"Failed attempts at fiction"

Failed attempts at fiction.
(Written by me; Not complete)

The town dripped with the sweet fragrance of freshly printed green papers, and the streets paved with gold made it hard for folks to see. Some, who did not walk, would drive about in automobiles of every color and size. Windows were always tinted as to obscure the vision of the boy sitting on the curb with his hand out hoping for a chance of seeing tomorrow’s sun. The young girls of this place some say, were pictures of perfection. Beauties intricately painted against a concrete canvas. And these beauties were kept locked indoors by those who loved them, in fear that if they were let go the harsh winds of the nearby sea would sweep by them capturing their innocence and their light. To them, the sirens blearing and cutting through the air were just sounds, and the trash that covered their paths was just another thing to sweep aside, as to not ruin the sight of their reflection in their ever shining shoes. They were girls who spent their days peering into the mirror, but never once truly saw themselves, because they were terrified that what they would see would be nothing but ugliness to match their small surrounding world. They did not know how to look for beauty within their world, but it was there, always, in the most unexpected places. It was in the face of a mother watching her son go down a slide fore the first time, in the arms of the elderly man, sitting on the park bench, wrapped around the girl he fell in love with the minute she walked into his 10th grade class. It was in the smell of the air right before the snow, and the touch of the first raindrop of a storm trickling down your cheek. It was his smile and her laugh as they nervously held hands for the first time and the feel of the sun beating on your back as you run into the ocean and crash into a giant wave. It’s the boy blowing bubbles skipping down the sidewalk and the sound of the wind blowing the storm door open and shut. These are merely words, which fail in comparison to experiencing the things that were all around, but often overlooked. This was due to the town’s lack of the realization that it was their world…and they were there…but not forever…
These were the words quickly jotted down by Annemarie on the way home from class, recalling the best advice her mother ever gave her. “There are three essential items a woman must always carry, a pen, a journal, and the right shade of lipstick.” “With her nose always buried in a book she knows more about the world than anyone,” she thought.
Annmarie did not enjoy people from her story. She was a girl who took pleasure in the smallest of things and did her best to never forget it. Walking the streets to her home Annmarie caught a glimpse of the world she had grown to love despite of the blinding spectacle. Approaching the small home in the center of what could be called “downtown hell” she entered to find her mother sitting in a chair reading the words of dead poets.
“Mother, what is your favorite thing in the whole world?”
She asked setting her bag down on the worn end table.
“Besides you? (She laughed) Hope.”
“Hope is not a thing mother it’s an idea.”
“Yes, well it’s a good one.”
Lilly had been her daughter’s only guardian from the time she was five and was the soul reason that Annmarie was not like the others.
“Today I have come across the only man worthy of my love.”
“Oh yes? Where did you meet him?”
“At his home of course, a lovely little cardboard box on second street right beside the man who preaches the apocalypse.”
“He was homeless?” said Lilly with disbelief in her eyes; quickly replaced by the realization that it was her daughter she was talking to.
“He was sleeping with a torn photograph in one hand, a half bottle of jack daniels right beside his head, and wore a smile like he knew a profound secret. All I know is he looked more at home mother, than any person I had ever come across in my entire life.”
“Well before you make wedding plans, a package came for you in the mail.”
Annmarie excitedly ran to the table, cleared away her mothers crumbled up attempts at a novel, and underneath them all she revealed a brown box addressed to her.
“What is it?” called Lilly from the next room.
“I don’t know.” She answered softly
Lilly joined her daughter in the kitchen her eyes weighed heavy on her face from an obvious lack of sleep. Her hair was a faded brown and her eyes were as green as the trees that once blew where the brick buildings now touched the sky in their place.
“Aren’t you going to open it?”
“Not Yet”
“Well who is it from?”
“It doesn’t say”
Annmarie set the box on the table quickly and made her way up the creaking steps her fingers brushing across the splintering banister. It was a modest home. Making her way down the hall, which was covered by the hanging images of the pleasurable past she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. She was a plain girl thin and modest in stature. Her hair was the color her mothers once was long ago, deep chocolate brown, and her eyes held the blue of what she looked to most during the day for answers, the sky. In honesty no one had written of her face like the princesses in the fairytales she was read as a child, but deep down she could say she felt beautiful and meant it with all her heart. She continued down the hallway and entered the bathroom still filled with steam from her mother’s afternoon shower. She lifted away a loose tile from the wall reached inside and pulled out a photograph and immediately brought it to her chest. The edges were faded, so was the color, but that face was clearer than any she had seen in person that day. She poured herself onto the cold slate and felt her own heart. Each beat was a loud reminder that she was alive. As her nails tapped rapidly against the tiles she wondered how it was that she remained so patient in a world of broken promises. He said he wouldn’t leave she thought, remembering the way his beard would tickle as it brushed against her cheek. She gasped for air praying that the scent of smoke from downstairs would take her back to the time when no one ached. Where the sun would split the trees and light his eyes, welling with tears. “I’ll just stay here,” she thought and she waited for the spot on which she lay to feel warm. He was truly the only man Annemarie ever loved, aside from the homeless man she had met earlier that day. He was a man with dignity and respect.
Her parents loved with, what Poe would say, a love that was deeper than love. Much how Romeo loved Juliet, how Lancelot loved Guinevere, and how Narcissus loved himself. But much like these stories love was all but had never been enough. Annmarie was awaken from her daze by the loud sound of knocks on the bathroom door.
“Are you alright sweetheart?”
“I’m Fine.” She hated lying to her mother, more than she loathed an empty mind, or a closed heart.
“I made you your favorite since today is a special day.”
“People are born everyday mom I would hardly call it special,” she said picking herself up off the floor and making sure the tile in the wall matched up just a perfectly as it did before.
She opened the door to find Lilly standing with a half baked birthday cake in one hand, a poorly wrapped present in the other and a look of “I tried” on her drooping face.
“Thanks mom,” she said and threw her arms around her in an attempt to hide the fact that she had been crying. They moved the impromptu birthday party back to the kitchen where a short of breath Annemarie blew out the candles and made the wish she knew would never come true.
“Do you ever miss him?” she asked hesitantly, afraid of the answer she would receive but more in fear of the look it would bring to her mothers face. It was the same look every time. The look you get when you have truly lost something.
“You were too young to understand Annie..”
“That’s not what I asked! I asked if you missed him.” Annemarie heard her voice becoming somewhat more stern than the many other times she’d asked this same question.
Lilly became pale. Her faded eyes showed a battle like no other going on inside her head, and with every bit of hesitation she possessed she said.
“Everyday.” Standing in the awkward silence for what seemed an eternity Lilly leaned in to kiss her daughter on the four head.
“I think I will read for awhile, maybe take a nap.”
“Ok mom.” Lilly made her way back up the stairs for the final time that night forgetting that her secret stash held nothing but empty bottles.
“Happy birthday my girl.”