ANSON REYNOLDS

United States

heyyy
still figuring out how to do this not awkwardly, which is impossible
-
14
super awesome
oldest sister
showing off bad dance moves in (the best state ever) Indiana
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you are beautiful
you are enough

Message from Writer

the brain is as wide as the sky - Emily Dickinson

never admire quietly - Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

OFFICIAL LITTLE WTW SISTER - SongwriterLife - she just joined so go check her out and cheer her on!!!!

I love to see the red bubble on my notifications box. SO much. Talk to me ;)

Invisible Girl - still working on that new title - this is pt 3 btw :)

September 25, 2020

FREE WRITING

7
    I was halfway through my can of dollar-store emotional support Pringles by the time I got to the Clark’s house.
    I knocked once on the bright yellow door and stepped back. Ms. Clark answered the door, and upon seeing no one smiled.
    “Princess Mikayla!” she yelled up the stairs. “Princess Amandala’s here!”
    A small, pink draped shape barreled into the hallway. Approaching the open door with hands outstretched, Mikayla probed the air until she found me. Her hand brushed my leg and she squealed excitedly.
    “Guess what!” she demanded.
    I pulled her into my arms and put her face next to mine. “What?”
    "There’s a dragon in my room!”
    I pulled away with fake horror. “What?! A stinking, smoke breathing, scaly and scary dragon?”
    She giggled.
    “Sorry princess, there is no way I’m going into your room. I’ll stay here and talk to your mom. You go vanquish that dragon!”
    “Okay!”
     Mikayla wriggled out of my arms and dropped to the ground.
    “Aar AAgh O WAY!” she yelled and raced off to battle.
    Her mom invited me in and I plopped onto the couch.
    “That’s her new battle cry,” Ms. Clark explained.
    “Very princess-like,” I said smiling.
    “So, how’s school going?”
    I held up the can of Pringles. She sighed.
    “You’re too good for that boy.”
    “DIE FOUL BEAST!”
    Little feet stampeded around the second floor.
    “I’ll tell you about it  once you get back. Is this another two day shift?”
    Ms. Clark had gotten a job as a trucker after her husband had left. Her hours were flexible, but went on for one to three days at a time. I babysat Mikayla when family couldn’t.
“Yes, I should be back by dinner time Sunday. Is that okay with you?”
“Of course,” I said and stood up, grabbing her jacket, sunglasses, and lucky trucker hat. “We’ll be fine just like always. You go make some money!”
    Ms. Clark was almost out the door when she turned. “Sometimes, I think you’re an angel God sent to us. I don’t deserve-”
    I cut her off with a hug and pushed her onto the sidewalk. “You’re crazy!” I shouted as she walked away. “I’m Princess Amandala!”
    I walked back in and closed the door. When I turned around, Mikayla was staring at me.
    “Are you an angel?” she asked.
    I ruffled her hair. “Nope. Just a princess like you.”
    She thought about this for a second then accepted it.
    “Now that Mommy’s gone, can we eat ice cream?” I smiled.
    “Of course.”
    Mikayla and I had a deal: if I let her eat dessert first, then she would eat all her dinner.
    Including the green beans.
    While I did dishes, Mikayla told me all about Pre-K. The best snacks(non-whole wheat goldfish), her second best friend Kim(she reassured me that I was her first best friend), and how Jimmy would eat anything(the list included cafeteria lunch and boogers; she couldn’t decide which was worse). Once she was finally out of breath she asked me about my day at school. I told her about being sat on(for the second time this week!) and how Briana had stolen my Pringles(we polished off the replacement Pringles while I told that story).
    I left out all the confusing boy stuff.
    That was Ms. Clark’s jam, not Mikayla’s. With all the dishes dried and put away, we settled down to watch Tangled. Settling was pointless—we would be up in five minutes to act out the scene. She was always Rapunzel or Gothel, depending on her mood. I was everybody else. By the end of the movie, Mikayla was exhausted.
    Our bedtime routine went smoothly, besides her toothbrush taking a dip in the toilet. Still not sure how that happened; I’m just glad we had extras. I carried her to her room, pausing in the doorway.
    “Is the dragon gone?” I whispered. Mikayla smiled sleepily at me.
    “Vanquished.”
    I laid her on her bed and pulled up the covers.
    “Sing,” she demanded.
    “Okay.”
    I didn’t know why Mikayla liked my voice. It was quiet and rough around the edges, not to mention pitchy. Still, I always ended up singing her to sleep when I babysat. When we ran out of nursery rhymes, we moved on to old songs I liked.
    “Hey there Delihah, what’s it like in New York City? I'm a thousand miles away but, girl, tonight you look so pretty, yes, you do. Times Square can't shine as bright as you, I swear, it's true.”
    Mikayla snuggled deeper into her covers.
    “Hey there, Delilah, don't you worry about the distance. I'm right there if you get lonely, give this song another listen. Close your eyes. Listen to my voice, it's my disguise. I'm by your side.”
    I hummed the rest of the song until I was harmonizing with her snores.
    The couch was my bed when I babysat. I didn’t mind. It made me feel safer when I could see the door. The bright yellow door was what had caught my eye the first time I had seen this house...
    I was walking home from elementary school in the rain, feeling miserable. None of my classmates knew I existed, they hadn’t for five years and they never would(the exception being Tyler). I was lonely and cold, and then I noticed the door.
    It was a radiant, happy, hopeful yellow.
    I wanted to be like that door.
    I stood there for a long time in the rain, staring at the door. I made it a part of my route to school. Everyday the door was there, everyday it was cheery and light. One day, the door had a dent in it. I figured it was probably nothing. All doors get nicks and scrapes. That year, the door got more and more beat up. Scratches, discoloration, I’m pretty sure there was a small hole too. I left the door alone, but I felt uneasy. Summer vacation rolled around and I didn’t stop by the door again until the first day of school, freshman year.
    I was more than a bit nervous, but I knew the door would help. As I walked I could envision the door, bright as sunshine. I rounded the corner and stopped dead.
    There was no yellow door.
    Frantically I turned around and mentally retraced my route. I had made the right turns.
    Taking a deep breath, I turned and faced the house in front of me. I almost cried.
    My beautiful yellow door was black.
    I couldn’t believe it, but I also couldn’t be late to school. I was distracted and unsettled the entire day, and resolved to investigate after school.
    It’s technically illegal, trespassing. But, since you can do much worse things as an invisible person, I figured I could forgive myself. Besides, I thought. It’s not like I’m going in. That didn’t mean I couldn’t touch it.
    The door was cool to my touch. I had always imagined the yellow door would be warm, but cool seemed fitting for a black door. I knew who lived there, a single mom and her two year old daughter. The Clarks. I kept visiting the house after school, hoping for a clue about what had happened to my yellow door. I didn’t get it until sophomore year.     Mikayla was Ms. Clark’s (then)three year old daughter. She was a non-stop talker. She could carry conversations with strangers, flowers, the mail man, and her imaginary friends. One such friend was Princess Amandala. As I passed her house I heard her ask Princess Amandala if she was really there. She proceeded to tell her that her mom’s boyfriend had told her that imaginary friends weren’t real. I was not about to let this kid’s dreams die, so I climbed up the tree near her window and answered, “Don’t worry, MIkayla. I’m right here.”
    She just nodded.
    “I know you're there, silly! Mom’s boyfriend is the one who needs to worry, he thinks you're not real! Are you coming back tomorrow?”
    That’s how I became Princess Amandala.
    One night she was telling me about a dog she had seen in the pet shop. When the door opened and a man stepped in, neither of us noticed. She told me that her dad had dogs as a kid, and had wanted to get her one. She was animated, and demonstrating her dog noises, but all of her excitement stopped when a man stepped out of the corner.
    “I’m allergic to dogs.”
    Mikayla turned around and her face went a shade lighter. “I…I…” she stuttered as he towered over her.
    “I meant my real dad,” she choked out and looked up, hoping to be forgiven.
    She was met with a face turning red. Mikayla cried out and tried to run but he grabbed her.
    “What was that?” called Ms. Clark from downstairs.
    “We’re just playing a game!” yelled the man. Mikayla screamed again and he squeezed her.
    Tight.
    Before I knew what was happening I leapt off my branch and through the window. I had never fought anyone before, but I had watched a lot of movies. I found out that it takes two solid swings of a desk chair to knock out a full grown man. Ms. Clark heard the thud of an unconscious body and came upstairs. Her face went white as she took in the scene. Mikayla seemed to have recovered, at least, enough to redirect the blame.
    “It wasn’t me!” she protested to her mother’s unasked question. “It was Princess Amandala!”
    Ms. Clark seemed glad for something normal.
    “Mikayla, Princess Amandala is your friend
she wouldn’t do this.” Her face started to regain some of its color. “Besides, a princess wouldn’t knock out her friend’s mom’s new husband.”
    Oops.
    I couldn’t let Mikayla be blamed for the whole knocking-your-new-step-dad-out-with-a-chair thing.
    “Actually,” I said. “They might.”
    I’ve never been the cause of two unconscious people before, so this was new. Mikayla screamed and burst into tears when her mom fell. Once I had her calmed down, we got Ms. Clark onto the bed. We agreed to leave the man on the floor. Mikayla told me that his name was Mark and that her mom had been married for a little less than a year. She said she didn’t like him and stopped there. It was one of the few times I saw her choose not to elaborate on something.
    When Ms. Clark came to, Mikayla had resumed telling me about her late dad’s love of dogs. 
    "... and his first dog’s name was Shoe, ‘cause he loved to chew ‘em, and-” “
    Actually,” said Ms. Clark slowly. “He had an imaginary dog named No-See before that.”
    She let out a small laugh. “He never was one for creative names.” She smiled, but her eyebrows pinched.
    “Mikayla, could I talk to Princess Amandala?”
    “Sure! She’s shy though. Usually she talks from the tree, but she’s in here now. She smells good!” I
     blushed and stood up stuttering. “Ms. Clark, I am so sorry. I, uh, I can get out of your house if you’d like me to.”
    “No!” she said quickly. “No. Please, stay.”
    We stayed quiet for a moment, reflecting on our respective situations.
    “Mom, I’m hungry. Can we have dinner? Now?” Mikayla’s stomach rumblings broke the silence.
    “Yes, yes, of course,” said Ms. Clark. She turned in my direction and tentatively asked, “Princess Amandala, would you like to join us?”
    “That sounds amazing, thank you.” 
    Ms. Clark seemed to like the role of hostess better than that of befuddled knocked out-ee, and settled into the rhythm of preparing dinner. We had pasta and peas and talked. Well, Mikayla talked. I laughed occasionally, mainly focusing on my table manners and not dropping any of the peas. Ms. Clark watched me raise my fork to my mouth, blinking every time I swallowed and her food disappeared. After Mikayla had gone to bed, we sat on the couch. We looked at each other, or in my case, near each other. Small talk didn’t seem appropriate in this scenario(you know, assault and battery of her husband).
    “OH MY GOSH!” I yelled and jumped up, freaking out.
    “What?!” cried Ms. Clark, almost falling off the couch.
    “WE LEFT AN UNCONSCIOUS MAN IN MIKAYLA’S BEDROOM!”
    Ms. Clark let out a small squeak before sprinting up the stairs. I followed, and together we dragged Mark into the living room.     
    Not going to lie, I enjoyed splashing the contents of my glass in his face. He woke up spluttering and livid. Swinging around, he looked for someone to blame.
    “Olivia,” he growled. His eyes narrowed on her small frame as he stood up.
    “Your little tyke of a daughter is done. So are you.” He took a step towards her then glanced back towards the stairs.
    “The question is, who should I start with?” He smiled. “I can’t decide. You choose.”
    Ms. Clark opened and closed her mouth, trembling. I touched her hand before she could respond.
    “Mr. Clark,” I whispered. Then I stepped forward.
    “Actually, it’s whom, not who,” I said, lowering my voice to what I hoped would pass for a man’s. “And if you touch either of my girls, you’ll never wake up again.”
    I shoved Mark in the chest, and he was so surprised he fell. His face was pink with fear and rage, while Ms. Clark was trying to keep a straight face.
    “Wah-uh-Who are you?'' spluttered Mark.     
    At the same time, Ms. Clark whispered, “John?”
    Mark whipped his head around. “John Clark?” he asked. “It can’t be.”
    “Get out of my house,” I said.
    I was good at playing Ms. Clark’s late husband. Mark obviously thought so too. He left, quickly and with muttered curses. Ms. Clark and I burst out laughing as soon as he was out of the door. That laughter turned into crying and hugging, and a late night milkshake break. When we had resettled ourselves on the couch, still giggling, Ms. Clark looked at me with wonder.
    “You really are real,” she said.
    “Yup, and pretty cool too.”
    She smiled. “What’s your name?”
    “I have a lot of names,” I said. “Princess Amandala is fine.”
3rd part woot woot!!! Enjoy and comment plsss :)
pt 1 link - https://writetheworld.com/groups/1/shared/191240/version/389964
pt 2 link - https://writetheworld.com/groups/1/shared/192262/version/389983

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  • September 25, 2020 - 8:20pm (Now Viewing)

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9 Comments
  • mirkat

    This just keeps getting better and better... I love the flashback sequences. Also the characters feel so dang real! And I love the song "hey there delilah"! :D Keep writing, keep writing, I can't wait! <3


    about 1 month ago
  • Doodleninja

    dang this story gets better and better! I love how you've started to pick up on the nuances of being an invisible girl and what you could do with that. Awesome job! :D


    about 2 months ago
  • Caitlin :)))

    Re:
    Ahh same I seem to want everything from what you've covered from big city vibes to aesthetic cottage core. They all just seem so much more interesting then my own life

    And now I will go and read your story because it looks really good x


    2 months ago
  • Anne Blackwood

    This is so sweeet! ^u^
    Tip: Highlight a piece of text and click the little chain icon at the top of the text box. Copy and paste a link into the box that pops up. Then your links will be all fancy. ;P


    2 months ago
  • AliMuscles04

    LOVE IT!!! I can't wait for part 4


    2 months ago
  • Paisley Blue

    haha i love this!!! great piece. Can't wait to see where this goes!!! :) <3


    2 months ago
  • madeline3.14159

    Again riveting and distracting... But who cares... Sleeps not a priority anyway...XD


    2 months ago
  • madeline3.14159

    Haha you know me too well :)


    2 months ago
  • HermioneGranger67

    Title Suggestions:
    - Unseen
    - maybe like a play on words or something like that? For example: Out of Sight, Out of Mind that doesn't really fit the story though so idk

    Btw I love your story! I like your writing style a lot and the characters are really well developed.


    2 months ago