Hello, all! ^^ How have y’all been this week? I hope writing has been flowing for you and that you have stumbled upon some wonderful stories this month (I know I most certainly have! Review of that book coming soon!).
Earlier in October, I announced a writing contest called Letters, where writers of all ages from all around the world could submit either an epistolary short story (or a short story that was centered around a letter), and the winning short story would be featured on my blog (plus a Q and A with the writer!!).
There were so many lovely submissions, and I’d like to give a huge thank you to everyone who entered the contest! I have loved just curling up with Izzy, Charlotte, and Fuzzy Bee to read all your submissions and seeing all your wonderfully unique ideas! (Izzy would like to give a shout-out to Journey Bloomfield, the runner-up of this contest and the one who wrote one of her favorite epistolary stories — you may find Journey Bloomfield at her blog here.)
However, there was one entry that truly stood out to me. It was one that actually made me put down my mug of tea and just read, absolutely engrossed in the story. It made me laugh, smile, and cry, and it brought Fuzzy Bee to tears, swayed Izzy to agree that this story should win, and is in Charlotte’s words, “Beautiful!!!! Stunning!!!! VERY GOOD STORY!”
So grab a mug of warm tea (perhaps a few tissues as well), as we give a huge congratulations to Lola Mae, the winner of this contest with her short story, Dear World!
About Lola Mae: Lola Mae is a homeschooled (for her whole life until highschool) military brat with a love for wolves and Jesus. Telling stories of faith and truth is her passion, and she’s never lived a moment without something brewing in her imagination. When she’s not scribbling in a notebook under a tree, playing with her dog while murmuring stories to herself, running through trails, laughing with her delightful family, or hiking somewhere in the woods, you can find her rambling about writing, wolves, and worship on her website or up in the clouds, tucked away in her imagination.
Her story was such a beautiful epistolary short story, and I am most excited to share this story with y’all! And I am indeed willing to bet my only two hardcover books that this story shall make you cry. Or at least smile. 🙂
Take it away, Lola!
Dear World by Lola Mae
Dear World,
I would like to lodge a formal complaint.
Why?
My sister.
Specifically, the one (my only one) who sleeps in a bunk above my own
She snores.
Loudly.
And just last night, I was reading a lovely book—The Unselected Journals of Emma. M. Lion: Volume 5—and all was right with you. (the world, I mean. That’s you.)
I nestled deep into my blankets, devouring words and turning pages, the window beside our bunk bed pulled open. Unusually cold, crisp summer air drifted in, kissing my face and sending delightful shivers through my skin. Rain pitter pattered on the roof. (it was light enough that I could have the window open without rain driving into the room)
It was the wonderful kind of cold—the one that makes me burrow deeper into my warm cocoon and sigh contentedly. (summer gives us a cold night every once in a blue moon…tonight was one of those “blue moon” nights.)
I think everyone should get to experience the feeling of you (the world) cold around her as she’s snuggled in the warmth of blankets and a good book.
Anyway, back to my complaint.
Finally, my eyes grew heavy actually, they didn’t. They didn’t weigh any more than they normally do. BUT they did feel heavier, and sleep was inching towards me. I pulled myself out of the novel, set it on my nightstand, and closed my eyes.
Rain drummed her fingers outside, and the cricket choir stirred up a lovely song.
But other than that?
My world was quiet.
UNTIL.
SHE started snoring.
Again.
Like she always does.
*sigh*
World, I know it’s not your fault, but I could really use some help. Specifically, in the sister area. Even more specifically, in the Nora area.
It’s not just the snoring.
My sister is the most amazing person in you…and the worst.
We laugh a lot.
We argue…also a lot.
It’s like she loves me one moment and hates me the next.
Like yesterday. We were walking Reesie, our lovable goofball of a mutt, when Nora got it into her head that I was mocking her. We’d been laughing the moment before—about how Reesie had gone into “stalker mode” (that’s what we call it when she for some reason believes that she’s a hunting dog) and locked in on a cinderblock, thinking it was a squirrel. But then—BAM! I said something (apparently wrong) and she blew up at me.
She’s like an ocean—calm one day and stormy the next. And it was like a hurricane raged on the ocean of her yesterday—waves thrashing and crashing and tumbling, wind tossing foam to-and-fro—and I was a little sail boat, thrown into the fray.
Her face was red and she just kept yelling.
World, I didn’t know what to do.
So I ran.
Reesie loping at my side, I ran from my sister.
The one I love.
The one I fear.
I was scared, okay?
When I made it home, tears burning in my eyes, I told Mom and Dad what had happened. They asked me if I was okay. I said yes.
They knew I was lying.
They sat on my bed with me, hugging me and rubbing my back. Reesie lay her head in my lap, staring up at me with hot-coco-colored eyes.
“We love you, sweetie,” Mom said.
I fondled Reesie’s ears. “I love you too.”
And that’s when Nora walked in.
All sixteen-almost seventeen-years, five-foot, seven-inches of her. She glowered.
“Nora, honey,” Mom started.
“Sweetie,” Dad said. “We—”
“Love Anaya and hate me. I know.” Nora clenched and un-clenched her fists. “It’s all my fault—it’s always my fault.”
“That’s not—” Dad tried.
“But it is, isn’t it? She’s the perfect daughter and I’m not.” Nora turned on her heel and stormed out of our shared room.
Mom went after her.
My stomach knotted up. I started crying again. Dad did that cracking-an-egg on my knee thing—the way he used to when I was little. Shoulders shaking, tears running down my face, I whispered a question to you.
Why?
Here’s the thing: Nora and I are complete opposites. I’m a rule follower, she’s not. I’m polite and sweet (at least I try to be), and she’s not. I get good grades, she doesn’t. I try to be the best daughter I can—and she does too. We just go about it differently…and, sometimes, it feels like our ideas of what that looks like are so far apart, they couldn’t see each other, even with binoculars.
So now you know my complaint, world.
Please help.
Because I don’t know what to do.
Always,
Anaya
Dear World,
Today is Nora’s birthday.
Please let it be good.
Would you weave the threads of fate towards joy and happiness and celebration?
Please don’t have a laugh at our expense. Don’t turn the day towards shouting and anger and arguments.
Please.
Always,
Anaya
Dear World,
My heart hurts.
I did this.
I’m the one who broke her gift. I’m the one who shattered this day into a thousand splintered shards of gold.
Today was the worst birthday ever to grace your presence.
It started out good. (It’s called deception.)
In fact, Nora gave me a hug.
“Good morning, sunshine.” Nora slipped down the ladder and swooped me straight out of bed, into her arms. (I’m eleven, and small for my age. She can carry me easily.)
She spun me in a circle. My long red hair billowed out, dancing with the wind we created.
I smiled up at her.
This is how it’s supposed to be. You and me—sisters, loving each other.
“I love you, Sis.”
And then she said, without hesitation, “Love you too, Anaya .”
That meant the world to me. It meant every single bit of you, world.
She loves me.
She really loves me.
How incredible was that?
We spent the morning laughing.
We walked Reesie, enjoying the summer sunshine brushing our cheeks, the wind playing with our hair, and the summer smells that abound in our neighborhood. Sweet flowers, freshly cut grass, tasty chocolates that we smuggled out of the pantry in our shorts’ pockets.
Our conversation flitted about like a fledgling who had just found her wings. Books, school—we’re homeschooled, and we start sometime late August…I can’t wait but Nora wishes you would slow down time to eek out every second of summer!—dogs, crushes, that one song we both love…
It was amazing, world.
I can’t even describe the feeling.
And then we came home. Mom and Dad and I gave Nora gifts. It was beautiful. She said thank you; laughed at silly cards; smiled wide.
When she unwrapped a delicate golden-hued necklace, (a gift from all three of us) her name molded in stunning script at the neck of the chain, Nora’s face lit up. “It’s beautiful,” she breathed. She hugged Mom, then Dad. “Thank you.”
Nora scooped the necklace from the little box it came in, dropping it into my cupped hands. The metal chain was cold against my warm palms. The name charm nestled into said chain, glittering.
Nora had just offered peace. An olive branch, so to speak. She wanted me to do this for her.
(Oh, I wish she hadn’t. Everything would be fine if she hadn’t.) But in that moment, joy clutched my heart.
Nora trusts me! She wants me to help her put on her necklace!
My heart pitter-pattered like last night’s rain. A tingling warmth rushed through me—like pop rocks fizzing in my blood.
I draped the necklace around Nora’s neck, lifting her waves of auburn hair, and clasped the little lobster-claw like things together. (I had to squint at the angle…Nora’s a lot taller than me.) The necklace settled at Nora’s collarbone, glimmering like a star fallen down to earth. But the charm was at the back. So—of course—I held it between two trembling fingers and gently moved it to the front.
I had to get this right. Nora trusted me. I had to set the necklace perfectly.
But…
My fingers shook so hard that I had to readjust my grip. And—
I pressed too hard.
c r a c k.
The charm broke.
Fell.
Tumbled.
Down
Down
Down.
Hit the ground.
Hard.
Broke.
Shattered.
A million fractured bits of starlight scattered across the floor.
The moment seemed to stretch out.
On.
And on.
And on.
Forever.
But then it didn’t.
You know how a rubber band snaps back after you stretch it too far?
That’s what that moment felt like.
S N A P
Nora turned to me, fire in her eyes. “Anaya.”
And that word hurt more than anything else. Hearing my name spoken with so much anger, so much disappointment, so much loathing…
Something cracked in me.
And it still hurts, world.
“I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to—I’ll get you a new one—” Why did I do that? Why wasn’t I more careful?
What have I done?
“No—I don’t forgive you,” Nora bit out. “You have to take everything beautiful from me, don’t you? Always smarter, always happier, always the perfect daughter.”
I took a step back. “What? That’s—”
“It’s true! You’re taking all the advanced courses, you’re in theatre, you’re always sweet and kind and PERFECT.” She blinked quickly. “And I’m the opposite.”
Mom, Dad, and I all started talking at once.
“That’s not true—”
“What? We never—”
“Why would you think—”
“Nora, sweetie, we love you—”
She shook her head.
Is it true? The question rang out in my head.
And it’s still hounding me.
Is it true what Nora said?
Is it true that I take everything beautiful from her? I mean—sure, I’m doing higher-level classes; sure, I have a good relationship with our parents; sure, I don’t argue with them every single day…
But how does that hurt Nora?
What have I done to her to make her hate me this way?
And I know she hates me, because she told me so.
Once she shook her head, Nora looked straight at me—right into my tear-blurred eyes—and said, “I hate you, Anaya .”
And that hurt.
It hurt a lot.
And after the necklace broke, the rest of Nora’s birthday was awful. She screamed at me, ran to her room—our room, and slammed the door.
Mom followed her. Dad stayed with me. We swept the shattered pieces into a pile, Reesie wagging mutedly at our heels. Her movements were slow and her tail tucked—she knew something was wrong.
I kneeled down and scooped the broken bits into a dust pan. One piece slid out of the pan. I reached out, grabbed it, folded it into my palm. I clenched my fist—ouch, too hard.
The jagged bit of charm sliced my skin. Pain burst to my hand—but it was nothing compared to the hurt in my heart. As I placed the last piece of charm into the dust pan, a drop of blood slipped from the cut and splattered across the glimmering gold.
I trudged over to the trash can, tilted the dust pan…then, right as the first pieces began to slide towards their grave, I changed my mind. I swooped the pan back upright, and instead poured the pieces into my open hand.
I wouldn’t let this charm be buried.
I’d fix it.
And—maybe—if I glue these pieces back together and give the healed beautiful necklace to Nora…would she forgive me?
Sitting here at the kitchen table, writing this letter to you, I still don’t know. But I can hope. And I need your help, world, because some way, somehow?
This has to end.
Always,
Anaya
Dear world,
I didn’t mean you should do this, world.
I didn’t mean it should end this way.
I didn’t mean you should whisper in Nora’s ear and tell her to run away.
Always and with tears,
Anaya
Dear World,
What can I do, world?
How can I make this right?
How can I put the broken pieces of my world back together?
My family is terrified. Mom and Dad keep crying and calling people, trying to find out where Nora is. Police sirens wail towards us, and soon officers are here, asking questions and working on finding my sister. Reesie follows me around, trying to cheer me up with licks and belly rubs and wags. She knows something is wrong, though. The peppy joy that usually brings fervor to everything she does has leaked away. I know that when our family is put back together she will be just as joyful as ever, but for now? She comforts us.
My heart hurts, world.
This is all my fault.
I…
I guess I should start at the beginning.
Last night.
I didn’t sleep in my room—instead, I arranged some blankets on the couch, tossing and turning out there throughout the night. Unlike a few nights ago, tonight was hot.
And by hot, I mean I gave up on my blankets, shoved them to the edge of the couch, and lay awake, staring up at the ceiling.
The paint was splotchy in places, and a few wizened old stains spattered sporadically across the nearly smooth surface. A little fly crept across the barren wasteland, inching forward one tiny step at a time.
My cheeks burned with heat. My skin prickled, and it was as if lava flowed in my veins instead of blood. Why did it have to be so hot?
I sighed.
Ugh.
I dropped my hand down off the side of the couch and traced my fingers along Reesie’s head. She panted happily. I glanced down at her and smiled.
C r e a k
Something moved down the hall. What’s that? My fingers stalled on Reesie’s forehead. She nudged my hand with her cold, wet nose. Still, I listened. Who was up? Reesie huffed. Then she bumped my hand again. Laughing softly, I began petting her again.
It must’ve been my imagination.
(Anaya from right now—the future!—would like to mention that I was ridiculously wrong.)
Since the couch wasn’t helping me sleep, I flopped off it and crumpled down beside Reesie. She licked my face. I laughed again. Laying my head between her cute lil’ paws, I stroked her fluffy fur and reveled in her sweet, never-to-hot warmth.
Finally, with Reesie’s nose in my hair and my eyes drifted shut, I fell asleep.
And woke up to a morning without my sister.
First, when Nora didn’t stumble, zombie-like, from her our room this morning, we thought maybe she was just sleeping in. (or avoiding us.)
When she didn’t come out for breakfast, we figured she just didn’t want to talk.
We started to worry around lunchtime. (she never waits to eat breakfast any later than 9:00, so she must really be furious to not listen to the call of her stomach.)
Dad stepped up to the door (me hovering behind him) and knocked softly. “Hey, sweetie, can we talk?”
No response.
He knocked again. Firmer, this time.
Again, nothing.
Mom slipped up to his side and put a hand on his shoulder. “Why don’t we just let her be?”
Dad drew his hand across his face. “I just…I’m worried.”
“I know. I am too.” She stole his hand from where it had clutched the back of his neck and held it in her own. “But we should give her space.”
Quietly, they flitted away.
But I was tired of giving Nora space.
She’d had it.
So many times, she’d had it.
She’d had lots of space—every single day. Whenever she got mad, whenever she felt offended or angry or the tiniest bit peeved, we tried to comfort her. When that didn’t work, we gave her time. We let her win. We tip-toed around her like she was a sleeping tiger.
(Because, really? She is.)
We gave her space.
And now she was making Mom and Dad hurt.
It was selfish of her.
Why were her feelings the only ones that mattered?
Why didn’t Mom’s? Why didn’t Dad’s?
Why didn’t mine?
So, once Mom and Dad left, I lifted my fingers to the door and drummed them along the wood.
I’d wake the tiger myself.
And wish on my lucky stars that she wouldn’t clamp her fangs around my heart again.
I stood, my hands shaking, at our door.
But only silence answered my knock.
“Nora?”
Again, the quiet whispered a soundless response.
“I’m coming in.” Slowly, I turned the knob. My sweating palms were slick against the cool metal. I took a deep breath, and pushed the door open…
To an empty room.
I swept my gaze around, but my sister wasn’t there.
Our closet doors were thrown open, and her half (we split it down the middle—mine was the left and hers was the right) was a mess. Clothes and shoes and snacks sprawled across her shelves. Her backpack? Gone.
My heartbeat quickened.
The curtains rustled with a gentle breeze—where was the wind coming from? Was the window open? Nora hated the heat, why would she—
My breath caught.
Empty room.
Sister, boiling over with anger. (Probably not thinking straight, with all those feelings bubbling up inside her.)
Clothes thrown everywhere, some missing.
Backpack, nowhere to be seen.
And the window open.
I rushed to the window. My heart pounded hard in my chest, like some wild beast trapped behind my ribcage.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
The curtains whispered little laughs.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
I reached the window, leaned out, looked down.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
We lived in a one-story house, she wouldn’t have had to jump far. She would’ve only had to reach out over the bushes that pressed themselves against our walls—and just like that?
Free. Gone.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
I looked out over our yard. And…
My heart stopped beating.
Or that’s what it felt like anyway.
I couldn’t breathe.
I couldn’t feel my pulse.
It was all I could do not to crumple to the floor.
Because, tracing a path away from our home in our front yard’s grass?
Footprints.
Nora’s footprints.
“Mom! Dad!”
My heart broke as I called the next words. It keeps doing that—breaking I mean. Will I ever be able to piece it back together?
“Nora ran away.”
I need to breathe—to get out of this house. Away from the phone calls and tears and the fear that thrummed like a heartbeat in the air.
I’m going to take Reesie for a walk.
And then I’ll write more.
But my hand hurts now—not as bad as my heart, but nothing can beat that.
Always,
Anaya
Dear World,
The police are searching for her. They ask us questions—so many questions.
When did you last see her?
Yesterday.
Will you give us the most recent photo you have of her?
Here. It’s of her and I laughing together.
Do you have any clue where she could have gone?
No.
A friend’s house, perhaps? A place she hides out? Does she have a boyfriend?
Maybe, I don’t know, and no.
Any idea why she might’ve left?
We…had a fight. A bad one. It hurts.
And it’s all my fault.
Always,
Anaya
Dear World,
We’re on day two of Nora missing.
I’m worried.
I’m
really
really
really
worried.
We’re trying to find her. We’re trying harder than we ever have with anything else.
But still.
We can’t find her.
The whole town is on the lookout.
Someone has to find her.
Has to.
Always,
Anaya
Dear World,
Bring her back.
Please.
I don’t know who I am without my sister.
I don’t know who we are without her.
My family is broken.
Our town is afraid.
We keep searching.
We keep failing.
I miss her so much, my stomach physically hurts. It’s like someone took my insides and tied them up, double triple quadruple knotting them. The fear and longing for my sister has made my stomach cramp.
There’s this feeling in my house—one of fear and failing spirits and hope that’s crumbling down, down, down. I’m losing hope that I’ll ever see Nora again.
Bring her back, world.
Please.
I know I keep saying that, but please, world.
Bring my sister home.
Always,
Anaya
Dear World,
I’m scared
Maybe not forever,
Anaya
Dear World,
This is the last time I write to you.
This is the last time I ever write anything.
This is the last time I spill ink. The last time I pour out my feelings onto paper. The last time I have enough hope to pick up my pen and write Always, Anaya.
Because nothing is forever.
And I’m not, either.
I don’t know who I am. I’m not always. I’m not forever.
And neither is sisterhood, apparently.
And laughter.
And tears.
And love.
All of it can disappear in one night.
One
Horrible
Night.
I lost my sister on the wings of hate and anger. I lost myself on the same sparrow that flitted out that window.
I’ll keep living, keep breathing, keep walking this earth…but the Anaya I once was?
She’s gone.
So this is the last time I say Dear World.
This is the first time I say goodbye.
From the sister who can’t see herself anymore,
Anaya
…
Dear World,
NORA CAME HOME!!!
MY SISTER CAME BACK!!!
AND SHE LOVES ME!!!
SHE SAID SO!!!
MY SISTER IS HOME!!!
Always,
Anaya
Dear world,
She came home.
She
Came
Home.
I can hardly believe it.
She came home.
And she said she loves me.
And she promised never to leave again.
Always,
Anaya
Dear World,
I gave her the necklace. I glued the pieces back together and surprised her with it. When Nora saw what lay in my open palm, tears pooled in her eyes. She whispered her thanks, laughed a little, and started crying. I hugged her and—even more carefully this time—fastened the necklace around her neck.
The stars are back in their place.
Always,
Anaya
Dear World,
I was wrong.
I was so, so wrong.
I was wrong to say goodbye.
I got lost in the ocean of doubt and fear and anxiety.
I lost hope.
But not forever.
Because hope is forever.
Sisterhood is forever.
Love is forever.
Always, because it’s true,
Anaya
Dear World,
I’m sure you really want to know what happened.
So I’ll tell you.
I’ll tell you it all.
*deep breath in*
*exhales*
*arranges paper on desk*
*shakes hands out*
*starts writing*
It was raining.
My wind chime was twinkling in the wind, the evergreen’s branches outside tossed back and forth, and a driving rain cut across the evening’s gentle light. I was outside, in the backyard, playing fetch with Reesie. Mom and Dad stood out there with me, chatting softly. I’d pop in and out of the conversation, and they always welcomed me into it.
The rain pattered on my rain-jacket hood, but I was warm inside it. Cozy, even. Despite the sorrow that weighed me down, an ember of joy flickered inside my heart.
Outside, in the rain, droplets running down my face, my parents out with me, my dog playing to her hearts content?
This was my happy place.
If only Nora was there to blow that ember into a burning bonfire of joy. We’d spent many a rainy day outdoors—walking with Reesie; building dams in the gutter out of pine needles and mud and leaves; dancing in the raindrops; building little tin-foil boats and sailing them down the rivers that collected at the sides of the streets; laughing and smiling and getting soaked. We loved the rain—it was a part of us, I guess.
I threw Reesie’s dirt-streaked ball, and she burst after it. Mud sprayed up behind her, smattering against my legs and torso and face. I laughed. My silly dog slid a bit in the wet grass, snatched her bouncing toy, and trotted back to me. She dropped it at my feet and looked up at me, tongue lolling out to one side, her wet ears perked up. Rubbing her now-spiky fur, I glanced down at her muddy paws.
There’s something about dog paws—why do they always make you smile? Those little beans between grass-and-mud-stained fur, the nails that go clackity-clack on wooden floorboards, their soft, earthy, doggy scent…
I’m not sure if it’s all of those reasons or none, but it’s true.
Anyway, I knelt down to pick up the toy, cool mud pressing into my bare knees (yes, I was wearing shorts. Don’t ask.), the soggy ground squelching beneath my weight. I looked up when I heard the creak of our gate and my parent’s gasps.
And there—standing at the gate—was Nora.
Drenched.
Dirty.
Ashamed.
Her shoulders sagged and her muddy face was streaked with tears.
But she was home.
And alive.
And H E R E.
I stood, frozen like Mom and Dad, barely believing that this was my sister.
Is it really her? Or just a dream? Is she some ghost from another realm?
Reesie barked. A sound full of joy and recognition. She bounded towards Nora, and the spell was broken.
This really was my sister.
“Nora!” I shouted. And I ran towards my sister.
Through the rain, through the wind, through my aching heart, I ran.
My parents followed.
Nora looked up from petting and wildly wagging Reesie. Her face lit up. A smile whispered across her lips.
And then I fell into Nora’s open arms.
And I remember that moment—I always will.
Hugging her.
Tearing my jacket off and wrapping it around her.
Mom and Dad reaching us. Drawing us into their arms.
Reesie nosing her way into our circle.
Soaking in the rain, in my own tears and hers and my parents’, in the love that beat in our hearts.
Family.
Nora pressed a soft kiss to the top of my head, whispering, “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” Her words were full of truth and hope. “I promise I’ll never leave you again.” And then she said, “I love you.”
That’s when I knew it:
Nothing could break our love.
Bad times might come in the future, and I have no clue what’ll happen next. But that’s okay.
Our story is only beginning.
And nothing can tear us apart.
We are always going to love each other. Always.
I know that now.
I know how much I love Mom and Dad. I know how much I love my sister.
And I know how deeply I am loved.
Always and forever,
Anaya
The End
Wow. That is honestly all I have to say for this short story. It was so, so beautiful and so full of emotion, and it really spoke to me. The sibling dynamics, Anaya’s heartfelt entries… I absolutely loved them!! And indeed — Emma M. Lion is a most wonderful read. I myself have just finished re-reading book two in the series. I also must agree that the feeling of being cozied up in bed while the world is cold around you is a most wonderful feeling indeed!
Do let me know down in the comments what you thought of Lola’s short story and if you loved it as much as I did! (And I shall also be doing a Q&A with Lola later this month, so keep an eye out for that as well!)
In the meantime, you can find Lola at lolamaewrites.wordpress.com.
Till next time and wishing y’all a wonderful week,
-Isabelle
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