Just a Little Lie

  So let's say that approximately three hours have passed and here I am still sitting in the darkness of the forest. "I need to get home..." I thought reluctantly. I knew that my grandparents were probably already out searching for me, but they shouldn't be too surprised, I stay out late after school all the time. "But not this late." I snapped back at myself.

  Standing up on my two shaky legs, I left the comfort of the forest. It was dark by now (especially with the help of the darkening clouds).

  I didn't mind, though, I liked being in the dark. No one could see me, and that meant they couldn't say anything to something that didn't exist (at least in their mind I didn't). They called it nyctophilia or something. Anyways, it's the "abnormal" preference of the night compared to day. I found the dark somewhat comforting. Like maybe the black abyss could help me imagine both my parents smiling back at me again.

  I passed a street light as a car passed me by. My stomach tightened like I expected the driver to just ninja roll out of their car to push me over. I continued in the same path but-

  The car that just passed me came to an abrupt stop, as did I. I reluctantly looked over at my shoulder. The car was put in reverse. Just as I was about to bolt, my grandfather's voice sounded out of the car window.

  "Isabelle!" He called in his hoarse voice.

  "Chill out, spaz." I whispered to myself.

  "Isabelle," my grandfather called again," what are you doing out so late?"

  I ran over to greet my grandpa. My grandmother was in the passengers seat. "Hello, sweetie," she said in a softer tone.

  "Sorry..." I said quietly but not too quietly so they couldn't hear me.

  "It is six forty-seven, Isabelle."

  "I know, I know, I was just on my way home."

  The disappointed sigh of my grandfather slipped from his mouth. "Just get in the car," he whispered.

  Without another word, I obeyed him and collapsed into the back seat. Not another word was spoken until we got home.

~

 

  As soon as I reached the door handle, I immediately could feel my grandmother's eyes burning into the back of my head.

  I was right. "Isabelle..." my grandmother said quietly. "I can tell you've been feeling...  sad ... for the past few days-"

  "Few days?" I wanted to spat angrily.

  "I don't know what has happened but I do know that it has nothing to do with home," she continued. "We were just worried, we don't want you to get hurt."

  I ended the conversation with a simple "thanks" and walked up the stairs to my bedroom. The lights were off.

  I turned on a lamp that sat on a table beside my alarm clock. I looked into the mirror that stretched across a small proportion of my wall. I didn't like what I saw, and that was just the outside.

  I pulled up my sleeves and lifted my shirt up to the middle of my ribcages.

  Disgusting was the only word I could make up. Those misunderstood marks were painted up both of my forearms and cascaded down my hips to my thighs.

  Am I the only one who has noticed that no one really cares until emotional pain turns into physical? I didn't like my body frame nor my scars. I saw myself as chubby. I don't like my thighs. I don't like my arms. I don't like my stomach. The list could go on.

  I pulled my shirt back down to where it sat a little below my hipbones, but before I could pull down my sleeves, there was a knock at my door. I abruptly folded my arms downward. It was my grandmother again.

  "What?" I said a little too harsh.

  My grandmother's short frame entered partially through the door. "Oh, sorry to intrude... I was just coming to tell you that there is still meatloaf downstairs if you wanted any."

  "Alright, just let me get a shower first and then I'll go eat."

  My grandmother forced a crooked smile and closed the door.

  Even though I had lied, I really did feel bad for sounding so rude. I wasn't going to eat after I took a shower, I would probably just finish the few short poems I had left to perfect.

 

Tell me I don't know.

Tell me how I don't know what it's like.

what it's like to cry yourself to sleep.

what it's like to sit alone in a room full of people.

what it's like to want to take a piece of metal to your skin.

what it's like to make a canvas out of your body.

what it's like to want to just end it all.

Tell me I don't know.

and I will prove you wrong.

Author's Note

wow ok I threw out a few more feels at the end in this one.
I hope you're all enjoying the book (:

Reviews

[Wynter Ignatius]

I too find comfort in the dark and find my solace within the shadows and ambient light.

This is turning out quite well and I hope the commentary about Isabelle is not about you in some way - you are you and that is nothing to be ashamed about, scars and all. Character is built upon the unseen marks and how we react to it in the everyday.

Keep this up and I'll keep reading.

[Kindra Elise]

oh my gosh, you are wonderful c:

[Wynter Ignatius]

No problem at all. Keep it up.

[David]

You are a wonderful story teller my dear :) very well done indeed.

[Silent Wolf]

Interesting. A few incorrect tenses, but not bad. :) I like it, and I like how the character is kind of developing. Mind notifying me when you have more?

[Kindra Elise]

Thank you c: and I'll go through it again because CE annoy me xD

[Silent Wolf]

Might I ask what a CE is? Lol, I never heard of it.

[Kindra Elise]

Common error lol

[Silent Wolf]

Oh okay. Lol, sorry. I'm still kind of a new writer.

[Jerilynn]

I am feeling her depression. I know someone who is a cutter and I know what makes them do it. I want to help your girl find the peace she needs. I liked this very much. I don't know what makes her so disliked by others. It could use a bit of tweeking. but I was ready for another page so get going!

[Coyote Poetry]

I had to re-read the first two chapters. I enjoyed the story so far. I like the journey and her finding home. I like the locations, mystery and confident of the main character. Thank you for sharing the excellent chapter.
Coyote