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Moving On

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Individual
Short Story
8th Grade
Benjamin Tasker
Aurelia Housewright

Moving On

Moving On

I want to dedicate this book to Emily, my best friend, who will always read my writings and give me tips on how I can do better. Also, my parents, who give me constructive criticism on my writing whenever I need it.

It was all so overwhelming. The blaring sirens, the bright red and blue lights, the policemen pointing and staring at me. I was only six years old, and I had no idea what was going on at the time. I stood and watched from my front porch as officers spoke quietly about a topic I was unaware of. Being the curious little girl I was, I began wandering around my lawn.

My parents died in a car crash on the way back from a grocery store. I don’t remember my parents very much, but my grandfather has told me many stories about them. It kind of makes me miss them, in a way. It’s weird, though, missing people you barely know. My grandfather says I remind him of my mother. He says that she had black, wavy hair and deep blue eyes that reminded him of the ocean at the beach.

A few police officers watched me as I walked around, all with concerned looks on their faces. One of them slowly walked up to me, and crouched down. I looked at him, confused. “Sir,” I paused, looking around. “Why are there so many people in my yard? What’s going on?” He looked down at the ground, sighing. “Little girl, you love your parents, right?” I nodded, smiling at the thought of the people I looked up to the most. “You would want them to be as happy as possible, then,” he said, looking me in the eyes.

He’s also shown me pictures of her, and I do resemble her a lot. According to him, I also have the same interests that my dad once had. My grandfather told me that my dad always loved stargazing, and he even took my and my grandfather out to a field late at night just to look at the stars. He told me that I loved it so much that I would always beg my dad to take me back. 

“Your parents are in a place very far away, and-” I frowned. “Why can’t they be here? I want to be with them,” I complained. He gave me a half smile. “They’re at the happiest place they can be. You can’t be there now, but maybe one day you’ll see them again.” He stood up, and patted me on the head. “You’ll understand when you’re older.” I watched as he walked away. I didn’t understand it then, but now that I’m 11 years old, I know what he meant.

Maybe that’s why I miss them so much; I have a lot in common with both of them. I sighed, flopping down on my bed. I looked over at a few stuffed animals I keep on my bed, because they were gifts from my parents when I was a toddler. They’re falling apart and dirty, but I refuse to try and fix them. I fear that I might do something to them, and ruin them, and I can’t do that. They are extremely important to me, and I would never forgive myself if 

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My parents died in a car crash on the way back from a grocery store. I don’t remember my parents very much, but my grandfather has told me many stories about them. It kind of makes me miss them, in a way. It’s weird, though, missing people you barely know. My grandfather says I remind him of my mother. He says that she had black, wavy hair and deep blue eyes that reminded him of the ocean at the beach.

He’s also shown me pictures of her, and I do resemble her a lot. According to him, I also have the same interests that my dad once had. My grandfather told me that my dad always loved stargazing, and he even took my and my grandfather out to a field late at night just to look at the stars. He told me that I loved it so much that I would always beg my dad to take me back. 

Maybe that’s why I miss them so much; I have a lot in common with both of them. I sighed, flopping down on my bed. I looked over at a few stuffed animals I keep on my bed, because they were gifts from my parents when I was a toddler. They’re falling apart and dirty, but I refuse to try and fix them. I fear that I might do something to them, and ruin them, and I can’t do that. They are extremely important to me, and I would never forgive myself if 

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they got ruined. I grabbed a stuffed animal, looking at it. It was a small teddy bear, with small beady eyes and a yellow bandana around its neck.

It was the first stuffed animal they ever gave to me, when I was only two years old. It’s my favorite one, and also the most important one. I smiled, remembering all the things I did with my parents while they were still around. The memories make me both joyful and upset at the same time. It’s a conflicting feeling. Placing the teddy bear down, I stood up, walking over to my window. I slowly slid it open before carefully crawling through it, setting my feet on the roof. I then laid down, staring up at the stars. The sky was perfectly clear, and the moon brighter than it had been in days.

 Nights like this are my favorite because my father also loved it when the sky was perfectly clear. He would bring me outside late at night to watch the stars while we talked about nothing for hours. It was always one of my favorite things to do with him, but now that he’s gone, I can’t do it with him anymore. Instead, I watch the stars alone, talking to myself like he’s there with me. 

I woke up, the wind blowing on my face. I fell asleep on my roof again. Yawning, I stood up and climbed back through the window, which was left open from the night before. The time read 9:46 AM. My grandpa is probably waiting for me downstairs, I thought. My grandpa homeschools me, in fear that if I go to real school something will happen to me. He says it’s because he cares about me, but I feel like there's a much deeper reason. He’s probably so paranoid because he doesn’t want to lose another family member.

I understand his fear, I couldn’t stand losing him either. Walking downstairs, I call out to my grandpa. “I’m awake!” He responds with a sarcastic “Finally.” I roll my eyes, making my way into the living room where we do my classes. There’s a large whiteboard on one of the walls, and a couch in front of it where I sit and take notes as he explains the lessons to me. There are also vases on each side of the whiteboard.

The classes are usually relatively boring, but they can be fun sometimes. This time, they were boring. I had to sit there for a few hours as my grandfather tried his best to teach basic algebra to me. Finally, though, the classes ended, and I got to go back to spending my time as I pleased.

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