Every writer has those few stories that they sit down at the computer and start to write, but they never finish and they never get very far. On my computer, I have a folder labeled, "The Hole." This folder is where I throw all of my story ideas and pieces of writing that never made it far. I enjoy doing this and I believe that it is incredibly important for every writer to have these kinds of stories. Not everything that Stephanie Meyer or Steven King wrote was published and perfect and liked by everybody. I'm sure they have their stories, too.
Here are some of mine that I have abandoned for the time being.
People don’t realize how hard it is for me to make friends, and keep them. People don’t know what’s inside of me because I don’t let anybody in. People at school don’t know me or my life, to them I’m grey. My life has always been grey. When I was nine, I watched my father get murdered in front of my own innocent eyes. When I was eleven, my mother met the man who wanted to replace my father and fill the void in her life.
Through my eyes, people see a fighter. Through my smile, people see no pain. Through my heart, people see someone who wants to be somebody. But look under my clothes and you will see bruises. The man who wants to replace my father gives me those bruises, and my mother helps.
My name is Autumn. Autumn Grey, and this is my story.
“Mom I will be fine,” trying to get my mother to let go of me was difficult. “Mom I have to go, you have to let me go.” I was ready to break free from my mother and explore CUNY Baruch and walk on the streets of New York by myself. I understand why my mother doesn’t want to let me go, I’m her only daughter leaving her going off to college.
My mother raised me all by herself in the small town of Alden, which was almost seven hours away from New York City. My dad died when I was a baby, and my mother never went out and dated. I don’t really know why, but I know she had her hands full raising me.
“Lucy, just promise me you will be safe and stay with Collin.” My mother was only letting me go to New York City if I knew someone going with me. Collin and I have been friends since we were in diapers. I don’t consider him a macho man or anything of the sorts, but he’s always been there for me and protected me. When we were in second grade, the class was playing on the playground, and I fell off the swings and brushed up my knees. All the other kids started laughing at me, while Collin helped me up and took me to the teacher.