Chatterbox: Chirp at Cricket

Hello everybody....this is a short story that I've decided to write. It kinda symbolizes some things about me.

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I've always had so many dreams. Throughought my life so many different ideas have entered my desperate mind. Things I've wanted to feel. To do. To experience...

Yet somehow I manage to hate myself for wasting so much time. For doing absoloutly nothing important and instead whittling the hours of my life away without a care in the world. Except I do care. I care so much.

It is my life, after all. Yet I manage to not care. And then hate myself for not caring.

All of my goals? Worthless. Worthless if I don't work on them. Workless. So if I want these things so much, why do I refuse to care about what happens? Why do I refuse to try my best?

I've been complimented so many times. Yet each time it only makes me hate myself more...because I could always be better. I'm good at drawing, or flute, or singing, but never the best. And I never will be.

Or that's what I tell myself each day when she sun finally sets. Another day without achieving anything. Another day of my life wasted. Nothing learned. Nothing finished.

Behind on my school even more.

Have you ever heard that one quote? The one that has encouraged so many people, but me of course. "Don't put of until tommorow what you can do today." 

"The world can always end."

Well, this is the story of how I never got to accomplish my dreams. My goals. The story of how the walls kept tumbling down.

The story of how tomorrow never did come. 

I was lying in my bed, contemplating my day. Some music practice had been in there. I had practiced my dedicated time, but never more. Never overacheiving. Not actually getting better or moving forward. I drew a picture, but it was awful. So I threw it in the fire. 

That was my day. Slacking off on math, which I was way behind on. Watching videos, reading nonsensical stuff, corrupting my mind even further. Continuing the awful habits that overpowered my life.

Even while wasting my day, I never fell asleep before eleven at night. Even when I would shut down my computer, the stuff would cloud my brain and encourage insomnia.

Then I would wake up early the next morning, and waste another day.

It was a repetitive cycle that I had refused to change. Maybe tomorrow, i would tell myself. Maybe tomorrow I can accomplish something. 

But then again I told myself, "Don't expect anything from yourself Katie. That way if you actually accomplish something, you can be pleasently surprised. Even inspired."

But what I refused to do for the past two, maybe three years of my life, what I had planned to do  tomorrow, was always put off.

I would be turning fourteen. An official teenager. Maybe things could change then, and I could finally pick myself up and be content. 

But tomorrow never came.

My first doubt came when a loud crash resounded from the kitchen. Mostly likely the only one awake, I shot out of my bed with an eagerness to investigate. It was probably a cat, and I hope the clumsy things didn't break anything fragile.

Of course the thoughts took me out of my depressing demeanor.

I opened the door slowly, letting out a small meow. "Pepper? Ginger? Was that you?" I whispered, stepping out onto the wooden hall, shuddering at the uncomfortable temperature.

There was a light coming from the kitchen. That was odd I had pondered. Usually my mom turned off all of the lights.

Again, it might have been a cat, but I was beginning to doubt that theory.

Slowly and instinctively quietly, I moved towards the light, squinting. "Hello?" I called.

That was probably a bad idea. I heard the shuffling of feet, and tilted my head curiously.

It might have been my brother getting something to drink. 

But again I still doubted my theories, creeping forward nonetheless.

It was when I entered the kicthen that I realized everything was over. When I realized tomorrow would never come.  I would never once have the chance to live out my dreams and do my best. 

I would never turn fourteen.

It was the gunshot that followed my realization that certified it. My scream woke the whole house, as the robber escaped.

I would never get to see tomorrow.

Tomorrow would never come.

The end had crept up on me, and took my chances away without a second thought. No, that wasn't true. I had used up all of my chances.

"Tomorrow might never come..."

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This got really sad, I hope not too sad for you. It's kinda based on my usual lack of dedication. And the fact that I am turning fourteen. I'm trying to prepare myself for it in more ways than one, and planning on picking myself up. But then again it's just a week away. It may never come.

Think of the people in Pompeii, who all unexpectedly were killed by the volcano.

Don't wait to do tomorrow what you can do today. 

Accomplish your goals.

Don't waste a second of your precious life.

Not one.