Hello everyone! I hope you're as excited as I am about this up-coming month of Wattpad goodness.
Before I say anything more, let's say a HUGE thanks to Kelly Anne Blount for being her awesome self and hosting another Wattpad Block Party. It's a lot of work, so let's all be very grateful.
For those who don't know me, my name is Karianne, though I usually just go by Kay. You'll know me as DarknessAndLight and on August 30th, it'll be my 8th year anniversary on Wattpad. Yay me!
For my post, I've decided to go and dig deep into the vault of things I had prepared when I was writing my most popular story. As many of you know, I like to kill my main characters and I SOLD MYSELF... was supposed to end a lot more tragically. For the first time I'll share what I had written for the epilogue if Blake had died. It's a little short, and ultimately it didn't feel right.
MY EPILOGUE
No. A one word answer to a two word statement. But why two words only? Why using he's? Why not three? Why the contraction? And why not his name? Was he not worth three words and his name? They had said he's dead. Why was it not a lie?
The church was full that day.
The sun was shining, the wind was cold, people were crying, holding each other.
There wasn't anything that made this funeral feel any different than any others. Someone was dead and it was tragic.
The cast was brought into the church, the family walking behind it.
There was a girl walking behind the crying parents. A brunette girl, holding her hands around her torso as if she didn't everything inside of her would come undone.
Her face was completely expressionless, and for some reason, it was even sadder than everyone else crying around.
A browned-haired boy followed too. Tears were failing from his eyes but he tried to remain calm. What else could he do?
The ceremony started.
The brunette girl couldn't even look at the cast.
If she did she would scream if she did she would become hysterical...
If she did she would die...
The priest began his mass.
He talked of love and loss, he talked of somewhere better for the dead boy, but what else could have been better?
The browned-haired boy talked, when it was time. "I can't believe I'm speaking here today. The last thing I ever expected was having to bury another brother. Blake was my brother, in all the ways that mattered. For a while he didn't fit in. He took too much on his shoulders. He thought his brother was gone because of him, he thought no one could ever truly care for him. He thought no one should care for him. For so long he stopped being himself, he played the role he thought he was supposed to. And then he met a girl and all was right again. I can't believe he died when he was finally happy. It's not fair. I know I should be telling a funny story about Blake. I should be funny. I should make things lighter for everyone but I don't want to. I don't want to share my memories, even if it means being selfish, even if our memories of him is all that will be left of him. I don't want to take this lightly. This isn't a joke. This isn't funny. It's my little brother's life and it's over, it's over and I don't even know if he knew how much he mattered, how much he still matters. So, I won't tell a joke. I will only say this. I had the luck of meeting a boy named Blake Eaton when I was just a little kid. I had the privilege of growing up with him, of knowing him. And I'll have the honor of remembering him, for the rest of my life."
The brunette was supposed to speak too. She couldn't. She could only whisper. She did. She stood right beside the casket, her hand on it and whispered, over and over again, "When are you going to wake up Blake? It's time to wake up."
The funeral ended. The body was buried.
It took a while for the brunette to smile again. But she did. One morning she woke up and the pain wasn't there. The boy was still dead, but she was okay.
THE END.
So, that's how the story could have ended. Since this is a short post I'll add a sneak peek of a story I'll start uploading once I wrap up a couple others. In the spirit of dead boyfriends, I give you the prologue to MY BACKWARD ROMANCE. Some of you might have already seen this. I hope you enjoy it nevertheless.
My Backward Romance
Prologue
Usually stories start with a girl meeting a boy, and that girl and that boy falling madly in love with each other, and living happily ever after.
Sometimes you get a meaner writer though, and the happily ever after turns into a "the guys dies and the girl is miserable." But again, the story ends here. Because what's the point of writing about the messed up continuity? What's fun about writing the story of a heartbroken girl?
Me, me, look at me!
I met Matthew in a bar. I was working that night—my boss knew the manager of the bar very well and most of his groups played there. I was the manager's assistant; thought beer attendant might have been the correct term. That was all I did all night—running around with beers. The prior week, I had inadvertently spilled a beer on a guy because I was clumsy like that, and that night, Matt came to see me. He was friend with the guy and kept pushing to get my phone number. He said it was the least I could do for his friend since I had ruined his shirt and all. The said friend was named Davyn and while Matt had been talking with me Davyn had his arms pretty much wrapped around another girl so it was easy for me to assume the phone number wasn't for his friend. We ended up talking, and it just clicked.
And soon, I was in love with him, in love with all the little quirks that made him himself, in love with the way he looked at me and the way he got me like no one else.
Like any silly girl I had expected my first love story to end with the happily ever after, but where would have been the fun in that huh? I could have taken the whole him breaking up because he liked my bikini model best friend more, even though I didn't have a bikini model best friend. To be honest my best friend was more like, annoying? I don't want to be mean here or anything, plus I'm totally anti-social so she's not that bad but... I'm diverting here...
Point is he didn't break up with me. His car got crushed by a pick-up truck.
One minute he was there and the next he was gone.
And I loved that dumb bastard, even though he was driving around in a street he didn't even need to be in, even though he left me all alone with all our plans unaccomplished, even though he had stupid cherub hair, honestly they were disturbingly curly sometimes—even though... God, I loved him.
But he's dead. He's dead and I lost him.
And even though he was the most selfless person I knew, I find myself wanting him to be selfish in his death, I want him to come back as a ghost and follow me around, I want him to not want me to move on, to want me to convert to nunnery, to live in sorrow missing him for the rest of my life. I want to spend the rest of my days curled up with what ever piece of clothes of him I can find.
Yes I'm still at that stage of mourning.
Yes, I have issues, troubling issues.
But how do you get over the love of your life? There is no recipe, and sometimes time really isn't enough.
It's almost been one year now, and I can still remember his smell, and the way it felt to kiss his lips and touch his skin, I could recall every soft words he had whispered to me, every date he had taken me to... I'm pretty much a crazy dead boyfriend stalker. If there's such a thing as stalking your dead boyfriend—maybe dead boyfriend crazy obsessed freak would be more fitting though... diverting...
I'm still in a shoulda-woulda-coulda state of being while everyone else around me is moving on. Even Matt's best friend, Davyn seems to have gotten over it and I can safely vouch for that because I live with the dude.
This strange arrangement had been made because when Tim died I became homeless. We were living in his condo—he had bought it before we started dating and it had became our home, for the both of us but I wasn't on any legal papers, and I wasn't in his will either because he just didn't have one, and because of a bunch of legal complicated crap, in the end I couldn't get the condo. So when I lost my boyfriend, I also lost my home. And I couldn't have gone to stay with my parents because they were dead.
They died five years ago. They had sold everything and to pay for an arranged two year trip around the world. They died in a car accident on the way to the airport.
Yes, my life was a series of unfortunate events. Thank you. Shut up.
Of course, I could have bought a place of my own, I could have rented—I had plenty of money from my parent's insurance—but after my boyfriend had just died, the last thing I wanted to do was go house hunting. So, Davyn let me crash at his place and after almost one year, I still hadn't left.
Yes, he probably regrets ever offering. Shut up.
Still, I might have a lot of issues and I might randomly start crying hysterically for no apparent reasons but I know there are times where Davyn actually enjoys having me staying at his place—when he needs to kick out one of his numerous bimbos.
Unwillingly, I've been caught up in his little deceiving games. Instead of telling the girls that no, they are not welcome to stay and sleep in his bed and no, they are definitely not staying for breakfast, he just has me walking into the room screaming at the girls to get the hell off my boyfriend, and why why, oh why you cheating bastard, I was half a virgin when I first me yooooooou... diverting...
Yes, I feel slightly dirty about being a part of this. Thank you.
Yes, it is pretty amusing to do and I kind of enjoy it sometimes. Shut up.
Yes, they are bimbos, they deserve it. Shut up.
So, that's my situation, that's my predicament—I'm an orphaned-kind-of-widow living with my deceased boyfriend's best friend scaring his skanks away.
Yes, everything is pretty backward.
So, that's it for my post. I hope you enjoyed it. Make sure to stay tuned this month and check every day what all the other authors have in store for you guys.
Thank you so much! :D
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