Hello, my loves! If you don't know me, my name is Keera Mackenzie, and I am an author and trailer designer on Wattpad! This is my second time being a featured author for this amazing event and I couldn't be more grateful. I'd like to give the lovely KellyAnneBlount a huge thank you for allowing me to partake in one of Wattpad's biggest celebrations once again. That being said, without further ado, let's get on with the fun stuff!
If you remember me from last winter's edition of the Wattpad Block Party, I decided to shed light on my book We Are Stars by sharing a portion of the first chapter. A lot of you really seemed to like it and I received so much positive feedback. I also shared the official trailer and synopsis for one of my newest works Dark Bounty. Though the book is still under crucial construction, many of you seemed to enjoy the trailer. From that stemmed a new activity that I have come to enjoy, and I started a trailer shop and portfolio known as Peachy Trailers. I also found a love for video editing, as well as creating tributes, couple collabs, and multicouple collabs.
If you are looking for a free and easy way to promote your book, book trailers are definitely a way to go. Below, you will find a small collection of trailers and tributes that I have made in the past. I hope you all enjoy and let me know what you think!
Worth | Trailer
Daughter of Fire | Trailer
Multicouples Tribute | Love Me Now
If you are interested in requesting for a trailer, feel free to visit my trailer shop and see the form! However, be sure to read the rules upon ordering!
Next order of business: We Are Stars
We Are Stars has been in the works for a long time now. With only a few chapters left of the original draft to write, I feel as though I have written myself into a corner. That being said, I feel as though some changes must be made in order for the story to balance out so that I can give it a proper ending. The problem is that I have no idea how to end it. So, to spark my inspiration, I have decided to rewrite a good majority of the chapters, therefore altering the story just a bit. If you are already familiar with the story, plot, and characters, don't worry, not much is changing. If you wish to know all the changes being made, I will make an announcement in the book to address all confusion.
If you are new to this story and have never even heard of it, you're in luck! In a way, you sort of get a fresh start and first look at the re-written version of We Are Stars. Oh, and did I mention that there's a trailer as well?
Sit back, relax, and enjoy your first sneak pack at the new and improved, re-written, first chapter of We Are Stars. Granted, the trailer is older and I have improved since then, but you get the idea.
We Are Stars | Trailer
We Are Stars | Chapter One - Days Move Easy (TAKE TWO)
It's been two years since it happened. Two years ago, my dad received a phone call from the doctors of Hillary Clemens Hospital, who told him that our dark green family wagon had been involved in a deadly accident. It was on the night of April 16, 2017 that the accident took place. To this day, I will never forget the shattering of glass as it scattered like embers across my face. The taste of blood as it filled my mouth with a sickening relish. The last expression my mother had before colliding into the windshield.
It was on the night of April 16, 2017 that my mother lost her life.
A single tear runs down my nearly colorless cheek, followed by a few more until they are a steady stream. Exactly two years ago, at this exact point in time, my family lost the glue that held it together. I lost a mom, my brothers lost a mom, and my dad lost his wife. Since then, none of us have been the same.
There are many stages one may have to surpass before reaching the dead end of acceptance.
Stage One: Denial. It is during this stage that the world around me seemed to collapse effortlessly. I was numb, cold under a brutal fan of shock. It's safe to say that I spent a lot of my time denying that the accident even happened, or that I was also apart of it.
Stage Two: Anger. Yes, once the storm of denial had finished its course, a tidal wave of rage decided to suffer a visit. It struck Caleb and Dylan the hardest, Dylan especially. He took his anger out on everyone and everything around him, including me and the rest of his friends. Everytime someone even mentioned Mom to him, that was when he seemed to go off the deep end.
Stage Three: Bargaining. I have to admit that this was the stage we all decided to skip.
Stage Four: Sadness. This was the one that took a roughest toll on me. After the denying, the flood of emotions, and the preying had run dry, it was time for the cruelest feeling of all to take control of the reins. It is when we are violently ripped from our fantasies and forced into the face of reality. It's an emptiness that feels as though it would never go away, a raw collection of desolation, guilt, and regret all compiled into a carousel of pain with a never ending cycle. That's one attraction that I rode on for a while before I was finally able to reach the last stage.
Which brings me to Stage Five of the five stages of grief, according to a majority of internet articles: Acceptance. This is the final step in the journey, the last page, the ending to a sad story. Once one has successfully completed all five, they can finally let go of the grief that has been holding them back. It is a time for last goodbyes. We all can find a way to tolerate the arduous truth; our loved ones are gone and are not coming back. Somehow, some of us find a way to be okay with that. As for the remainders, a part of us will always remain trapped in the guilt.
I'm what is called a remainder. A part of me is still trapped in that car, broken glass around me, my head resting on the roof, and my mom's lifeless body beside me.
Honestly, sometimes it's hard to accept that I've reached acceptance.
My thoughts are whisked away by a faint breeze that blows wisps of my blonde hair across my face. The evening softly kisses my skin, wrapping me in its arms, smothering me with comfort. I've always loved this time of night, especially when I'm enjoying it from the best view in town. The roof of my house has always been the place I go to when I wish to be alone. It's where I can think, cry, relax, and remember all at the same time, and 2:35 in the morning and the precise time to take advantage of that. There are no cars speeding down roads, no noisy neighbors to interrupt my thinking, and no one to judge me when I cry or talk to myself.
Tonight is truly beautiful, as it is every other night. Silver stars disperse in the sky, some more vibrant and some faded. Each one illuminates the darkness and creates a surreal blanket of blacks and blues. Every intricate pattern up there looks like stardust. I find it calming. This is the one thing that I enjoy about Indianapolis - the skies are never polluted by light. Mom liked that too.
She's one of the reasons why I'm always up here. The two of us used to do this all the time. She would lead me on to the roof and we would spend hours just looking at the stars and identifying different constellations, some of which we would make up ourselves. My brothers would occasionally join us, but it was mostly just her and I. It was our time together. But now those moments are gone, and there's no way to recreate them.
"What the hell are you doing up here?"
I jump at the sound of my brother's voice, almost losing my balance as my body jerks forward. My heart feels like it fell down five flights of stairs. "Damn you, Caleb! God, you gave me a heart attack!" I yell at my brother. "I almost fell!"
He scoffs. "Give me a break. Considering how many times you've disobeyed Dad by coming up here, I'm pretty sure that the chances of you actually falling are relatively slim."
"Still, you don't need to try to scare the living hell out of me," I retort.
He snickers. "Why? It's so much fun."
Inhaling one last deep breath of air, I watch as Caleb nervously makes his way toward me, his arms spread out at his sides to sustain his balance. I can't help but let out a chuckle or two as he struggles to keep his eyes up instead of looking down. Even in the dark, I can tell that he's scared out of his mind. "Do you want me to hold your hand?" I ask, amused by my own commentary.
"Shut up and let me concentrate. I've got this." Lucky for him, he does have it, and he victoriously makes it over to me without any fatal mishaps. It takes him a few more additional moments to gather himself and sit beside me, his white-collared shirt partially visible in the darkness.
"You good?" I ask.
"I lived so that's a plus," he nods, letting out a few raspy breaths before his chest finally settles. I take my eyes off of him and allow my gaze to drift freely. It jumps from the small oak tree in the front yard to a dim light emerging from our neighbor's house, only to be pulled back in by Caleb's quiet voice. "So why are you on the roof at 2:00 in the morning?"
"I couldn't sleep. What's your excuse?"
"Same as yours," he replies. I sense hesitation pulsing in his eyes, as if there's more that he wishes to say, only for it to be glossed over by nerves. "I guess..." he begins, "I guess I realized that I never really asked you the big question."
"What big question?"
He smirks, though there's a sadness that lingers behind "How are you?"
My head drops to my lap. How are you? By now, I've been asked that question so many times, it has become a new substitute for the phrase known as hello. Not to mention, I could fill a binder with the number of replies, though most of them run along the lines of great, managing, okay, and just peachy, how are you?
I've recently begun to realize that most of those are lies.
I let out a weak sigh through my nose as I continue to fiddle with the loose thread on my ripped jeans that has been the captor of my attention for a good few minutes now. "Same as I was last year - barely hanging on by a thread," I answer. It's the semi-truth, only I could go into more depth on how thin that thread really is.
Caleb nods. "Yeah, I know how that feels."
There's a long pause that sets in as soon as my brother finishes his sentence, but I don't let it make a permanent home in our conversation.
"What about you? How are you doing?" I ask him, though he doesn't meet my eyes. His gaze is too stuck to the black shingles of the roof.
"Honestly," he breathes, "Not well. I'm just trying to... to make it through the next few days and leave this one in the gutter. I just wanna move on and forget that any of this shit ever happened to begin with so we can all just go on with our lives."
"That's what you want? To forget about Mom?"
"Of course not. I want to remember her the way she was before the accident, not the way she was when we last saw her," Caleb exclaims, sounding defensive.
It was on the day of the funeral that we all gotta see her one last time. One by one, each of us approached her empty coffin to say our final goodbyes. My grandparents went first, followed by my aunts, uncles, and close family friends. Everyone had brought a memory to share - photos, flowers, stories, items - and everyone had tears to cry. They all loved Mom in their own ways. She was the kind of person that would hold the door for an old couple walking into a building. The kind you see donating money or a small box of food to the homeless man across the street. It's just who she was, and who she will never get to be again.
When it was my turn to say goodbye, it was hard to hold back the grief. During a funeral service, the deceased is meant to appear peaceful and at rest. To me, it was odd to see her so still, though that didn't stop me from admiring how beautiful she looked. Her long hair was neatly draped over her shoulders and she was wearing a baby blue dress that ran to her knees and hugged her body. I only saw her dressed like that on special occasions. She always hated dressing fancy, which is why I can't help but think that she was never at peace to begin with. I could picture her ghost walking about, yelling at people to dress her in something more understated, threatening that she'll return from the grave and haunt all of our asses if she was buried dressed like that. Such a humorous thought laid waste to some feelings of sadness, but it didn't last for long. Sooner or later, time and grief catches up to you, and it becomes harder and harder to see the joy in the little things around you.
I blink a few of the additional tears away until my eyes feel dry enough to leave. The tears still managed to leave a faded residue upon my cheeks for everyone to notice, but I could care less. After all, I wasn't the only one crying today. "I wish that I could remember her like that. But every time I close my eyes... all I see is something that I don't want to remember either."
Caleb's hand wraps around me and gives my shoulder a comforting squeeze. A frail grin pulls on a single side of my mouth as I lean my head into the crook of my brother's head.
For a few minutes or so, we remain like this, until I feel his hand begin to slip.
"God, I can't believe it's already been two years," Caleb murmurs.
I place my hand on Caleb's leg while giving him a reassuring smile. "I know. It's strange to think that so much time has passed," I say He takes my hand is his and gives it a friendly and brotherly squeeze that sends me comfort. "If Mom could see us now, actually getting along for once in our lives," I giggle.
"I guess these days are just filled with miracles." It's good to see him smile, considering I barely ever see him anymore, let alone talk to him. We both turn our eyes to the sky and I close my eyes, feeling the peace around me. Caleb, on the other hand, can't seem to find one bit of it. "I still don't get why the two of you liked it so much up here. I'm mean, it's like mosquito armageddon," he says, slapping his forearm, an annoyed look crossing his features.
"That's because you inherited the wrong genes," I tell him while enjoying the fact that I was smart enough to wear longer sleeves. "Besides, you learn to get used to it. You also learn how to use bug spray."
"No, what you inherited was an abnormality. What I got was my genius IQ, good looks, and irresistible personality. You know, the good stuff."
I look over at him with a temptation to push him. I'd say it was an accident and no one would ever know. But I keep him around for the sake of comic relief, not to mention the mess there would be on the front lawn.
I suck in a breath of cool air and refuse to let my arrogant brother cloud my sense of newly found relief. "So did you come up here to antagonize me or tell me to come back inside?" I ask.
"Both," he says. "But mostly the first option." His dim-witted grin begins to fade as his bites down on his lower lip. I know that look, sadly all too well. "I also wanted to apologize for today."
I blink once and begin to toy with my fingers. "Don't. It's fine," I say.
"No, really it's not. As your brother, I should've been here for you today, especially today-"
"Okay, can we drop the subject please?" My voice rises, creating an echo in the night. Caleb backs away from the topic, not physically but mentally. I can see his brain beginning to reexamine the situation, all the twists and turns and wheels and gears. His thoughts are like a machine that matches my own, seeing as though we're related. And once I see the sadness in his eyes, I know that machine of his has stopped. "Sorry. Shouldn't have snapped."
He smirks. "I think I'll get over it."
He carefully gets to his feet, taking care not to lose his footing on the panels of the roof. "What, am I boring you?" I question.
When he figures out his footing and gains full control over his balance, he looks down at me, his eyes shining in the light of the stars. "Some of us still need to sleep. Unlike you, who practically runs on Starbucks and mosquito bites." Caleb slaps his forearm again to emphasize his point, and I giggle. "Seriously though, you're coming in soon, right?"
"Yeah, I'll be in in a bit." My brother leaves without another word. I watch as he struggles to climb down the beaten, wooden ladder that's posted on an even older balcony just outside the kitchen. When I finally hear the sound of the sliding door, I know I'm now alone.
~~~~~
Steam rises from the oven as I crack an egg over the pan, sending off an aroma that does little to wake me up. I don't know what time I was up until last night, but I remember Caleb joining me around 2:30. After that, time fell into a state of abstinence and I completely lost track of the hours. I can barely remember what time I fell asleep, let alone when I went to bed.
I hear the sound of footsteps emerging from the stairs as I split open another egg. Looking over my shoulder, I see Caleb and his slump posture gliding toward the refrigerator.
"Morning," Caleb yawns as he opens the fridge.
"Why are you so tired? You were up with me for less than twenty minutes."
"And in those twenty minutes, I was eaten alive. I was up since 4am soaking my arms in Hydrogen Peroxide, no thanks to you," he fires back, a jug of orange juice in hand.
I roll my eyes and return to the eggs. Today is Monday, meaning that it's my turn to make breakfast for everyone. Caleb's days are Tuesdays and Saturdays and Dylan's are Wednesdays and Fridays. We started this tradition around the time I was old enough to use the oven, and my mom taught me everything I know. I took the liberty of claiming Sundays, Mondays, Thursdays as my days, mostly because I actually enjoy cooking. My brothers, on the other hand, simply shove some bread in a toaster and call it a day. I, on the other hand, take pride in breakfast. I guess that's just another thing that I inherited from my mom.
I flip over an egg just in time to hear the wretched sound of Caleb digging into his arms. No matter how many times I tell him, he doesn't seem to care about the fact that the more you itch mosquito bites, the worse they become. "Bug Spray doesn't sound like such a chore now, does it?" I joke, smiling to myself.
"Just shut up and make breakfast," he snaps.
More footsteps soon come to ear and I turn my head towards the entrance of the kitchen. The moment my oldest brother, Dylan, comes into the picture, a sickening odor fills my nose and nullifies the pleasant scent of breakfast. His dirty-blonde hair is kinked out in a messy and disorderly manner and his eyes look jaded and tired. As he walks further into the room, there is a faint imbalance in his stride, a slight swaying motion that jumps from his right leg to his left leg. I know that Caleb notices this too as we share a knowing look.
Dylan doesn't say anything as he heads straight for the fridge and nearly bumps into Caleb as he opens the door, a cold cloud slapping him in the face. He retrieves a large carton of milk from the top shelf and immediately unscrews the cap. Noticing that he doesn't have a cup, I walk over to the next cabinet over and reach for a glass. When I turn back around, he's already chugging away.
"Dude, do you wanna not drink straight from the carton? In case you haven't noticed, there are other people who live here," Caleb says sternly. He doesn't react to his words, and continues to swig the milk in large gulps.
After a few more seconds, Dylan lowers the now half-empty carton and wipes the evidence away from his lips using his sleeve, putting it back into the fridge and closing the door tightly. "Yeah, I'm well aware," he replies, coming off as if he couldn't be bothered.
While my gaze is transfixed on my brother, I almost forget about the eggs, and I quickly turn around to take them off the burner and put them on a plate. It only takes a moment for Dylan to swoop in and snatch the plate from the counter. I ignore him and the harsh scent as he struts past me and I put another egg on the burner.
I finally finish cooking approximately fifteen minutes later, and in those fifteen minutes, not a word was spoken amongst the Hewitt siblings. Dad eventually joined us as well, and I made him his usual: a stack of pancakes with whipped cream and fresh, maple syrup from farmer's market. For my own meal, I made myself a scrambled egg and a few pieces of toast, the plate garnished with berries on the side.
Caleb and Dylan both sit on opposite ends of the table, gobbling down their eggs and toast that I prepared for them, and Dad sits on the side. For some time now, he has not taken his eyes off of Dylan, and my brother has not even paid him a single glance. Caleb is trying very hard to keep his attention on his plate, his gaze wandering about between Dad and Dylan every so often. I, for one, just want this morning to be over.
"How late were you out last night?" My dad asks, breaking the ring of silence that has been circling us all morning. It's a question that's obviously directed at Dylan, but once again, he doesn't react.
"Late," my brother answers out of nowhere with a mouth full of egg.
I take a deep breath in a pretend not to be interested in what either of them have to say, or what they are about to say. This conversation has all the makings of a meteorite that's about to wreak havoc at any moment, and I wouldn't want to be caught in its wake.
While Dylan continues to ignore everyone at the table, my father's glare perforates my brother like an ice-pick on a glacier, slowly breaching the surface in an attempt to gain his attention. "Alright, let me do you one better. How did you get home?" he asks more sternly, leaving no wiggle room for an insubordinate response.
As he patiently waits for a reply, Dylan shoves another bite of food into his mouth and washes it down with a lengthy sip of milk. Steam pours from my dad's ears while my brother goes about his business as if nothing had been asked of him.
"I drove," Dylan finally admits, keeping the answer brief.
"Goddammit, Dylan, what have I told you about driving when under the influence? You could've gotten pulled over, arrested, or worse, you could've ended up in a ditch in the middle of nowhere. Then what would've happened, huh?"
Dylan rolls his eyes and lays his elbows on the kitchen table, using his pointer and middle fingers to massage his temples. "Relax, it was only a few shots. It wasn't anything major."
"Really? Because you smell like a damn brewery," Dad counters angrily, raising his voice.
I close my eyes and narrow my head towards my plate, knowing full-well what this discussion is about to become. It happens everytime. Dylan admits to drinking, my dad flips out, and the two of them end up going at each other like wild hounds, both determined to make the other back down. The context of the arguments never differentiate either. Each and every one centers around my brother's drinking and my dad's repetitive admonishments. Being as stubborn as he is, Dylan never takes a single warning seriously, and both of them end up running in the same circles, yelling the same words.
My brother sighs and drops his hands, whipping his head toward Dad. "So what if I do? Why does it matter to you?" he asks.
"Are you serious?" Dad asks, his glare like a matchstick that's about to ignite the very vexation that he's attempting to hold back, but means to unleash if completely necessary. "It matters because I don't need to get a phone call at 4am saying that my son was found wasted and drunk out of his mind on the side of the road! How many times do I have to spell it out before you get it through that thick skull of yours?"
"And how many times do I have to tell you to lay off?" Dylan enunciates, his voice intensifying and growing louder. "You're not responsible for me anymore, Dad. I'm twenty-two. I can make my own damn decisions without you lecturing me everytime a beer commercial comes on."
Dad bobs his head, dropping his fork and knife onto his plate and backing into his chair. "I see. You don't wanna be lectured? You wanna play by your own rules and make your own decisions because you're a grown man?" He pauses and clenches his fists, his jaw rooted forward as he prepares to detonate. "Then quit acting like a child and take some responsibility for your actions!"
"Yeah, like that's ever gonna happen," Caleb sarcastically comments.
Dylan's eyes shoot toward him. "You can shut your mouth," he hisses deeply with menace and warning. He quickly gets out of his chair, his stature overshadowing Caleb's.
"Both of you, enough!" Dad intervenes just as Caleb gets to his feet. "Dylan, this has got to stop. This behavior has got to stop."
"You know, you're really one to talk. After all, you're more of a hypocrite than I am. Where were you on the day of mom's funeral? Where was the first place you hit the second the service was over?"
Something on my dad's face shifts uneasily, forgotten memories surfacing in his eyes, ones that he hoped would stay submerged under gallons of emotions and anger forever. There's a storm of regret that emerges, mixed with clashes of realization, guilt, and wrath, and he eyes Dylan coldly. "You need to step away, or so help me-"
"You were busy getting wasted at the nearest club while we were playing sitting ducks at the house, wondering where the hell you were and why you weren't home, with us," Dylan cries, cutting him off like an ax through wood, the harsh splinters and shavings carrying into his words. "You didn't care where we were or what we were doing. You couldn't have cared less about mom's funeral! All you cared about was yourself and how many shots you could hold down."
"Why don't you cut the high and mighty act and stop acting like a complete douche?" Caleb utters, the words almost making it past his brother's ears. I put my face into my hands and let out a huff of irritation, the noise of their bickering starting to chip away at my head. I'm not sure how much more of this I can take.
"Shut the hell up, Caleb."
"No, you know what? I've had it up to here with you, Dylan. You're coming home from late night outings practically sweating booze, you can barely even think straight the next day, you're lashing out on me, you're lashing out on Dad, and hell, you're lashing out on Rowen!" Caleb screams.
"Leave me out of this," I spat, but I don't think anyone hears.
Their vicious wrangle continues without rest and without end, each voice trying to overpower the other competitors. It goes on for what seems like ages. Every word packs a powerful punch capable of consequential and serious damage. They're hastily spoken with no set algurism to them. They're only purpose is to sting, stab, and hurt. My family may not realize it, and they may never know it, but these fights hurt me more than they hurt them.
It's now a stare down between my brothers, the climax of a battle, the split between fire and ice. A small part of me wants to intervene before this escalates any further, but the only thing that will win me in a place in the hot seat. I'll only be another voice in their sea of outrage, so small that my family won't even notice that I'm screaming. What good will that do?
Thinking that I can make it through this fiery tempest until my ride gets here, all I can do is sit quietly and look pretty while everyone else is ripping at each other's throats. It isn't until my phone chimes next to my empty plate that I practically jump out of my seat and make a beeline for the front door.
That's it. That's it.
Tears threaten to fall, but I hold them back. I hate seeing them fight, especially when Mom gets roped into the mix. Just the small mention of her is enough to stir up every memory, the good and the bad. So much damage was inflicted on the family once the fighting began, but now it's only growing. It's like this contagious sickness with no cure, no method of improvement, and no light at the end of the tunnel; just a veil of darkness with no way out.
I quickly race to the end of the driveway where my ride is waiting for me in familiar station wagon, the weight of my school bag leaving imprints on my bare shoulders. Taylor, my close friend since the freshmen year, notices the unhappiness stamped on to my face and immediately unlocks the door to the passenger seat. I rip open the door and slam it behind me in frustration.
"Are you okay?" Taylor asks as I wrap the seatbelt around me and clip it in place.
I no longer feel as if I want to cry. I've done enough of that to fill half a dozen rivers. Instead, I want to hit something. I want to curl my fists into balls until my knuckles turn white and punch the closest object I can find - over and over and over again. I've reached the breaking point of my patience, the threshold of my tolerance, and the limit of my indulgence. I've had enough with the fighting, the guilt, the memories; I just want it all to be over and done with.
A scream boils in the body of my lungs, awaiting its moment to rise and penetrate my throat. It takes everything in me not to let it. "I don't want to talk about it," I breathe, my voice course and almost silent.
Taylor doesn't say anything, though her eyes say plenty. Concern and pity dangles over her head like a freaking storm cloud. It's pretty hard to miss. Moments later, she turns her eyes to the road and backs out of the driveway without saying a word. As we drive off into the suburban streets of Indianapolis, I watch my house fade away in the rearview mirrors. If only the past two years could fade away with it.
~~~~~
And last but not least, the giveaway!
In the light of this edition of the Wattpad Block Party, I will be giving away a Wattpad book trailer to one lucky winner! How to enter? Simply send a follow my way at @-peachyskies and you will get the chance to win a trailer from me! No waiting, no lines, no hassle, and no worries!
Well, that is a wrap on this post! I would like to thank everyone that chose to tune in a take the time to read this ridiculously long post. I'm sending lots of hugs and kisses your way! Also, massive thank you to KellyAnneBlount for this opportunity! If you haven't already, send a follow her way and add this book to your libraries and reading lists!
Hope to see you all soon, and keep an eye out for more amazing posts!
XOXO - Keera
***
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