5Author's Note: This character that is portrayed is greatly based on me. Most of the events that she mentions, happened to me. I was very emotionally when I wrote this, and I hope you enjoy this. Just a little FYI for you, even if you don't care.
It seems like when a good thing happens to me, two bad things follow it.
Good thing: I just got back from a three-day cruise a week ago. Bad thing one: The night I return, I read an email from my friend that said I disappointed her. Bad thing two: When I distribute a souvenir to my friend the next day at school, a boy calls me a lame because it isn't "cool" to bring presents back to our friends.
Good thing: I recently got a boyfriend. Bad thing one: I find out he is trying to go with someone that I know behind my back. Bad thing two: My supposed "friend" knows about his attempted indiscretion, and fails to tell me anything.
Betrayed, sadden, miserable, hurt, pissed - I am a collage of many emotions. In fact I can paint me a cute picture with them.
I add the last thing in the minivan and shut the door. I take out several bottles of nail polish remover and blanket the minivan in the liquids.
I have just turned eighteen. I'm no longer a child, but actually I probably haven't been a child for a long while now.
I remove a package of matches from my coat pocket.
Yes, if you haven't figure it out by now, I am going to ignite the minivan. Why? The minivan is full of useless items to me.
My childhood memories.
Stuffed animals, pictures, Barbies, honor roll medals, my volleyball.
What use do I have with them now? I'm an adult now. I can no longer cradle my toy pig at night when I'm feeling down.
Right?
In the back of my mind, I believe that burning these items will destroy all my memories from the past eighteen years. And plus, fire has pretty colors.
Striking a match on the back of the cover, I toss it onto the minivan. It catches fire instantly. The blaze is the most exquisite thing I've seen in my life, and this depresses me horribly.
The minivan that is burning so lovely belongs to my stepfather. It hasn't been working for a while, and I know he doesn't have the money to fix it. Therefore he shouldn't be too furious.
I stare, fascinated by my masterpiece. The automobile is parked in my backyard, and I know I should do something before the blaze spreads. All that happens is tears slips out from my eyes just as my childhood as slipped away from my life.
I am aware that I wasted it, and that I can never have it back.
I hear fire trucks in the distance. Great, one of the nosy neighbors must have called the fire department.
I gaze at my burning memories one last time before internally freeing my departed childhood forever.