Prompt: the song Permanent Vacation by 5 Seconds of Summer
She will run away to chase her dreams The words were on her wall, in bold letters made with black tape. She always promised herself that she’d stay true to the promise that her 12-year old rebel self had put op in her room. She’d put the quote there in a time where she was opposed to everything, just because she could; like any 12-year old wanting more freedom and wishing she was older. But the 18-year old student that she’d become was different, sensible. That girl worked hard, showed up in time, never missed a deadline and still had time for her friends. She seemed to be a happy girl, and for a long time she’d thought she was happy. But a new year had started, and her social media feed was filled with encouragements to chase your dreams, to do the things you always wanted to do, to reach your goals, always complemented with the #newbeginning. Although she usually ignored these things, she found herself staring at them more often than intended. She found herself going through the pictures of an old co-worker who’d taken his bags and moved to Australia, planning on finding a job there for a year. She found herself looking at all the messages that said that now was the time to do a certain thing, and her heart ached. She wanted a new beginning this year. It wasn’t that she was unhappy or that her life was miserable; the problem was that every day was the same. And it had been that way for too long. Now, foreign countries were calling her more than ever; the further away, the better. She had never been a person to go strange places. She liked her home, she didn’t wish to study abroad, she was fine with staying in her own little comfort zone. And that’s what she usually did. She never stepped out of her comfort zone except for the occasional book she bought without checking what it was about beforehand. But now, now she wanted to chase her dreams like her 12 year old self had wanted, she wanted to explore and have adventures. Something new. But she was sensible. She knew that it was stupid to give up her place at uni, something she’d worked hard to achieve, in the middle of her bachelor. She knew she didn’t have the money, nor the guts to tell her friends and family that she was going away for a year and she didn’t know where. So instead, she turned up the volume of her music, songs blasting through her speakers. It was the music her 12 year old self had listened to, the music that had never really left her although she left the rebellious period behind a long time ago. She listened once more to the songs about chasing dreams, about running away, about rebelling against the standard life, about rebellious teenagers, about leaving everything behind. Those were the songs the sensible girl danced to, when she was home alone and nobody could see her. Those were the songs she hummed to as she walked to class. They were also the songs that made her buy a practical backpack and save money. Just in case she ever was going to stick to that promise on her wall. She will run away to chase her dreams before she falls apart at the seams
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You’re just like your father
“You’re just like your father”. The first time she’d heard that, was from her mother, who said it lovingly as she came inside with her dad, nose bright red, hands cold and shivering. They had been outside, enjoying the snow on Christmas. Her mother had called the both of them in a long time ago, saying they were too cold and that they needed to warm up. Both of them had been too stubborn to admit it until her father had finally taken her inside, seeing that she was constantly shivering. She didn’t mind it though; she’d had fun and that was all that mattered to the three year old girl. The next time she heard it, was from her grandparents. She’d been staying with them for two days now because her parents were busy doing something, she wasn’t sure what. They didn’t have girl toys, only the lego her father used to play with. She didn’t mind; she set to work on a large house, and they took pictures of her building with her tongue out. “You’re just like your father” her grandmother told her, proceeding to call her parents to tell them all about it. “He was building houses too,” her grandfather informed her. All she did was smile and continue building. Her neighbours told her the same thing when she was staying there once. Her parents were busy again, she wasn’t sure with what. They were never home at the same time, and if they were, they would never cuddle with her like they used to. Instead, she could hear their voices coming from the hallway, and they never sounded happy again. Now she was staying with her neigbours and the six year old girl tried her best to ignore the sad looks they gave her. It was time to go to bed, but her hair was all messed up after spending a long day in the garden. Her neighbour was brushing it, telling her it was just like her father’s; black, curly and always messy. She smiled. She loved her father. Her mother told it her once more. She hadn’t seen her father for a few days; he always seemed to be away. Her mother wasn’t as happy anymore, and wouldn’t look at her drawings. She was stubborn, kept pushing. Her mother sighed, taking one quick look before looking at the bottle in front of her again. “You’re just like your father. You won’t take no for an answer”. It wasn’t as lovingly as the first time, but it wasn’t mad either, not yet. The next time she heard it was when she was fourteen. She hadn’t seen her father in years and she’d realized that he wasn’t the great father she thought him to be. She lived with her mother now, for seven years already. Her father had left them a long time ago, and according to her mother, he wouldn’t visit again. The last time she’d seen him, he told her she wasn’t his daughter anymore. That had hurt, but her mother explained everything that happened. He was an alcoholic, abusive and violent. He’d been cheating on her mother for a long time, even had a daughter with that women. She supposed that was his daughter now. She had always ignored the times when he wasn’t happy, but now she knew that had been the foolishness of a child. And perhaps, the will to see the good in everything. She’d grown up, made friends. Friends who she wanted to have fun with. So one evening, when her mom wasn’t home and had strictly told her to stay in, she broke that rule and went over to a friend. Her mom was never home before half past nine, so when she returned home at nine she thought she’d be fine. Except that her mom had been home early and was furious. After she shouted a long time, she sat down on a chair. “You’re just like your father.” The girl thought back to the first time she’d heard it from her mother. Then it had been a compliment. Now it was an insult. It was a thought that always came back to her whenever her mom used that phrase, and she used it often enough when she was angry. “You’re just like your father.” Once, it had been a good thing. Now it was the worst. |
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February 2017
About meWelcome to my blog! This is where I post my stories, occasionally accompanied by personal thoughts. I always post short stories, as I keep the longer ones for myself. My stories are often based on songs. I listen to music a lot (mostly pop punk / punk rock), and often get inspired by melodies, lyrics, or music videos. |