Pixels & Pages

Calling all creative teens! Send us your best poetry, stories, and artwork! Accepted entries will be featured on this page, with a chance to be published in Pixels & Pages, our annual Teen Magazine! Submit your work at any MCPL location, or online at www.mcpl.us/teenzone/publishing.
FEBRUARY 8, 2012
My image is unfamiliar in the mirror. I stare at it for over five minutes, trying to recognize the blonde girl staring unbelievingly back at me. I fluff my hair with my hand as I wipe away the tears that flow freely.
Is it possible that just a year ago he left?

The few memories I have of him flash through my memory. I try my hardest to show that we were best friends, but I know we weren't. I hate myself for that. We should've been.

He was older than I, probably by eight or nine years. I sigh and try to find a way to make my appearance less frazzled looking. It seems impossible though. I'm crying my eyes out in the girls' bathroom as my friends continue their boring, uneventful lives that don't involve death.

I regret the thought as soon as it crosses my mind. My friends were there when he left; it's not their fault that I'm not telling them what's wrong with me today. They would listen. They would care.

Shaking my head, I walk slowly towards the door. My fingers twist around the handle, but I can't fmd the strength to open it. My energy was drained from me when this morning started.

My house was quiet. We got ready without fighting or shoving to get into the bathroom first like usual. I got up on time so my mom didn't have to come to get me. I chose a plain, boring black outfit that was unlike the usual colorful clothes I preferred.

His presence seems to hang in the air.

"I wish you were here," I rasp, my voice is hoarse from twenty minutes of crying.

No one initially said it, but I know he's in heaven right now.

Everyone acted like it was the end when he died, but sometimes I fantasize about waking up in heaven with him waiting for me.

Then I could apologize and tell him everything I didn't get to tell him before he died.

And then when I was done with my sob story I could yell at him. Because I am mad at him. Because he deserves to be mad at. He did something that was totally unnecessary. He ended everything without even asking me or his close family if it was ' okay.

Since something was wrong with him he got to end it. I want to slap him.

Yes, I cried at his funeral wheri the taps were played and yes I cried myself to sleep the night I found out he was gone. And yes, I cried on the anniversary of his death, but I still want to slap him. I want to make him apologize for putting my godfather, his dad, in so much pain.

I press my hand against the cool door and look up at the tall ceiling. I wonder why they made a ceiling so tall. It's not like any normal girl would be that tall. She wouldn't be able to make it through the puny door. If they were going to make a ceiling that tall they should've made the door that tall.

Sighing, I pray for a few seconds. I pray for patience. I pray that I'll be able to see Keith and my grandma and my great-aunt the second I walk into heaven. I wasn't close to any of them and now they're gone.

I didn't get to say good-bye to any of them. I pray that the minute I walk into heaven I get to say good-bye ... and then hello.

   Add a Comment
Enter your comment below, then click Submit.
Nickname: (displays with your comment)
Enter the letters you see on the left:

Categories: 2011-12Short Story/Essay Teen Publishing Project