** #2 in WATTYAWARDS**
** #24 in FUNNY!**
**#3 in SHORT STORY**
I whipped around to smell the scent of pine, cigarettes, and mint. Amused grey eyes shined, and dark, shaggy, brown hair filled my vision. His hands were in his low, dark jeans, and his...
Hey kids! As you know TBB vs. TBG is coming to an end, and my next project is going to beThe Problem With Davy . Here is the first chapter/ preview! Tell me if you like it!
ALSO BIG BIG NEWS
The Problem With Davy is OFFICIALLY ENTERED FOR WATTY AWARDS 2018! I would really appreciate if you guys would check it out and see if it's your cup of tea. And vote for it for short story or whatever is your fancy! I would SUPER hard on it (cough -- six years -- cough) and it would mean the world if you guys would give it a chance.
THANK YOU I LOVE YOU !!!
-Leena
++==++==++
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
t h e p r o b l e m w i t h d a v y
1
I've noticed that when something bad happens most people just stare. I don't know if it's a coping mechanism or something of that nature, but I've noticed it.
My mom stares at me, and I stare at my ceiling. The Wade's parents stare at a closed door, and most of the students in my school stare out the window, or at their desks, or at blank pieces of paper. I guess it's because there's nothing else to do but come to the sudden realization that everything is temporary, even a blank piece of paper. In this case, a person's life. Usually, someone dying wouldn't be so surprising. Death is inevitable, and people who think they can cheat death are simply fools. But no one dared to think that the Davy Wade would die, much less, kill himself.
I haven't moved from my bed in five days.
My dad thinks I'm overreacting, my mom thinks I'm depressed and I think I should just be left alone. By this time I've probably memorized every nook and cranny of my bedroom ceiling, and my favorite one was white with microscopic multicolored specs on it. On the corner close to my closet an empty cobweb nested, and the part above my bathroom changed to an off-white color. I used to hate it, but after five days of scrutinizing it I have to admit, it grew on me.
Suddenly, I heard my mom walk up to my room.
15 steps this time. On the day I heard the news it was 9.
She knocked on my bedroom door as if it was going to crumble to the ground. I hated how fragile she acted around me.
"Eden?" She whispered thinking I was probably sleeping. Unfortunately, I haven't acquired a wink of sleep in five days. She slightly opened the door, afraid of the teenage girl hibernating in it. "Honey, are you awake?"
"Yea," I croaked out, allowing her to poke her tiny head into my room. She looked dull, like everything else.
"Eden... do you want to eat something? You can come downstairs and get some breakfast if you're up to it," She proceeded to whisper and slowly creep into my bedroom as if I was afraid of loud noises and sudden movements. When I didn't answer, she sighed and sat at the edge of my bed. For the past week, she's been doing this; trying to give me pep talks to get my sorry ass out of bed. She talks about the full life ahead of me, and how this is just a new mountain to climb. She preaches that this will allow my mind to open up and learn from my experiences, though the only thing my mind can open up to is the fact that my best friend in the whole fucking world killed himself and I didn't even have a clue.
