Don't forget me. - Christina.D (the reader ebook .TXT) 📗

When you’re small, the little things in life are the things that truly make you happy. When your older things like money, houses, and cars start to matter more than a simple plastic toy could do the trick before. When you’re dead, well nothing matters at first, but then you start wondering how is everyone doing? Have they sold my stuff? Did I matter to anyone? Was I truly loved?
Have they forgotten me?
When I was alive, I remember one of my teachers at school saying that death is peaceful; life on the other hand is not. Now, I wish I could go and tell her, she was very wrong. I wouldn’t mind being dead, but If I could I would have changed the day I came home. I wanted to see my family , to see If they moved on, but when I saw that they haven’t It caused me pain, as I would’ve wanted them to be happy, I wanted them to know that I’m ok now, and I don’t mind being dead. At some point you have to come to terms that the life that you had wasn’t everything.
My family left my room the way I left it. The bed wasn’t done and the curtains were only half drawn. I tried reaching to my little sister, as she was only little and called me through her dreams.
I will never go back to my home. Never. As deeply as I would want to, I made things worse for myself.
The day I came home, as a ghost, I watched my sister stop breathing. I couldn’t do anything. She was four. I never saw her after that. She died of a stroke, a natural cause. She was only four. I tried everything, I screamed at my parents to go upstairs when she fell, but they simply didn’t hear me. She was up there, alone, for hours. As I remember her, she was always ill. She had leukaemia, asthma, diabetes and was allergic to almost everything. She spent most of her life in hospital and I was never beside her, as my parents tried to not let me be sad, but I wish I could have spent time with her.
I was lucky in the time that I had, I had no diseases and I never broke any bones, or pulled any muscles. I had a chance to live. My sister didn’t.
I guess you’re wondering why I didn’t see her, as she is dead, like me. But I was murdered. I linger around, watching others. My sister got a chance; she got a chance to move on. A chance to be born again, I am happy for her, as she doesn’t feel the pain anymore, not like I do.
I do remember how I died, and I am going to tell you, but before, I plead to you. Once you read my story don’t feel sorry for me, don’t be sad and please, don’t forget me.

I wanted to stay, Heck did I want to stay, but I really had to go. I nearly jogged to my house from him to the toilet.
I’m an idiot. A cute guy that is going to live next to you introduces himself and what do I do? Yeah I run to the toilet. It’s not technically my fault, it’s kind of a routine – I go to school, walk home normally and then as soon as I hit the doorstep I have a meltdown of wanting to go really badly and finding my keys in my bag. This time I guess I took too long talking to my new neighbour.
When I finished, I sighed and went upstairs dragging my school bag at my side. My house is very large and specious, which made me cringe in the mornings as it took that much longer for me to reach my coffee.
To make matters worse, my mum put me on the third floor. That’s a lot of stairs for a 15 year old.
I checked the kitchen in case anyone would be back, but it just gave me another sigh. Their probably at the hospital, it’s Friday. On the weekends my parents try to beg the doctors to let my sister out for some family time, I don’t really get the point, we can hardly touch her, she gets bruised and mum always cry’s . She makes everyone sad. Sometimes I wish they just let her heal properly, so then maybe we could get her home for good. Every weekend we make her even more ill, I mean last weekend we gave her the flu. Well my parents did, they don’t really trust her with me.
I don’t even know my sister that well. Her name is Summer, and she is four years old. I only see her on the weekends, and I can count on my fingers the amount of times I have touched her. She was called Summer because she reminded us of summer, she has fair skin, light blonde hair and the lightest blue eyes. Her hair now curls naturally, but no one in the family has that quality, so when grandma found out that she’s so ill all the time, she accused Summer as not even being the real child of my mother, as everyone else in the family are strong as bulls.
I do look a little like her, I have light blonde hair; not as light as hers, but my eyes are lighter, as people say they are light gray. I am very pale, and trust me after so many attempts to get a tan I gave up last month, as the only thing it gives me is a headache and some very painful pealed skin, and my hair is straight.
I threw my bag onto my king sized bed and laid down. My room is huge, it had a balcony and two floor length sized windows at the sides. I have most shelves filled with books and the rest with music DVD’s. My room is dark pink, with black and white wallpaper; only one wall though. I love it! Even though I absolutely hate pink, it hides what I’m really like to guests who I lie my ass off to. I spend most of my time in my room. I try going out with my parents, but I hate meeting random doctors.
My parents get a lot of guests, as they try to find a doctor that will help Summer. I usually see them and for the fun of it, introduce myself and make up some things that creeps them out or just make them adore me ; It usually depends If they have a beard or not.
I quickly got changed out of my school uniform and listened to some music. It was only five in the afternoon, If Summer is coming home then they’ll be back by six. Great. Nothing to do. I like coming home to everyone here, mum usually makes dinner and me and my father discus something that I learned in school or that I am reading. I t might seem boring, but that’s the way my parents are, they let me do what I want as long as I am educated. They don’t seem to worry as much as they used to though, now they have other things on their minds, so it doesn’t matter to me what I do with my parents, as long as they notice me, I’m happy to just talk to them, even if it’s about boring history, and to be honest I like it that way. I like not having to pretend, as I don’t talk much about what I actually like and dislike, as they don’t ask me.
I decided to dance. I never usually dance, but I think I sensed inside that someone was coming upstairs, and as usual, I made a fool of myself.
My mother walked in on me shaking my ass mad to the music.
‘Sutton?’ My mum laughed from deep inside.
‘Yes?’ I quickly sat on the side of my bed; I don’t do much exercise so I had to pick my breath up. I would say quickly, but I took me a while.
‘Would you like to go to dinner with us?’ My mum was still laughing softly. Her laugh always made my stomach fill with butterfly’s
‘Yeah! Isn’t Summer allowed?’ I quickly went up to her.
‘No, she still has the flu, and pick something nice to wear, were meeting a very important doctor today!’ She walked down the corridor, I was glad, because my face drooped down in agony. I don’t want to go if it’s another meeting. I quickly ran after her, but half hay down the stairs I slipped. My butt hurt really badly.
‘Are you ok? I have told you a million times not to run down those stairs, you know you have chicken legs!’ My mum was quickly at my side to pick me up. She was never harsh, her touch on my hand was soft, but it still managed to pick me up.
‘Yeah sorry, I just wanted to tell you that I changed my mind, I don’t want to go. Those doctors get weird, I mean the better they are the more beards they have.’ I bent back to see it I hurt my back.
‘What is with you and beards?’ My mum smiled widely at me and finished walking down the stairs, as I walked up. Another night of TV and my lovely soft bed.

Atelophobia- The fear of imperfection. The fear of never being good enough.
My mind swirled around in a knot reading the sentence. I guess I can relate to this, because the truth is, I just want to be accepted. All my life I have done nothing. That’s why I want to be a doctor, I could help people, do something with my life, and then maybe this way people will not forget I existed. Then maybe my great-great grandchildren will