Where it All Began

Where it All Began

A Chapter by wesleygirl

This chapter is the beginning of the chaos in the girl's life. She dives straight into the events that brought her to her new life, her new self and most importantly, the truth.


          The week up to the death was very intense. We knew it was coming but we didn't know when. I had just started the week previously at a new school, therefore every time a teacher came into the classroom, my nerves reacted.

I was eventually called out on a Friday, during the second last class of the day. I had been laughing with my new found friends, and had actually put the family issue behind me. However, that happiness was short lived as the principal knocked on our classroom door, and asked if I could be excused from class. The class went quiet and all eyes were on me. I felt my face go red and my eyes begin to feel heavy as I knew what was waiting for me once I’d step out. My mind seemed to be too preoccupied to notice a chair that was creeping out from under one of the desks. I quickly held my tears back, but as I was leaving, my leg became entangled in the protruding leg, and with that, it fell with a big thud. My cheeks began to go bright red and embarrassment overcame my nervousness. It felt like an obstacle course getting out of the room. I was trying hard to act like everything was normal but my fears and worries had replaced my earlier power to act like everything was okay. 

I did quickly pick up the chair, but ambled out of the classroom with my head tilted in a downward position. Once I had managed to escape the constant stares of my peers, the door was shut behind me and I was left sharing the silent hallway with my principal. It felt like an eternity had passed without a word spoken between us. It was the awkward silence that forced my principal to speak. All he could say to me was that my father was going to collect me. He never said why he was collecting me or why I had to go home but I already knew what had happened, and I did not need his words to tell me. He led me in silence to the door of the two and a half year old century boarding house, with its cold, grey walls towering over me. An ancient red door, a lot of its paint had been chipped away. It also had an inscription on it, in Latin, but I had not been in the school long enough to understand its meaning. What I did know for sure, was that I didn't understand......

He let me inside and said I should get ready quickly as my father would arrive in a couple of minutes. He closed the door and left me alone with my thoughts. I hurried the thoughts out of my mind and slowly walked into the emptiness of my dorm and began to collect my belongings. 

I was uncertain if whether or not I should leave a note for my new room-mates. I decided not to , as they didn't  know me too well and I didn't want to burden them with my personal issues. I picked up my hazelnut coloured suitcase and left the quietness of my dorm. My principal, who had been waiting awkwardly for me, straightened up his back, waited until I was out  of the building before he locked the door behind me . Everything seemed to be much louder and I could hear everything clearly. Baby birds chirping away, awaiting their meals, the echoes of the cleaner's footsteps down the hall and the background noise of the music room that was just to my right. I quickly brought my attention back to the matter in hand- getting to my mother. I carried my suitcase up the concreted stairs and saw that my father’s business van was waiting for me at the front of the old boarding house. He stepped out of the van and I could see quickly that he had been crying. He stood there staring at me, waiting for me to say or do something. My eyes began to give into the heaviness that suddenly was put on them and I couldn't hold the tears in. I managed to choke out the words, 

“Is he?” before he wrapped his big arms around my sobbing body and began to shed tears himself.

The drive home was unforgettable. The constant ding and dongs of texts from my friends was unbearable and I didn't want to hear ‘I'm sorry for your loss’ when I would be hearing it non-stop once I’d arrive at the funeral. I switched off the vibrating phone and leaned my body weight against the cold glass of the vehicle's window. I couldn't bear to look at my father. He and my mother just recently had a nasty divorce and I couldn't imagine how the funeral would play out, whether he would comfort my mother as she waved goodbye to her beloved father or whether he would just drop me there and leave. I shifted the thought out of my mind and onto my grandfather. Retracing memories with my thoughts and thinking of all the moments I had with him. I realised that I couldn't remember much of him and that upset me greatly. I relived the constant hospital visits and the regular smells of the old folk’s home. Then out of the blue,  my earliest and most important memory of him, came to me vividly.

I have a feeling I was around the age of four. My mother had just lifted my grandfather from his chair beside the fire, into his bed downstairs. I tried following her in to the bedroom, but she shut the door before I could sneak in. I knew what that meant and I didn't want to disturb them. I slowly turned around and walked back into the living room. After fifteen minutes of waiting, my mother emerged from her fathers small bedroom carrying a small plastic bag containing his excrement. She quickly threw away the plastic bag and began to wash her hands thoroughly. Once finished she returned to the warmth of the living room and started to settle down for the night. An hour later she went in to check on him to find that he was suffering from a stroke. She started crying and ordered my grandmother to call an ambulance. Before long he was being carried into the back of the blaring vehicle that then drove off. Once they were gone, my mother turned to me and told me everything was going to be fine and that I needed to be brought to a neighbors house while she went to be by her father’s side.

The image of that night flashed in my eyes before I brought my attention back to where I actually was- in the van. We had been driving for about an hour and we were almost home. My father hadn't said a word to me and I'm glad of that. This had been the first death in my family and I didn't want to believe it, let alone speak of it. Once we arrived, my father told me to go grab my belongings and meet back at the van in about a half an hour. I nodded silently and waited until he was out of sight, before I let myself into the empty bungalow. Once inside I dumped my belongings at the door of my small, unwelcoming bedroom. I glanced around t and found my funeral wear hanging on the door of my unflattering wardrobe. I remembered that my mother and I had bought black ink to dye one of my dresses for the funeral, however it turned out more English Violet than black. I stared at the dress, not believing it was time to wear it. A tear slipped down my circular cheeks and landed on the collar of my school uniform. I sighed and began to remove my clothing. Once removed, I lifted the delicate dress off the plastic hanger and over my head. Because the dress was strapless, I zipped it up at my side and covered my bare shoulders with my mother’s cotton and black cardigan. I walked over to the mirror which held my reflection and began to brush my hair. When I had finished, I picked up my black feathered clip and stroked it through my brown hair until it was in place. When I was finished I began to pack all the belonging that I would need to bring with me into my small green suitcase and went to meet my father at the van.

The drive down south towards my grandfather’s funeral was chattier. My father knew I would not stop thinking of the death, so he decided to talk to me about school and friends to distract me. For four hours he managed to make me forget where we were heading and I actually cracked a smile, but it soon faded as we arrived at our destination.


© 2014 wesleygirl

Author's Note

please leave comments, reviews etc... its my first piece that I have written, please be honest as well

My Review

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Featured Review


This feels so real to me. The memories, the silences, everything. Sad and piercing. Good work!

Posted 8 Years Ago

This was written beautifully and the descriptions were impeccable. Great job on this one, it was a joy to read. Well done!


Posted 8 Years Ago

Great imagination, great wording, great subject matter.

Posted 8 Years Ago

Wonderful story! It was descriptive and the emotions felt real to me! Feel free to send me a read request because you are a fabulous writer! :)

Posted 8 Years Ago

Lovely vivid descriptions; a pleasure to read. I lost family members when I was a teen and you accurately portray the feeling. When you write more, feel free to send me a read request! Great work.

Posted 8 Years Ago

very sad...i like your description its just like watching a movie.A sad movie that is.

Posted 8 Years Ago

Wesleygirl, I read both your works with great interest first of all because you are from Ireland as am I, secondly because you are just starting out on this wonderful journey of creating writing that will give pleasure to all who read them and that will endure time.I can see how carefully you have chosen your words and have took the time to allow your imagination to help you.My only tips I can give you are listen to your inner voice as you put the words down, write as you would speak in the character you have created, always show never tell, use others to inhance discriptions and pass on subtle details.And never be afraid to push the envelope of creativity.
Good luck.

Posted 8 Years Ago

A very good story. The lesson of death is hard for the young people who believed life is forever. Teaches us a bad lesson. You create the realness of real place and situation. Thank you for sharing the excellent story.

Posted 8 Years Ago

very powerful and very addictive! Great work :)

Posted 8 Years Ago

This was an outstanding read, and to be honest, the character was very believable, and reading about whats shes going through left me a little brokenhearted, and that is an extremely rare occurrence. It left me thinking what I could have done to help this girl, knowing well that she is a character in your writing. The usage of imagery in this writing was very well incorporated, and it set the mood of the story to be the same as the main character, which is an amazing connection, and a vital one too!

I honestly didnt want to stop reading, it was really that good!

The mood of the story also moved me a little. You are a very talented writer, especially being that you are only 15 and this is your first work!

For your first writing, you did an OUTSTANDING job!

I do hope to read more of your work soon, I was very well drawn into it, and I dont think I want to be taken out!

Posted 8 Years Ago


8 Years Ago

Thank you for your reviews!! :) I'm glad you read into my stories and see the characters for who the.. read more

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17 Reviews
Added on November 10, 2014
Last Updated on November 13, 2014
Tags: Mystery, Teen, Sad, Happiness, Young Adult, Fiction, Life Events, Death



Leinster, Ireland

I'm a fifteen year old Irish girl. I love being creative and doing pastel and writing is how I express it. I have only really found the time to start writing, so I have some unfinished bits and bobs. .. more..

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