Willow - Megan Milligan (read along books txt) 📗

Willow

August 30, 2009. 7:32 p.m. The rain was crashing, splashing, pounding against the windows. The lightning lit the night sky and the thunder shook the earth. He got on a plane and was gone. Forever.
*
August 30, 2009. August 30, 2009. August 30, 2009. Willow can’t get this day out of her head, no matter what she does. This is the day she can’t bear to think about, the day her father died, the day that changed he life forever.
The shining razor lying in the dying grass shimmers in the sun, the blade reflecting the perfect rays, tempting her, taunting her. Willow knows she shouldn’t, but she can feel the guilt o that night weighing down her shoulders becoming heavier and heavier and heavier as she repeats the date over and over and over again. The clock ticks, slowly, echoing longer and louder with every second. Tick, tock, tick, tock…
Flashbacks of the phone ringing and mom crying and the rain crashing, splashing, pounding on the windows can’t seem to leave her alone. Tick, tock, tick, tock…
7:33 p.m. Willow can see the clouds slowly building up in the sky. The clouds begin to darken the earth around her, but the razor still shimmers in the sun, still tempting her, taunting her. The voice of the razor whispers in her ear sweet soft songs of temptation that suggest the inevitable. The songs are quiet, drawing her closer out of curiosity. The ticking of the clock becomes louder and louder with every minute, every second. Tick…tock…tick…tock…
The flashbacks come faster, harder, louder, submerging Willow in haunting memories. The phone rings violently in her head while visions of her mom picking up the phone, bursting out in tears, and dropping the phone echo throughout her mind. The overwhelming feeling of a hole in her stomach returns with a vengeance, almost recreating that night perfectly. As the clouds continue to devour the earth around her at a glacial pace, only making the tick tick ticking of the clock more and more overpowering, the whisper of the razor begins to get impatient. The voice becomes louder, stronger, demanding more, suggesting less. Yet the voice of the razor only begins to get more tempting, providing more “pros” and less “cons”. Tick…tock…tick…tock
Willow’s shoulders become heavier as the happiness of the sun is being overtaken by the darkening clouds. The sun, like the light at the end of the tunnel, is slowly disappearing, becoming more and more distant, removing all hope. Tick..tock…tick…tock…
7:35 p.m. Willow glances back at the razor, now submerged in darkness from the clouds as Willow is submerged in guilt that continues to weigh her down. The whisper is now a quiet voice, louder than before. The voice is now must alluring, drawing Willow closer and closer, tempting her more and more as the voice promises an outing from the guild and desolation building up inside of her.
She gives in and grasps the razor in her now sweaty palm At the tick tick ticking of the clock becomes louder and louder, slower and slower, Willow’s grip becomes stronger and stronger, tighter and tighter. As her grip tightens she begins to feel every edge of the razor, greeting her skin impolitely, yet encouraging Willows tightening grip and ensuring a way out of this hell. The razor is transferred from one hand to the other, back and forth, back and forth as Willow thinks about what will happen next. As the clock tick tick ticks louder and louder, faster and faster, as the flashbacks come harder, faster, stronger, filling her head. The sun is now gone, completely submerged by the black clouds, devouring the helpless earth below. The razor sits in Willow’s right hand as she slowly brings it closer to her left arm, the palm of her left hand facing the blackened sky. Slowly, Willow pushes down on the razor, making an indentation in her arm. Tick…tock…tick…tock…
7:36 p.m. Flashbacks of that night buzz around her head, making Willow unaware of her current surroundings and feeling like she’s back at her house when the phone rings. At the first cry of her mother she pushes down harder, releasing a pool of blood, guilt, and desolation. The guild is lifted off of Willow’s shoulders as she watches the blood frantically escape from her arm. The flashbacks continue to be hard, fast, and strong as Willow sees her surroundings spinning, spinning, spinning around her. The tick tick ticking becomes faster, louder, nerve racking, but Willow is finally relaxed.
As everything is spinning, spinning, spinning around her head and the razor slides deeper, deeper, deeper into her wrist, the rain is crashing, splashing, pounding as Willow is falling…falling…falling…as she slowly loses her grip. Tick..tock…tick…tock…

Publication Date: 03-07-2013

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