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So for a class we had to submit a short story. Well, I chose a short story anyway, there were a few different things to do. I had a short story written so I decided to extend it to the requirements, and I figured I'd post it here. Don't worry; it's not based off of anybody.
Warning: There is implied suicide and self harm. If anybody wants me to take it down I will, there's no depiction of the actual acts.
Susan Smile: Improved Version. 806 Words
There is a girl who attends my school, whose dark eyes are sleep deprived and light brown hair brushes her shoulders. No matter the weather, or the occasion, a black wristband is worn on her wrist. She wore it to Prom with her man, I have seen her wear it in public, and once I think at a high class restaurant. It clashed with what she usually wore; a bright dress and sandals. On colder or rainy days she wore jeans and shirts just as bright as her usual dresses.
Though nasty rumors follow her, more when she broke up with her boyfriend, a smile stays with her. Even when she tries to sleep in class, or when a teacher scolds her. When I walked by her in the hallway, I heard people say the harshest things about her, how she dressed and walked. I didn’t see anything wrong with it; she may not have worn designer clothes or walked with a slouch like they did, but she looked pretty. Once I asked her why she smiled. With a small voice, she said, “I am always reminded to be happy,” he eyes darted to her wrist, then back to me. “Every day,”
I invited her to sit with me at lunch, my friend recently moved away, and I had nobody to talk to. I introduced myself as Ronnie, she said to call her Smile. I agreed, and we started talking. We got very close, and eventually we started dating.
A year passed and we were still together, from sop****re year to senior year. She never lost her wristband, still wore it everywhere. Even when she went with my family to the beach, Smile wore it in the water.
We never visited her house; she said her mom didn’t approve of dating until after she had moved out. I didn't mind, Smile loved my family and they saw her like a daughter in law. They even addressed her as Mrs. Stanson, and they about grandchildren and wedding bells. One day my cousin, who was visiting from Nevada, came up to me with a binder full of wedding plans. Smile got so red she almost started crying.
One day though, she abruptly stopped talking to me. I didn’t see her at school, and nobody knew where she was. Friday night, I was watching breaking news, a mother in tears over the death of her daughter, Susan. A note was tucked under her wristband, and it read,
“I have moved from this world, but I leave smiles. Some of you got some from me, and I keep the rest, but please do not lose the ones I left here. Mom,”
I cut off the TV before I had a chance to hear anything else she would say. That was Smile who wrote that, it had to be. The anchor was impassive about the story, even while my heart was shattering to bits. Mom handed me a letter from her mom, asking me to come to the funeral. My fears were confirmed. I saw headlights pulling out of the driveway and heading quickly down the street. I don’t know how Smile’s mom found out about our dating, but she did somehow.
I went to the funeral, dressed in black, like Smile’s wristband. A family member handed me a small box from Smile, and I couldn't stand to stay there. At home, I opened the box, another letter from Smile and a photo of us at the beach.
“Ronnie,
I didn't want you at my house because my mom was abusive. Maybe not physically, but emotionally and mentally. So I smiled when I could, even if things were bad. Keep me in mind, I will see you soon.”
I flipped over the paper and read over it countless times. That was all she wrote. Beneath the letter was another picture, of her wrist. “Smile” was carved into her skin in all capital letters, and I realized it was the one she kept covered. I broke down into heaving sobs, and when I dried my eyes, the picture was soaked with tears. I keep it beneath my bed now, with written memories of Smile kept in a shoe box. I wear her wristband on the same side she did, our beach picture tucked in it.
I smile more often; learned to cope, moved out, and I even adopted a puppy. She has eyes just like Smile’s, and I think this is what she meant when she said, “See you soon,” I did not want to name her after Susan, so I settled for Jessica, and we were together until we got in a car crash on the way to the vet’s office. As our spirits floated above, I saw the real Smile floating from my dog’s body.
Together again,
always and
forever.
Warning: There is implied suicide and self harm. If anybody wants me to take it down I will, there's no depiction of the actual acts.
Susan Smile: Improved Version. 806 Words
There is a girl who attends my school, whose dark eyes are sleep deprived and light brown hair brushes her shoulders. No matter the weather, or the occasion, a black wristband is worn on her wrist. She wore it to Prom with her man, I have seen her wear it in public, and once I think at a high class restaurant. It clashed with what she usually wore; a bright dress and sandals. On colder or rainy days she wore jeans and shirts just as bright as her usual dresses.
Though nasty rumors follow her, more when she broke up with her boyfriend, a smile stays with her. Even when she tries to sleep in class, or when a teacher scolds her. When I walked by her in the hallway, I heard people say the harshest things about her, how she dressed and walked. I didn’t see anything wrong with it; she may not have worn designer clothes or walked with a slouch like they did, but she looked pretty. Once I asked her why she smiled. With a small voice, she said, “I am always reminded to be happy,” he eyes darted to her wrist, then back to me. “Every day,”
I invited her to sit with me at lunch, my friend recently moved away, and I had nobody to talk to. I introduced myself as Ronnie, she said to call her Smile. I agreed, and we started talking. We got very close, and eventually we started dating.
A year passed and we were still together, from sop****re year to senior year. She never lost her wristband, still wore it everywhere. Even when she went with my family to the beach, Smile wore it in the water.
We never visited her house; she said her mom didn’t approve of dating until after she had moved out. I didn't mind, Smile loved my family and they saw her like a daughter in law. They even addressed her as Mrs. Stanson, and they about grandchildren and wedding bells. One day my cousin, who was visiting from Nevada, came up to me with a binder full of wedding plans. Smile got so red she almost started crying.
One day though, she abruptly stopped talking to me. I didn’t see her at school, and nobody knew where she was. Friday night, I was watching breaking news, a mother in tears over the death of her daughter, Susan. A note was tucked under her wristband, and it read,
“I have moved from this world, but I leave smiles. Some of you got some from me, and I keep the rest, but please do not lose the ones I left here. Mom,”
I cut off the TV before I had a chance to hear anything else she would say. That was Smile who wrote that, it had to be. The anchor was impassive about the story, even while my heart was shattering to bits. Mom handed me a letter from her mom, asking me to come to the funeral. My fears were confirmed. I saw headlights pulling out of the driveway and heading quickly down the street. I don’t know how Smile’s mom found out about our dating, but she did somehow.
I went to the funeral, dressed in black, like Smile’s wristband. A family member handed me a small box from Smile, and I couldn't stand to stay there. At home, I opened the box, another letter from Smile and a photo of us at the beach.
“Ronnie,
I didn't want you at my house because my mom was abusive. Maybe not physically, but emotionally and mentally. So I smiled when I could, even if things were bad. Keep me in mind, I will see you soon.”
I flipped over the paper and read over it countless times. That was all she wrote. Beneath the letter was another picture, of her wrist. “Smile” was carved into her skin in all capital letters, and I realized it was the one she kept covered. I broke down into heaving sobs, and when I dried my eyes, the picture was soaked with tears. I keep it beneath my bed now, with written memories of Smile kept in a shoe box. I wear her wristband on the same side she did, our beach picture tucked in it.
I smile more often; learned to cope, moved out, and I even adopted a puppy. She has eyes just like Smile’s, and I think this is what she meant when she said, “See you soon,” I did not want to name her after Susan, so I settled for Jessica, and we were together until we got in a car crash on the way to the vet’s office. As our spirits floated above, I saw the real Smile floating from my dog’s body.
Together again,
always and
forever.