ashes. I had been careful with the story, every word had a place in that jigsaw.
“So,” said Zacharias, still smiling widely. “Which of you wants to die first?” “You can’t kill us, you oaf,” said Jayne through gritted teeth. “Shoot on the count of three,” she repeated to Miles impatiently. “Maybe it should be… the girl.” His crooked fingers moved along with his eyes to rest on Jayne. “Have an attitude, don’t you?” And he burst out laughing again. “ONE!” she yelled, her finger on the trigger.
“Or perhaps it should be the boy. Would it hurt you if your dear brother died, girl?” he hissed.
“I suppose that’s what I should do, then.”
Jayne pulled the trigger. Still laughing, Zacharias crumpled to the floor, life and blood draining from him. And next to Jayne, Miles was on his knees, slowly fading away.
. . .
After writing those words, I stared at them with astonishment, not knowing where they came from. They struck me cold like a dagger and my insides felt numb as I told myself that one eternal truth- Miles was dead. That meant part of me was dead too. And I had killed him.
Ever since that day I never forgave myself, hated myself for killing one of the best friends I ever had. While writing I had become Zacharias, and the same way he had aimed at Miles’ brain instead of his body and had killed him, I had too. I had put that pen on the paper and pierced through his life, and now he was dead. Dead.
. . .
Years passed. Miles’ death still gave me nightmares, but I had learnt to move on. Time healed wounds miraculously, and that scar Miles had left didn’t hurt that much anymore. I realised that it was just part of a writer’s life. There was loss, there was pain, but I found joy in writing and so I wrote. My pen learnt to accept and let go, and I learnt that this was just a way of the world. This life is like a book and you’re the writer, and at every turn of a page there is something new to experience. It will not be a fairytale, where everyone lives happily ever after, it will make you both laugh and cry. And though it is beautiful in its own way, life must have an end, just the way a book must.