Laughing under the bright sun, my hands are appeased, my pen can’t write. But come night, black ink spills from my past, disfiguring page after page. My past claws itself out, hideous and raw, writing off who I used to be. Then day breaks and my head is calm again.
Gretchen Ivers is 16 year old who loves Jesus, laughter, and unicycling. She is currently teaching herself Braille.
Woke up on a different side of the mirror this morning, looking at a child who believed in herself and her dreams. I watched, helpless, as she was introduced to this devils’ haven.
I saw her life fly by, watched her sparkle flicker. Falter. Fade.
I miss being that child.
Gretchen Ivers is not quite sure why all of her stories turn out so morbid.
Its lifeless eyes looked back; not caring, just staring. Black plastic beads set into worn terry cloth. A million memories within those eyes. Many long nights did I spend staring into them, wishing to drown out the fighting on the floor below.
Sighing, I drop it back into the box.
Gretchen is a 15-year-old experimenting with writing. She loves unicycling and would like to thank Ms. Nelson for her referral to 50-Word Stories.