creative non-fiction

It was peaceful, but no one could tell. My family and I were going out to the diner. It was something that looked normal, simple, and peaceful. Most people don’t think about the background of the family or why the family is altogether. They don’t ask why we are coming to the diner its just simple. Dinner was filled with laughs and hope, but leaving the diner was more complicated. Walking on the cold concrete of the parking lot, we stopped in the middle to say our goodbyes. Saying goodbye to my mother and father thinking that I would see them just tomorrow. Little did I know, I wasn’t going home for the night, but rather I was going to my Aunt and Uncles? My father was sick with cancer and that it would be best to relieve the stress on us for one night.
Its crazy how the past could be totally different from the future, a close loving family now strained and barley talking to one another.
My sister and I would always play this simple came where I would spell out something and she would tell me if it was an actual word. This game was very amusing for a four year old. Of course I never actually spelled the correct words, but I was young what do you expect?

The night was running in as to force the little ones such as myself to sleep. I got moved to another room a few minutes after turning out the lights because my sister and I couldn’t stop fighting. Moved to right across the hall I could still watch my sister sleep. Who knew it would be the last innocent face I would see of hers.
As morning walked in we sat down for breakfast. I asked my sister “what does R-E-L-A-X spell?” everyone seemed to stare at me, had I actually spelled my first correct word? I guess something must have happened over night. But just then my aunt got a call, the call that would change my life forever. It was the call that decided my future and part of who I am today. The hardest call my mother ever had to make. My aunt got all upset and rushed my sister and I into the car. She told us she was taking us home, but she wouldn’t say anything else. What was going on? I was four, but I could still understand that something wasn’t right.

After twenty long quiet minutes we got out of the car and in slow motion walked up to my house. As soon as the door opened I ran to my mom asking where my dad was. She wouldn’t answer me so I ran past the curtain, which hid the room that my dad stayed in while he was sick. He would sleep and eat and breathe in that room for months before now. When I opened it, he wasn’t there. Confused and worried my mom and my psychologist brought my sister and I into my room. Standing silent by the end on my bed. Next to the closet that has monsters and bakers who lived inside of it and in front of my innocent stuffed animal’s. The silence broke when my sister asked, “Is he dead?” it was silent again. No one wanted to face the reality of what happened last night. No one wanted to tell me anything. My sister collapsed in the arms of both my psychologist and my mother, leaving me to be confused by myself. I didn’t understand so I laughed. I laughed at the news of my father’s death. Laughed because death was another language to me at the time. And when we left the room it had finally come to my attention that the house wasn’t quiet at all, but rather crowded with family and friends.


Night was strolling in, but it couldn’t come fast enough. It was quiet in the house now, no doctors, and no middle of the night check ups. Darkness and love brought my sister and I into my mother’s bed. We slept all three of us together, holding on to what little hope we had left.
Once my little eyes shut it was morning and it was one of the days I will never forget. It was the day I wore a black dress and black shoes. It was the day I rode in a limo following a hearse. The day that was cold and it was a day I would remember for the rest of my life.

Riding in the limo it was silent only remembering mumbles and darkness. The sound still rings in my head as if it were only yesterday that I was back there on that very day, high heels rubbing against cold concrete. It was windy in the cemetery and the cold air rushed against my face. I took the shovel and I buried him. I was four and I buried my father. It was cold, morbid, and quiet. Being it was cold my mom sent me back into the car by myself. Sitting there the silence was screaming at me, but all I could do was sit there and ignore the screams, sit there until the hope of the people around me returned to the limo and soon I would be on my way home.










hahaa this is what i have to write in school blehhhh
ps. chain smoking is even worse then smoking!!!! DONT DO IT!!!!!