Veracity

• Elizabeth Taddeo, Grade 7
• Short Story
• 2013

I sat on the rock, kind of patting it and feeling the texture. It was rough and pointy, yet it made me feel real. I looked ahead, at the sunset that turned from blood red, to light orange, to a faded purple, to a dark navy blue. The sun setting blinded me, but I felt like I belonged to the world. I was unsure of how long I stayed outside, it could have been minutes or hours, but I didn’t own a watch. I saw a flicker at the corner of my eye and a slight glow, and the first sight of a firefly. I shivered and goose bumps ran all along my body. I finally gave in and went inside. I found my older brother, Josh and little sister Eva, sitting by the fire. “A, your finally here, thought I might not see you again." Josh joked, smiling at me and I forced a smile in return and then left the room, not even replying.

My name is Arianna, but I liked to be called A. I walked up the stairs, each step creaking. I went into my mother and father’s bedroom, sat on the old dusty bed and looked in the mirror, letting one tear after another glide down my cheek. I let the memory of them enter my mind and block it from any other thoughts. My dark long hair hanging loosely in a ponytail, my pale skin glowing in the moonlight and my blue eyes, blank and remembering the loss of my parents on this day three years ago.

I held a pillow tightly. It had the smell of my mother’s rose scented perfume, and again I was reminded of so many painful memories. I didn’t know if I wanted those memories to penetrate my mind, or if I wanted to forget them entirely. Then again would forgetting be more painful or an insult to their memory? An ache pierced my heart, like I was being stabbed. It was so painful I wanted to scream, but I bit the inside of my cheek to restrain myself. My head pounded and I felt dizzy from those thoughts and all the crying. I shifted my grasp on the pillow and heard a crackle. It sounded as though inside the pillow. I quickly unbuttoned it, curiosity getting the better of me. Inside there lay two sheets of paper. I pulled them out. The writing was in cursive font, and was slightly crinkled and blotched like someone had been crying, therefore making it difficult to read.
At the bottom I saw a name, just one, in the same black font and it read. Amelia. My mother’s name. I swiped tears from my eyes and then read.