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The Writer’s Curse

By @castamps103

I die. Sort of.

Death is a funny thing. Well, not exactly funny. You don’t want to laugh at your loved one’s funeral. But, when you stare death in the face, meet his eyes, and be claimed, it can be ironic. We spend our lives trying to escape it, then when the time comes, it’s funny. Maybe thinking like that makes me weird or emo or whatever, but it’s true. When you die, you’ll see that. My name is Aria Janice Johnson. Friends and family call me A.J. This is the story of life. My first one. And a bit of the second one. I guess as good a time as any to start would be when I die. Well, sorta die. But we’ll get to that later.

“Dad?” I whispered, and he gave me a sad smile. Whenever I saw him it was only in my dreams. I guess that’s what happens when you’re dead for most of daughters life. Dream visits.

“Aria, it’s time.” Dad says. I sighed.

“I know, but…” I trailed off.

“I know it’s hard A.J.,” he starts “But you need to let go. Believe me I wish you could’ve had more time.”

“But, I can’t let go, I really want to remember it all.” I whisper.

“You can relive it. Then, well, I can’t tell you what happens afterwards, but” He stops suddenly 

“Will I have to relive the pain?” I wonder.

“Yes. All of it, emotional and physical, but you won’t be able to change anything. Not my rules though, His.” He looks up to the sky, at the sun.

“His rules? You mean God? I wish they were different, I know that’s bad but… ” I say. Dad smiles at me

“Aria, it’s ok. As I look back on your last years, I realized something. You really were the glue holding us all together.” He sighed “I don’t know how’ll they’ll survive without you.” I look at at him, and an idea starts to form in my head.

“Maybe you can give me extension? I know you’re probably not supposed to but maybe, if only for a year, or a month, I would be ok with a week honestly.” even as I say this I know he can’t. I’ve been living on borrowed time for so long, and I couldn’t go back to it. When I was in the coma Dad told me that I would have a only a few years and it’s just been so hard not knowing when it would be over. Dad looks at me and gasps, like he’s being strangled. Before I can do anything, he closed his eyes, and when he opened them I nearly screamed. Brown. Their brown.

“Aria, you and him are the only people in the family to have green eyes. That’s why he would always buy you green things. It was your bond.” Mum always said this to me. That was our bond. So when he starts talking, I feel, well horrified.

“Aria Janice Johnson!” He practically screamed “Where is the NECKLACE!” I look at him, and it’s almost funny the fear I feel. It’s the same fear that I would feel when he would punish me. Like nothing in the world could help. The same fear that kept me quiet for almost two years. But that’s crazy, my Dad would never hurt me. Would he? No, of course not. Right? And this is my father, I’m just imagining the brown eyes? Maybe?

“The.. the necklace, Dad after I woke up, I.. I destroyed it you told to destroy it.” I’m stuttering, why am I stuttering? What do I have to be afraid of?

“Good, very Good…” He mutters somewhat darkly. For the first time in my life, I feel a little bit afraid of my father. I’ve loved my father, I’ve hated him, and I’ve wished that he wasn’t my father before, but I have never, in my 23 years, been afraid of him. Real fear, not the whole “Fear equals respect” thing. I actually feel afraid of the one person that I should have never been scared of. Because, I don’t think this is my father.

“It was split into two and is in a box in the attic. Dad, why are you freaking out about this?” I ask “You were the one that told me destroy it.”

“Well things are different now, sweetheart.” He says smiling at me.

“Of course Dad” I say. He had NEVER called me sweetheart, and when I was younger he told me it was because he thought it was mocking. No one ever called me that, except him.

“I knew you would understand”

“What’s not to understand?” I say, suddenly glad Vanessa made me take acting classes with her, basically my whole life. Now my fear at the fact that this man is not my father doesn’t show. He smiles at me.

“Ready, sweetie?”

“Of course” I say starting to feel sick.

“Have fun.” He says, and gives me the twisted sick smile. Definitely not Dad. Drake.

“Bye” I whisper. “I’ll see you in twenty-three years.” And then the biggest adventure ever started.

My life. It was time to live through the pain again. The heartbreak, the abuse and the car crash. It was time to live through the happiness. Falling in love, having a family and little things, like Sunday mornings or family dinners. Good and bad, it was my life. Despite all the torture it wasn’t a horrible, and I was looking forward to living through some things. But I’m stalling.

Some things I don’t know if I can handle again, but I guess I’ll have too. Finally it’s time. Time to go back. Back to Paris 8:46 a.m. Wednesday, August 7th, 1990. You guessed it. My birthday, literally. But what happened on my first ever birthday doesn’t really matter. While I live the first five years, here’s another day in my life. The worst one to be exact. So welcome to London, the time is 10:37 a.m., the day Tuesday, December 23, and the year is 1995.

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