Hi everyone! Today I have a completely different blog post - it's as short story that I've written myself. It's nothing special, I have no idea how anybody's going to take it, whether you will enjoy or even find it vaguely interesting - but with my fellow bloggers support, I have plucked up the courage to publish it! I really hope you enjoy, please leave me a comment below if you do, you'd make my day.
She didn’t say goodbye when she left. The room we had shared for our 18 years together was still, peaceful and eerily quiet. Her bed lay unmade, the sheets crumpled and Boots - the teddy bear we were each given when we born - lay curled up into the corner of the bed. I stepped over to my bed, which always lay neat; I refuse to leave no stone unturned until it’s perfect. I’d always been a perfectionist, a neat freak and rather obsessive where as Lucy had been the total opposite - messy, disorganised and laid back – that was my Lucy. I picked up Boots from my bed, his little red furry boots barely hanging on by a thread. I carried him carefully over to Lucy’s bed where her Boots lay with his green furry boot; one mysteriously went missing a long time ago, I never did find out where it had got to. I put the two Boots’ together, sitting upright on Lucy’s highest pillow. The little bears clutched onto each other, holding each other for dear life. That’s just how Lucy and I used to be.
You may be wondering who I am, where I am from, what my interests are and how I go about my daily life. None of that matters to me anymore. All you need to know is that there is a piece of me missing, which may never be returned. Mum calls me from downstairs for dinner. Calling it dinner is a stretch too far. Mum, Dad and I sit around our wooden oak dining table and prepare to eat in complete silence. There’s no background noise, no warmth, the happiness sucked out of us the day Lucy left. Mum’s made chilli again, Lucy’s favourite. It goes without saying that Lucy has a place set for her at our dinner table, an unopened can of coke sat next to her untouched cutlery. The three of us barely ate, tunnelling a few mouthfuls at a time before being defeated by the loneliness. It was too much effort to pretend we were a happy family. I doubt we ever will be again. There's a piece of me missing.
After scraping our nearly full plates into the food waste and washing up, I headed back upstairs to our room. Having been born as non-identical twins, Lucy and I couldn’t have been more different. Lucy was adventurous, always getting into trouble in school, smoking, skiving and answering back to teachers and Mum and Dad. Me? Well, each night I raced home from school, eager to catch up with my favourite hobby – writing my fan fiction online. Of course, my homework always came first. I’d been eager to become a psychologist, but today my hopes and dreams are almost nonexistent. Mum always worried about my shyness, said it was too damaging for me to stay cooped up at home every evening, sat on my laptop socialising with strangers. However, they weren’t strangers. They were my friends, my companions - they understood me. I once befriended a young man called Ben. We chatted online for hours upon hours, sharing stories and secrets. One night he had visited our house for us to meet safely in real life. He had been nothing but charming, where as Lucy and her friends had laughed, taunted and scoffed at him for his nerdy ways. That was the first time we ever fell out. The first time I’d ever had a friend that wasn’t a friend of Lucy’s and she had spoilt it. Ben had left without a trace, never contacted me again. I suddenly broke down into sheds of tears, my heart in my mouth at the thought of no more Lucy, remembering how we rowed that night. She hadn’t meant to upset me. I’d never have told her this but she was my idol – everything I could never be – popular, confident, pretty. Those are the things that killed her.
Switching on my small flat screen TV, I gasped in horror as I saw what stared back at me. My mouth opened and shut, unable to make any noise. Lucy’s beautiful face popped onto the screen, a breaking news bulletin interrupting a teatime game show.
“Lucy Carter, aged 18, first went missing over four weeks ago, having last been seen on the outskirts of Alexandra Park in Glasgow around 1am after a night out with friends. Fast forward to the present time and Lucy has since been found murdered, having been left for dead. Lucy’s best friend has been named as Amy Jenkins who has today been publically announced as a suspect in the Scottish police’s murder enquiry, having found Lucy’s mobile phone and charred blood stained clothes at Amy’s home earlier this week. Amy is now a serious murder suspect, along with two other men now wanted. The search for Amy has now become a manhunt, after she has been spotted fleeing her parents’ home in Woodside Crescent, Glasgow around 3pm this afternoon. Police are urging members of the public to get in touch regarding any information that may help resolve Lucy’s murder.”
Bile rose through my throat as the newsreaders harsh words sunk in. Amy? Amy was Lucy’s best friend, aside from me. I’d never liked her, always warned Lucy off her. She hadn’t had the best start in life and was always looking to kick up some trouble. Now she had kicked up unforgiveable trouble – Amy had murdered my beautiful twin sister. I left the television on, slipped my feet into my tattered pair of Converse and dashed out of the house, slamming the front door as I left. I ran and ran, my heart beating so fast, the lactic acid building in my legs. Finally I reached her grave. Only, I was surprised at what I saw. There at Lucy’s grave, with its floral decorations, photo frames, keepsakes and letters lay Amy. I sprinted towards Amy, ready to catch her from behind, hurt her for what she had done to me and my family. Only Amy wasn’t in any fit state to fight. She lay unconscious, her arms draped over Lucy’s grave, her head covered in blood, her hands shaded with bruises. Amy had been seriously hurt, her breathing was incredibly shallow and I needed to get help.
There, lay next to Amy balanced on Lucy’s grave was a piece of paper. Scrambling towards it, hoping for some piece of evidence I snatched the paper, reading and re-reading the blue ink handwritten note.
“Amy’s innocent. She hasn’t touched Lucy. I did that. I’ve hurt her because of all the hurt her and Lucy caused me. I vow to hurt anyone who cares or loves Amy or Lucy. You are next.”
The evening was creeping in now and I panicked at the realisation of my situation. The dark was setting, the moon lit whilst the stars danced above me. I jumped when I heard a deep voice speak from behind me. “I said you’re next”. A hand clasped around my mouth and I was spun around, my senses paused in utter terror. It was him. It was Ben.
You could say that Ben killed Lucy and I. I believe that I killed Lucy and I, sealing my own fate that night through my own stupidity of trusting Ben as a complete stranger, even allowing him in our bedroom. Lucy and I would never spend a night in our bedroom again. That didn't matter now, nothing else did. All that mattered now is that we were finally reunited. Lucy and I, our hands fitted like jigsaw pieces, just like our little Boot’s bears, we sat high up in the sky watching down on life as it whizzed by. I was finally happy again.