literature

Faded But Not Broken

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Faded But Not Broken
By: Danna Hilleren


I was always considered a good kid. Even on my eighth birthday, while all the big kids wondered off down the street, I stayed there with my little cousin April. We sat there on that big old porch, faded and chipped. Sure, it wasn't my porch, but I treated it like it was. It was part of an old run-down church across the street from my house on Warwick Avenue. Rumor has it that it's over two hundred years old. But in our tiny town of Makeshiff, Oregon, everybody knows it was built about seventy years back by the Loller Family.
Right by the church theres a big batch of weeping willows. Sometimes I attempted to climb it, but its not that easy for me. I was born with weak muscle structure. They say I'll grow out of it, but for now I look skinnier than a starving cat.
I couldn't help but stare every time the wind stirred up the current of those beautiful weeping willows. Truthfully, I don't see them as sad and weeping, They are more graceful and untouched. I mentioned this to Ronnie one day. She scrunched up her nose and shifted her weight back and forth on her feet as if to brush it off like a worthless piece of nothing. She never really listened. Ronnie was always a mystery to me. Then again, I'm pretty sure I was always a mystery to her too.
"You comin' tonight Sami?" Adria asked my in the halls at school.
"Ehh, I don't really know. Besides, I don't know if my parents will even let me you know,"
"Yeah, well everyone will be there," She said walking away quickly to catch up with all her friends.
That night I couldn't decide weather to go or not. It was a birthday party for someone from my Junior High. I couldn't even remember who it was. Maybe that alone was a sign not to go. Sure enough, I did.
I dug through my closet and found my black flats with red roses embroidered on the sides. It matched perfectly with my silky red shirt from last spring. I began the walk to the party- a few blocks at the most, but once I arrived, I immediately felt excluded. I didn't even attempt to mingle. I just stood there. It was too loud to think; I needed to think.
I glanced over and someone lit a match. I watched carefully as they then dug through their pocket, eventually pulling out a pack of cigarettes.
"Oh God... why am I here?" I thought.
"Hey guys! Lets go down to the beach, I'll bring the beer," A voice sliced through the crowd. Within a minute everyone, and i mean everyone was beginning the trek down to the Bay. My first thought was Ronnie. What had happened to my old friend? The one I used to play softball with; the one who used to sing "Miss Mary mack mack mack" in the sprinkler on days that were too hot for ice cream.
When they were all gone, I did the only thing I could do. I ran straight to that old porch on Warwick Avenue- my porch. By the time I got there my tears stung against my cheeks, and I was almost hyperventilating. Why had I trusted them? I ran my fingers through the forgiving grain in the wood. It was so worn down from the touch of many, but I couldn't help but wonder how many people actually stopped to notice it.
I could hear foot steps come up behind me, but I didn't care to look up. Why should I? Next thing I know, in the midst of all my pain, Ronnie sits down right next to me on the stairs. I glanced up and our eyes met. Her tears dripping down her face glistened in the essence of the street lights.
So there we were sitting there on that old porch together, and suddenly it didn't feel like just my porch.
An extra credit short story i wrote for English class. I hope you like it!

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STOP!! please respect my work!! *swiper no swiping!!*
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