Original Works

I Hated Her

I Hated Her

I hated her. It is undeniably true. When I needed her the most, she wasn’t there. She was a useless woman who couldn’t care less about me. And it got easier and easier to despise her as I grew up.

When I was 7, I was chosen to represent the school for a football game. I was so excited, I came home with a big smile on my face. But when I told her about it, she said she was too busy to watch my game. She did not even look at me when she handed me a few dollars for my bus ride to school the next day. So I went for the game myself, and we lost. No point telling her, cause she didn’t even ask about it.

When I was 12, I made it to the top of the class. She never once bothered with my report card, but I couldn’t help but share the happiness I had when I finally had gotten number 1. As I handed her the paper, she stared at it so long, I thought she was going to praise me. But I was wrong, all she did was nod. Was it so hard for her to just spit out a few words to her son? I guess she found no reason to.

When I was 15, I won the heart of a girl I liked in school. I wanted to start our relationship right and I was looking for the perfect gift. She found me in my room one day, browsing through online stores and magazines for a gift… but she didn’t say anything. She just told me to take out the trash and left me after that. I really wanted her advice, but I didn’t bother to ask as she didn’t even care. When I was finally so desperate, I called over my best friend and after he left, I found a box with a pretty jewel necklace in it. Even he cared enough to bring something over to spare me the failure of courting a girl.

When I was 18, I graduated as a valedictorian. She never came to my graduation, and she never heard my speech. I made it a point to thank everyone except her, because she did nothing for me. When I looked at all the faces in the hall and did not see her’s, I made up my mind to stop thinking about her and carry on with life.

Immediately after graduation, I got a letter from Harvard with a full scholarship. I was ecstatic! I told everyone, except her. One afternoon, I purposely left the letter with the other mail. But when she picked it up, she said nothing. She just handed it back to and told me not to leave things lying around. That was the last straw. I left for UK shortly after and I never bothered to call home or visit during holidays. Even during my graduation, I didn’t care enough to inform her, after all, she was not going to come anyways.

I stayed in the UK for a few years after graduation, and I was working for a pretty big company. I was finally able to let her go and pretend she never existed, until I got a call from a lawyer who said I was mentioned in her will. I was confused for a moment and the lawyer awkwardly told me she had passed away a week ago. He knew more of her illness than I did, and yet I felt nothing. Call me cruel or in-filial, I didn’t care. Who was she to me anyways; the woman who did nothing but nod.

Since my name was in her will, I decided to come home for a visit. I caught up with my buddies who knew well not to ask of her, and then I saw the lawyer. He read her will and I laughed. It was the stupidest thing I’ve heard and yet I was not surprised. The will stated that the house, car and all her savings were to be given to charity. The only thing she left me was a book, a small book that was not even worth five bucks. Honestly, I laughed so hard the lawyer thought I was insane.

When I told him I didn’t want the book he insisted I took it, so I did and chucked it in my bag. I have never touched that bag until now. Out of curiosity I wanted to see what cooking recipes she left me, and after three years I finally read the contents of that brown, creased book.

July 7, 1992

My dear Tristan,

I’m sorry I couldn’t make it to your football game. I really wanted to but I am struggling right now. I didn’t want to tell you this because I didn’t want you to worry, but if you must know… we are in a lot of debt. Your father left us with loan sharks and bank loans that I can’t seem to pay off. I know that is not an excuse to miss your game and it hurts me to see you walk away looking upset, but I promised myself to keep a roof over your head and I just didn’t have time for you. I know… I know you would have preferred me to be by your side, but I couldn’t imagine you homeless and hungry. I just couldn’t. I’m sorry Tristan, I’m sorry for missing your big game. Forgive me?

Love, mum.

December 12, 1997

My dear Tristan,

I am so proud of you. I really am! I knew you were a smart boy, and I know you would do great things in the future. When I saw your results, I was so happy! And I know you were waiting for me to say something, a praise of some sort, but I didn’t. I regret that now, and I wish I had fought the spinning in my head to just utter a few words. I didn’t want to tell you this, but working two jobs and settling all these debts has given me bad migraines. Sometimes, I don’t say anything because I just can’t. The pain in my head is so unbearable, I’m constantly struggling to hide it from you. I don’t want you to worry, but I know I have disappointed you. I just want you to know I’m so proud, and that I’m sorry I never said it. I wish I did. Forgive me?

Love, mum.

January 15, 2000

My dear Tristan,

I know you are dating that sweet girl from across the street. You really know how to pick them! I also saw you searching for a gift for her, and you seem to be a little confused. I would have given you some advice but I knew you didn’t want any from the way you looked at me. I understand how you feel towards me, and your silence has made it clear. But I still wanted to help, so I left the necklace my mother gave to me on your table. I just noticed it is gone, and I’m glad you have given it to her. I hope both of you would last, and I know it sounds strange coming from me, but I hope you find the love you need from her. I seem to have been failing at giving you any, and I’m sorry for that. Forgive me?

Love, mum.

August 18, 2003

My dear Tristan,

I got a call from your school this afternoon, asking if I was going to attend your graduation on the coming weekend. It pained me to say I wouldn’t be there. It is not that I don’t want to, but I just can’t. I’m a selfish person, I know. I have been seeing the doctor for my migraine, and he has asked me to do a full medical check up. I can change the date of my appointment, but I don’t want to. I don’t want to because I don’t want you to ask questions. Yes, I know this reason does not stand well with you and it only makes it seem like I’m making excuses, but I want you to know that I am sincerely thinking about you. I don’t want you to worry Tristan, you have a full life ahead of you and you are already on the right track. I don’t want to be your detour. I’m really sorry for missing your graduation, would you forgive me?

Oh, I also submitted an application to Harvard, Oxford, and Cambridge for you. I hope you get it! I really don’t have enough money to send you to the best university, but I can try my best to get you into one.

Love, mum.

February 22, 2007

My dear Tristan,

I know what day today is. I’ve checked with the school and have gotten all the information I needed. I planned on surprising you, but my doctor said I shouldn’t leave the country in my state. I’m not getting any better and I regret not being at your graduation today. I really thought I could fly, and I’ve even saved up enough so that you didn’t have to pay for my expenses, but I didn’t know that my doctor would not give in even when I pleaded. I’m so sorry Tristan, I know this is a big day for you. I feel so horrid that I can’t even look at myself in the mirror, because all I see is your disappointed face staring back at me.

I’ve missed you so much, and I understand why you don’t call or visit. Every time I pass by your bedroom, I imagine you in it, and as crazy as it sounds I would stop to say hi. You would probably laugh if you read this because I sound like a crazy person, but my imagination of you is all I have left. I’m sorry I have not been a good mother, but I’ve never stopped trying. If you could, please forgive me for being a failure in your life.

Love, mum.

May 25, 2010

My dear Tristan,

I hope you’re reading this, I really do. My days are numbered and this is the last thing I can say to you. I didn’t want to call you because I was afraid you would reject me in this horrible time of my life. It would break my heart to know you do not care, and I’m too scared to face the truth. Death seems more comforting than knowing I have no place in your heart.

I don’t expect you to love me, or feel sorry for me. I know what I have done, and  wouldn’t forgive myself if I were you. I’ve read through all my past entries and I realize how stupid I was for asking for your forgiveness. I know I don’t deserve it, so please don’t feel like you have to forgive me.

Tristan, you are probably angry at me for a lot of things and my will might have angered you more. I know the house and the car could have patched up some of the holes I have created in your heart, but I also know it would not do much. So, I have decided to give all my earthly treasures to create a fund under your name. This is the last thing I can do for you.

People will now know who you truly are, the man who is making a difference in many lives. This small investment I’ve made cannot make up for all the wrong I’ve done, but I hope it will help you in your future.

I’m sorry for all the birthday presents I’ve failed to get you, for all the events I’ve missed, for the times I never spoke when I should have, and for all the hate I have caused you to feel. You don’t have to forgive me Tristan, I don’t deserve it. I just want you to know that I love you and I have never stopped.

Love, mum.

____________________________________________________________________________________________

I have decided to write something other than horror this time, cause I wanted to test my skill in a different genre. And since Mother’s day has just passed and Father’s day is arriving, I wanted to write a short story that would show a parent’s love towards their child. It is hard to understand how a parent feels until we become one, but I hope this short story carries enough volume of love.

It’s also my mum’s birthday today, so happy birthday mum!

It’s crucial for you to let me know what you think, because I need to know if I can actually write this genre. There’s a comment box below, so hurry up and leave a comment! 😀

© 2013 Jeyna Grace

(For more short stories, click HERE)

Fan Fiction (Novel)

Chapter 37

Blog FF

Joanna wondered when she was going to die. At that moment, death was such a welcoming thought.

“You’ll be alright,” the voice said again. Then she felt someone touching her face gently.

Tom, Joanna thought.

“Joanna.” His voice was not so faint anymore.

As though death was giving in to her wishes, her eye’s briefly cleared up and she saw Tom hovering over her. A relieve swept across her once aching heart, and the only pain she now had to bear was the one in her body.

Joanna tried to keep her eyes on him when she saw a tear roll down his cheek. Trying to utter a word, Joanna knew that if she failed, it would be the end.

When she could not managed to even mutter, she felt her world slowly slipping away.

“Joanna! Please stay with me!” Tom shouted.

I can’t, Joanna thought.

“Joanna! No, please! Please don’t go!” Tom’s voice slowly dissolved into a whisper.

Soon, there was no more air to breathe in, and no more pain to bear. It happened so smoothly, Joanna did not even realize it.

“Joanna! No!” Tom tried to prop her up but she slipped from his grip.

It did not struck him before, but now it did. Staring at the red glistening blood all over his hands and cloak, Tom realized that he made the biggest mistake in his life.

Joanna was the only one who made him human. She gave him the ability to feel, if not for others at least for her.  He never knew he could feel, and the wretched sting in his chest made him wish he could turn back time. Why was he so blinded by power and revenge when he could have the one thing he never had all his life, love?

The bed she was lying on was soaked with blood that the smell started to make him dizzy. Tom slowly backed away from her body, trying not to fall over the furniture in the motel room. His hands where shaking and no matter how hard he tried, they wouldn’t stop. Just like the tears that fell from his eyes.

Clenching his fist, Tom shuffled to a table and slammed his hands on it. He let out an angry yell before he started trashing everything in the room, until he collapsed by the side of the bed.

He could not look at her, for if he did, all he saw was regret. She was the only one who accepted him without fear or hate. She actually loved him, and he actually loved her. He hated himself for not telling her that. He hated himself for not choosing her. He hated himself… for being weak.

Dumbledore killed her, he thought, wiping his wet cheeks dry.

Finally being able to compose himself, Tom stood up and called for Nagini. At the sight of Joanna, Nagini became upset and started to hiss. Tom wished the snake did not have to make things worse, and he was tempted to kill it when it started asking questions. But then he realized that Nagini was all he had left.

“Don’t worry about it Nagini. We’ll have our revenge,” Tom said as the snake slithered right next to him.

“No more games. No more distractions. No more weakness,” Tom added. He closed his eyes briefly, as though bringing himself back to his ‘real’ self, and when he opened his eyes, flames started to grow from thin air. They rose up the walls and slithered onto the bed like a fiery snake devouring its prey; curling and twisting all over the room as the walls blackened and the furniture were torched.

“Everyone who ever crosses me will suffer. Especially that old man. He thinks he knows it all but he has seen nothing yet.”

By the time half the room was engulfed, the flames slowly drew back, as though it had enough.

Finally turning to face what was left of the room, Tom found Nagini wrapped around a skull that now sat on the bed.

Tom watched briefly before he looked up at the gloomy afternoon sky, through the hole in the ceiling. He often wondered how he could find peace is something so plain. A blink later, he found himself looking at the very same sky, just darker and on a different day. There were no stars, and it was a perfect canvas for his dark mark.

A spell shot out into the night sky shortly after, and when it exploded, a skull appeared with a smoke imagery of Nagini, slithering around it and through its mouth.

“That’s for you,” Tom whispered. “And so will everything else.”

Tom knew that was not what Joanna would have wanted, but he told himself that he had no choice. She was now a mere memory and her memory would not be the cause of his downfall, but the reason for his success.

“It’s time the war ends. Tonight will be the night,” Tom said, looking at what was left of Hogwarts; the place he once called home.

“What do we do now, my lord?” Bellatrix Lestrange asked cheerfully, like a child eager to take on every carnival ride available.

“We wait,” Tom replied shortly. He didn’t like the woman, no matter how hard she tried to please him. She was just not Joanna. If only she could take a hint without him having to kill her.

“Do you think he will come?” Bellatrix hurried to his side.

“He will.”

Tom knew the boy well enough, and if there was something they both understood, it was sacrifice.

Fan Fiction (Shorts)

Snow’s Princess

This year was the start of a new kind of fear. And it was not the fear he was used to feeling.

Ever so often, Coriolanus would come face to face with his mortal enemy, the fear of losing. But every time the elections came around, he tramples on the very account of fear with his power statements accompanied by the cheers and applause from the people of Panem.

But this year, this was the least of his problems. He was the vice president of Panem, and he had nothing else to fear but the reaping.

The reaping, for those who lived in The Capitol, was a celebration, as the Hunger Games was commonly addressed to as an extreme sport of glory. Coriolanus grew up with that idea in mind. And when he was a boy, he always longed to be chosen for the games. Unfortunately for him, he was never chosen.

And though this year’s reaping may seem no different to many people, but it was different for him. Because this year, his princess comes of age. His princess was now old enough to have her name placed in the reaping.

Oh, to think he would be a proud father to have his daughter be chosen, you are wrong.

You see, Coriolanus’ daughter was special. She was a small, frail, petite girl, who had to live most of her life in her bedroom, inhaling from an oxygen tank. The moment she came into his world was the moment her lungs started failing. And as much as he wanted a strong beautiful baby, he was presented with a dying child, who had miraculously managed to live up to the age of 12.

Over all these years, Coriolanus became the protective father. Constantly paying for a chance of a real life for his daughter. But no matter what he did, there was barely any hope of her leaving her room.

This year, she might be forced to.

How on earth was his daughter going to survive the games when she could barely breath?

Coriolanus pleaded for the President’s exception on his daughter, but the no exception rule was hammered into his head, nearly jeopardizing his status.

“No exceptions! Do you see me pulling my son’s name out of the reaping?” the President said.

“But sir, my daughter can’t even leave her room.”

“Then she would be better off dead, wouldn’t she?”

With that, Coriolanus had to bear the streaming tears and demands of his wife in which he could never meet.

“You’re just going to let her die?”

“No exceptions! We do not have a choice!”

The both of them had to accept the rules sooner or later.

Still, the dilemma remains. If his princess is called to be a tribute, what would he do?

With his head throbbing, there he stood on the platform, next to the President. It was a late afternoon and the crowd that had filled the stadium were already cheering.

Coriolanus watched closely as the President dug his hand into a bowl of glass balls. The deafening sound of the crowd made it harder for him to concentrate as the President pulled out a ball and handed it to him.

As he stared blankly into the ball and the digital name hovering inside, Coriolanus slowly read, “Jasmine…”

The crowd went silent as they waited for him to continue.

“Jasmine Snow.”

It was a long and painful moment of silence. There were murmurs from the crowd, as nobody knew how to react.

“Ah, brilliant! That would be interesting!” the President so cold-heartedly spoke.

“Wouldn’t it be now Coriolanus?” The President turned to him, signalling him to respond.

“Yes, indeed. I am a proud father,” Coriolanus lied.

With distinct pain in his voice, the crowd’s oblivion led to an eruption of cheers.

Yes, the people loved him for his bravery at sacrificing his child. But he didn’t love himself.

When he came home that night, Coriolanus sat by his sleeping daughter’s bed side, weeping and begging for forgiveness.

What kind of a father was he?

As he held on to her small hand, Coriolanus’ only wish was for a chance to take her place, but that was impossible. It was then that her eyelids fluttered, and her lips began to softly mutter.

“What is it princess?”

“Daddy…”

“Yes princess?” Coriolanus fought back the tears as he leaned closer.

“I’ll make you proud.”

Her words penetrated his heart like a stake to his soul.

“I know princess. Rest now,” Coriolanus choked on his drying throat.

His worst fear had won. He now knew what he had to do.

Once his daughter had fallen back to sleep, Coriolanus headed to his office to retrieve from his safe a metal box, in which he kept a collection of untraceable poisons.

Picking up a green bottle, Coriolanus filled a syringe and hurried back to his daughter’s side.

As he watched the heart rate monitor beep, careful not to have his eyes fall on his innocent, precious daughter, he slowly injected the poison into her system.The beeping monitor finally met its end after a few seconds. It was that easy. But bearing the crushing pain in his chest wasn’t.

She was gone. Her pain was gone. So were her worries and troubles. He was her father. And as much as it was killing him inside, he had to do what he had to do. He had to save her. And he did.

Fan Fiction (Novel)

Chapter 6:

Joanna sat in the second floor girl’s bathroom. Tom had asked her to meet him there the day before, because apparently, no one visits this bathroom anymore. And Joanna was oblivious to the fact why.

As she sat alone, an occasional wave of sudden chills ran through her body. Joanna had a feeling something was not right, and when she heard a soft moan coming from one of the cubicles, she stood up with confirmation.

“Who’s there?” Joanna asked loudly, suppressing the urge to run.

But instead of a reply, the moaning grew louder and Joanna slowly backed towards the exit. She was about to turn and make a dash out, when she bumped into someone. Immediately, she spun around, only to find Tom standing behind her.

“Are you scared?” Tom chuckled.

“There’s something in this toilet,” Joanna quickly answered.

“Get out of here Myrtle,” Tom said as he walked pass her.

A ghostly figure of a girl came swooping out of a toilet cubicle. Her hair was tied up in two ponytails and she screamed in such a high pitch that Joanna instinctively covered her ears.

“I told you to get out you filthy mudblood!” Tom raised his voice.

The ghost stopped and choked on her cries. “Fine!” she said as she wailed into a cubicle and splashed into a toilet bowl.

“Who was that?” Joanna asked as she peered into the cubicle where the ghost disappeared into.

“Some dead mudblood,” Tom shrugged as he sat down and placed the thick book he carried around on his lap.

“Right,” Joanna said as she joined him.

They spent their entire evening break in the girl’s bathroom, with the surprising absence of the moaning ghost.

Joanna told stories of how a few of her uncles were trying to make a Horcrux and each of them had different results, all bad of course. But strangely, as their conversation left the room of dark arts, Joanna started to fear him less.

A week into secret toilet hideouts and Joanna had gotten Tom to talk about his childhood. It was her way of trying to get him to stay away from the Horcrux topic as long as possible, hoping he would forget about the idea all together.

But when Tom spoke of his younger days, he seemed to be loathing it.

“Bloody orphanage muggles thought I was sick! Got me muggle doctors and all,” Tom scoffed.

“Then who told you about magic?” Joanna asked.

“Dumbledore. He came for me one afternoon.”

“But, Dumbledore…” Joanna had noticed the way Dumbledore looked at Tom, and it wasn’t the same way most of the other Professors did.

“He doesn’t like me I assume. He’s always watching me, trying to catch me or something,” Tom finished her sentence for her.

“You’re not afraid of him are you?”

Tom didn’t answer, instead he changed the topic with a question directed to her, “Why were you expelled?”

“I set the headmaster’s office on fire.”

“Why?”

“He’s a muggleborn, who made us read books ONLY by muggles.” Joanna rolled her eyes at the memory.

“He said muggles were the best in arts. But he doesn’t know what he is talking about. Shakespeare and DaVinci weren’t muggles and they were famous! Yet he chose not to teach about them,” Joanna continued. “So one day, I decided to set his office on fire.”

“Was he in it?”

“No.”

“How unfortunate,” Tom sighed and Joanna chuckled.

“I know, but I would be in prison if he was. I’m somewhat thankful he didn’t die,” Joanna said.

“I would break you out if you were.” Tom smiled.

“You didn’t know me then, how could you break me out?”

“That’s true. I guess it would be horrid to have your life sucked out by Dementors everyday.”

“Horrid indeed. My aunt’s in prison,” Joanna conveniently stated.

“Wicked family you have, and yet you don’t practice dark magic?”

“My mother has lost a lot. I don’t want to be another lost to her. I am after all, the only child.”

“That’s one reason I don’t have to worry about.”

Joanna went silent at the thought of how her parents would react if she had died. Even right now, her mother was constantly grieving as one after another, her brothers and sisters were suffering, disappearing and dying because of dark magic. And though it was in their family heritage to practice it, her mother never promoted it. The lost was unbearable and the only good thing that ever came out of dark magic was death.

Tom must have noticed her drift away as he asked, “You still here?”

“Sorry, I was thinking,” Joanna replied.

“About?”

“About the Christmas ball.” An excuse she made.

“Are you going?” Tom asked.

“I don’t know. No one has asked me yet,”

“It’s a little too early to be asked don’t you think? It’s a full month away.”

“Yes, but I don’t really have a lot of friends.” Joanna realized it was a fact the moment she said so.

Since she started in Hogwarts, the only Hufflepuff she knew by name was Annoria. The rest were just “hey”s and “hello”s. And for those who weren’t in Hufflepuff, she knew no one but Tom and Malfoy, who had suddenly became awfully nice to her.

“I”m a friend,” Tom said, and he sounded like he meant it.

“That’s nice to know.” Joanna smiled, as she deciphered his tone.

“Do you…” Tom’s voice trailed off in uncertainty.

“Do I what?”

“Do you… want to go to the Christmas Ball with me?”

Joanna was caught by surprise. She wanted to go but should she?

To be continued…

(Leave a comment below on vote on whether Joanna should accept Tom’s request and go with him to the Christmas ball!)