Images 5


Smart (?) Pretty (?) Writer Surfer Jaden

Message from Writer

Constructive criticism, please! I'm only in 7th grade!


September 16, 2014

PROMPT: Open Prompt


Coming home to silence doesn’t feel right. My eyes searched the empty room before me. It had been so full of life and happiness on what seemed like yesterday. Ever since Izza left, it hadn’t been the same. I didn't know anything about Izza’s disappearance, nothing at all. I wish I could tell someone, have someone help me, but nothing is clear. The cold silence of an empty house is all that I can feel. I walked slowly into the room that belonged to Izza, I brushed my fingers against the walls and turned my head towards her closet. It looked the same as always, the mirror dirty and the doors slightly ajar. The mirror had the same drawing taped on the top; the one I drew for her when I was 5. I whispered the words I had tried to write, but nobody was there to listen, “Izza, I love you! Love Harley,” I turned, but the words were wasted on an empty room. The sheets on Izza’s bed still smelled like her. It had been only slightly made ever since our parents left the two of us. Their disappearance wasn’t such a mystery. Everyone knew that my parents got taken away for crimes against the government when Izza was 18. Nobody understood what they were exactly, except for Izza, but that secret left when she did. Suddenly, the sorrow of being alone in Izza’s room was too much. I ran down the hallway into my bedroom. Nothing there was much of a greeting, except for a blast of icy air from the semi-broken air conditioner in the corner of my room. It had broken down when Izza was 12, I was 7. My eyes began to water as I looked down at the pair of shoes on my floor that I had borrowed the day before I lost Izza. I turned away, hiding the shame from… nothing. I sat down on my bed, and felt the small streams of tears roll down the sides of my face. I remember Izza telling me that when I cried, the blue of my eyes leaked down my cheeks, creating a wet streak down my face. I wiped the tears with a pillow from my bed, then gritted my teeth to keep the sadness inside. That night would’ve been Izza’s night to cook, but I would be cooking every night from now on. Izza would’ve made pasta, she did almost every night. So that’s what I did. I cooked the noodles, and began to hum. Cooking always seemed to lift the weight of the world off my shoulders. Only when I finished, and filled two bowls, did I remember that there would only be one person eating here from now on. I ate my pasta in silence, not that there was anyone to talk to. Then I curled up on the couch, leaving space for someone else to come sit. I turned on the TV, then closed my eyes. The show wasn’t one of my interests, but Izza had liked it. The theme song started playing, and I drifted off to sleep.


See History
  • September 16, 2014 - 5:44pm (Now Viewing)

Login or Signup to provide a comment.