Twisted Vernacular: A Short Story/Prose Collaboration

Dedicated to an awesome co-writer!

A/N: 

Synopsis- A boy is searching for his little adopted sister, when he realizes that's she's gone. All she left him was a note saying "sorry" repeatedly. The boy is the overprotective type of brother who will stop at nothing to convince her not to commit suicide. As their two different perspectives clash, will the boy's message hit home? Will she be saved or will disaster strike? Read to find out! 

Background information-We contributed both of our ideas for the prologue/epilogue. Between those two is a total of ten paragraphs, five each person. My paragraphs are in italics, while poeticpuppet's are not. I will be adding a chapter {2 paragraphs and then the epilogue} each time. We hope you enjoy reading because we put a lot of hard work into this and we've went through many revisions. It might get confusing at times because we used metaphors and figurative language, so feel free to comment and ask questions. Thank you so much!

*When we upload all our chapters, see if you can find the hidden poem! Haha, it'll be pretty obvious.

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 Twisted Vernacular

Prologue: 

              The boy pounded on his adopted sister’s door, drenched in sweat, full of worry. He had searched the house from top to bottom and looked in every hiding spot possible. She was nowhere in sight. Hunched over and panting, the boy continued knocking, hoping that the door would open to reveal his little sister. He turned the knob, only to find it was locked.

Bracing himself against the nearest wall, he used his feet to kick. The door was ripped off its hinges. The boy ran in and before him was an empty room. A small piece of white paper on her desk caught his eye. He unfolded the paper; there was a note and the writing was messy and blotted. There was only one word being repeated: sorry. Sorry...sorry…sorry…sorry…sorry. It was like she couldn’t find the right word. The boy, torn apart inside, slipped the paper inside his pocket. He could have ripped it to shreds, but that was the last thing his sister had touched. The boy made his way to the open bedroom window, gazing out at the world, wondering where she had gone to. 

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Someday, I'll curse the gods and ransack your lost heart and bombard it against the prison walls of insecurity until it beats incessantly - sending them crumbling down. And you won't ever be able to forget how vivifying that will feel. Someday, I'll paint your bones white, colour your heart maroon, shade your eyes brown, and kiss your lips red. Someday, you'll walk on dreams and tame your nightmares. Master your smiles and surrender your tears. Because someday you'll laugh and someday you'll stand a step further. Much much further from these fragile bricks of yesteryear's bridges, binding you from the ghosts of past winter made mistakes. Someday, I'll teach you how to walk on foreign lands and be anything, the very epitome. Today, I'll have you walk away. I'll walk you back home. Just come home. There're good walls as well, safer bricks and you can tell. That inside it surrounds you from your hell.

Yet, I feel like a doll, an inanimate object being controlled by marionette strings. Tugged on in an endless amount of directions; it’s impossible to give new life to me. I am an empty canvas and you painted on me. However, the only thing I want to see is you painting a lace of red along my neck. A slit so deep that it cuts my jugular and leaves me to bleed out. Dreaming among the clouds and getting rid of the monsters that haunt me so…no, my imagination can not fathom that happening. I am the London Bridge and when I fall, tears of joy will bubble at the corners of my eyes and cascade down my cheeks like water rushing down Niagara Falls. The ocean calls to me, singing a Siren song, luring me further down into the murky depths below. My fate is to die early, for no matter how hard you try, I will never be the epitome of anything. You can’t walk me home when you don’t know the way. Home is where the heart is and you have not unlocked the recesses of it. You have not journeyed through the intricate passageways of the labyrinth in my mind. Will you be so bold and slay the Minotaur inside of me if I give you a trail of string?

Check out the next chapter! :)