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This is the first short story I've ever written, unless you count the ones I wrote for elementary school assignments.
I'm still unsure about the title, so tell me what you think abou that, and the story in general! I apologize in advance for grammatical mistakes, this story was written at, like, 1AM.
She never imagined it would be this way.
When she had left home a year ago, she thought everything would take a turn for the better. She was finally free. Free from her overburdening, overstrict, unappreciative parents. Free to be her own person.
Free from the memories.
She shivered against the wind and pulled her jacket tighter around herself. "Happy seventeenth birthday to me." she said to herself.
She sat on a swing in the middle of her favorite childhood park. How ironic. She thought as she looked at the sign bearing the park's name. Friendship. Just the thing I thought I could count on. She had been fron friend's house to friend's house-a month here, a week there.
Each one had told her almost the exact same thing as they again sent her searching for a place to stay.
"Go back home, Alex." "My parent's won't pay for you anymore." "Alex, if you want to have freedom, maybe you should get your own place."
THe words echoed in her maind and eventually faded into one phrase. "You're a failure. I don't care about you. Go away."
Of course, none of them had actually said that, but Alex had a hard time convincing herself of that. If they didn't think that, why was she on the streets? Why didn't they let her stay?
The sky grew darker as she sat, pushing the swing back and forth slightly. She looked at the houses around the park, just beginning to light up.
A mother nearby called her children in for dinner, and Alex's hand went to her stomach. She hadn't eaten in three...or was it four days.
She began to think of home. Home, with a warm bed and soft pillows. Home, with a long, hot shower. Home, with food.
She shook her head as if to chase away the memories. She had to be strong. Freedom, remember? She kept telling herself. She sighed and rested her head on the swing's chain, closing her eyes.
Two teenagers, about 15, stand in a kitchen, laughing. The girl is Alex. The boy walks to the table and sits down. "Well, sis, how about it? You beat me in poker, I'll makde dinner. I win, you cook."
Alex turns and walks to the table. "You may be my twin, John, but that's never stopped me from beating your sorry butt. Deal." She says, sitting down.
The image is suddenly interrupted by visions of a dark night, with police light flashing. A car, front bumper dented, rests twenty feet behind a mangled bike. A still figure is between the two objects. A policeman looks from John to a frightened looking Alex, clutching the handlebars of her own bike.
"I'm sorry. There's nothing we can do." The officer says sadly. "He's gone."
"No. NO. NOOOOOOOO!" Alex's eyes fly open, and she is screaming in real life. She begins to sob. "Why, John? Why did you leave me? How could you leave me?"
She continus to cry until her sobs become nothing more than gasps for air. She hears footsteps and looks up into a boy's smiling face.
"Alex, go home." John says kindly. "You shouldn't be here."
"John? How--Oh, John, what have I done? They'll never take me back, not now!"
He shakes his head. "Of course they'll take you back. Now go." he turns.
"John! don't leave me! Not again!" Her eyes close for a moment, and when they open, he is gone.
She wipes a single tear from her cheek, gets up, and walks to a nearby pay phone.
"Daddy? It's Alex."
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