Hello everyone, I have taken a crack at a short story, this is about my own life but I have changed out the name for privacy reasons, I appreciate feedback and hope you all enjoy, all my love - N
Lily felt displaced for as long as she could remember, out of place, or wedged in between. She didn’t remember much of her childhood, not even passing memories; she only had anecdotes told to her by others. Nothing felt personal, nothing real.
Her mother died when she was young, and along with her childhood, her mother was lost with it, a mere mention in the passage of her life. She hadn’t heard wonderful things about her. Not that she was terrible or evil, just that perhaps she wasn’t meant to be a mother. Perhaps she would’ve been something greater if she hadn’t had her, and that’s where the guilt came in.
Lily had sisters, but she couldn’t help but think that, as the youngest, would things have been different if she hadn’t been born? Would life have been better for her siblings? Would her mother, in her short life, have been happier?
Her mother was talented, no doubt, smart and self-assured, fulfilled and happy. She had a husband, children, a home, and a career. But then Lily came along, and it all seemed to break down. Was she the first stage of failure?
In some cruel cosmic irony, she looked the most like her mother. Everything seemed familiar, the same hair colour, smile, eyes, expressions. Everyone reminded her that she looked exactly like a woman she never knew and would never know.
It felt like torture. Every time she was reminded, she was not Lily anymore, she was her mother. She didn’t feel like an individual, but like a memory for others. It was so very frustrating.
Even despite the frustration, she felt heartbroken for a woman she never truly knew, but who had brought her into the world, who had breathed her into existence. She mourned the memories of those who remembered her, not the woman herself, and that made her feel awful.
Despite all these terrible feelings, she wanted to feel like her own woman, especially as she came into full adulthood. So, she went to the store and picked up a box of black hair dye. She wanted to use it to cover the blonde hair her mother had given her, so she might look like her own person, like an individual.
When she started studying health and social care, she dreamed of being a nurse, or perhaps a radiologist, until she was told that was her mother’s career. So she pivoted. She completed her qualification in health and social care and began studying English at university, dreaming of becoming a teacher, until she was told her mother had been a primary school teacher before her career in radiology.
Lily felt as if the universe was playing a cruel joke on her. Why her, and no one else? So she did the only thing she thought she could do.
She dyed her blonde hair black.
As the dye took over her roots, she felt more at ease, as if she were covering something deeper, something spiritual, something emotional. Slowly, the comments comparing her to her mother stopped, and she felt more like herself, more like a person.
When she saw herself in the mirror with her new black hair, she realised that she liked it. Even if her family thought the blonde suited her better, it did not matter, she thought it was pretty. It belonged to her.
And as months passed, and she saw the blonde appearing once more, she stood from her bed and looked into the mirror, knowing she would have to cover her roots again.
dailybridgerton
ellievsbear
turnnoffyourmind
blakekathryn
areudirty
yousharknotpass
romaincrisis