Monday, May 31, 2010

The Legend of Jacquelyn Sonja Irabeli

Please enjoy the rather morbid short story I wrote in 8th grade based on a picture of a beautiful woman with dark hair, rich lips, pale skin and a lovely hat. Also, please pardon the awkward terribleness of this, I did write it in 8th grade, many years ago.

“Some claim it’s a myth. Some claim that it’s just a made up story. Some believe it to be true. But few believe the actual truth.

“Many people knew Jacquelyn Sonja Irabeli before the tragedy of her death. And when most of the many learned the truth, they forever kept their distance and created stories that now swarm the inhabitants of small town Mironda and people even believe these made up stories themselves, replacing truth with fiction. People have said that she was always bad luck; that odd things seemed to happen in her presence. That’s just one of the many myths that were created. Jacquelyn’s death was her rising moment. It’s strange how people often gain a status of fame shortly after death.

“This tragic death of which I speak is the true story of Jacquelyn Sonja Irabeli. I am only one the few that knows the reality of her life and death and can tell all of the truths from the myths. Though I will bet you that I am one of the only people that will actually tell you the facts. Stay if you wish to listen, leave if you do not. For what I tell you from here on is the actual story and if you have problems with it you should have left.

“Jacquelyn’s green eyes and medium length, thick, wavy, golden hair most often found in a classy style, kept her popular with boys and things that she wore were a must in any girl’s wardrobe. You must be thinking that Jacquelyn could be nothing but the happiest girl in the world. Well she wasn’t. The emerald orbs few call eyes, but myths call a demon’s curse, held nothing, and seemed to have scars running through them as bold as wrinkles on someone’s face that has come of age. The emerald voids that were her eyes were wounded from being hurt emotionally too many times. But in her death she gained something. Equivalent exchange, right? It’s the way of the world. To get something you must first give up something of equal value. She gained a peace of mind and the happiness she had longed for her whole life and thought she would find only in love. And now she roams the world of spirits and haunts the world of the living, Jacquelyn’s peace of mind accenting her mocking and sarcastic personality as a ghost.

“To everyone Jacquelyn’s life seemed grand. To her she would simply state ‘If home is where the love is and love is where the trust is, then I guess I’m homeless.’ You can see that she had some problems but one day Jacquelyn just couldn’t take any more. Expectations, expectations, expectations. Everyone expected Jacquelyn to grow up to become more beautiful than when she was a child. To wear only the finest white silks and laces, designer hats galore. Her lips were to be a shade of cherry red that never faded. But she would never get the chance.

“It was a day like any other. Boys were swarming around her from the moment she stepped out of her house, ‘til the moment she stepped back in after school. It is here that our story begins.

“Jacquelyn had just walked in the front door of the house she and her family shared, leaving a mass of disappointed boys outside. Her mother’s job as an interior designer kept her away from home a lot, while her father’s job as a chef caused him to come home late most nights, this night being no exception. This night was no different, leaving Jacquelyn alone in the house.”

The children stared at the old storyteller, Ms. Ame, mouths agape due to the mystifying story, eyes wide in wonder and fear of what would happen next. Unbeknownst to them, their parents were behind them, not knowing whether to be madder at Ms. Ame or their children.

“Ryan” one angry father yelled at his son, “get away from her! She shouldn’t associate with people, none the less CHILDERN!” He seemed to spit out the word ‘her’ and ‘she’-as though she wasn’t there and was the most hated of villains.

More yelling was heard from other parents as they couldn’t decide whether to be panicked, afraid, or angry.

“Why, father?” the boy now identified as Ryan questioned.

“Because,” his father retorted “She is evil! And her lies will taint your mind! She will brainwash you! All her stories are LIES!” he spat.

Over the next few minutes, Ms. Ame witnessed the parents, grandparents, aunts and uncles drag the children away from herself. Ms. Ame now seemed to turn to the audience. “Will you listen to my tale? Bah, of course you will. You didn’t leave when I gave the warning. Now where was I…” Ms. Ame seemed to ponder-her mind troubled by something or other though her last sentence was filled with a kind of satiric humor for the telling of her Jacquelyn’s death seemed to soothe her mind-lift something off of her chest. “Ah, yes, I remember now. Child, you listen to the truth, ya hear?”

The story struck up again, continuing where it had been left off-like someone had just pushed the pause button and was now pushing play. “Her father’s expectations for Jacquelyn were much too high for her to meet. Having had a big science test earlier that day that her father knew about, he was, of course, eager to hear of her markings on it. Science being Jacquelyn’s worst subject, she had received a low score, angering her father when he came home and saw the mark. After eating a small dinner and being ‘punished’ by her father’s angry yelling’s, Jacquelyn was sent up to bed.

“Though that was only to the knowledge of her father. Jacquelyn had actually escaped through her upper bedroom window, running free-with a bag containing a few things-to one of Mironda’s small department stores. Once there, she made her way to the back where woman’s clothing was located and quickly picked out a fancy dress along with some fine and expensive jewelry. After paying for the clothing and accessories, she made her way to another small store where she changed into the clothing.

“Dashing down the street to her next stop (which happened to be a very ritzy hotel) she produced some money from her bag, asking to stay in a suite. After paying and settling into the room, one last item was produced from the bag. A knife.

“Flicking the knife open, a pause in space, matter, and time itself seemed to settle over the room as Jacquelyn prepared herself for something that would affect the town of Mironda for, perhaps, the rest of its existence.”

Jacquelyn smiled down on her best friend, Ame, as she finished telling the story to those that would listen to the truth. Jacquelyn’s ghost had come back to tell Ame, her best childhood friend, about what she had done. Ame told the story of Jacquelyn to all that listen, though most turned deaf ears. She went on like this until some believed she was a witch, speaking in only lies and riddles, tricking them all. And over the years, the stories accumulated.

Some claim it’s a myth. Some claim that it’s just a made up story. Some believe it to be true. But few believe the actual truth.

No comments:

Post a Comment