LISA is the very last story I wrote and the only one I still have from my childhood. The day I decided to write Hamartia, I dug Lisa out from the depths of my closet to re-read it with adult eyes and finally understood why the teachers took action to ‘save me’. So I kinda sorta forgave those I loathed and blamed for making my life hell when I was twelve and decided to move on. To be honest, the story is not as vivid as I remember it; however, the topic would cause any responsible adult to react as those teachers had.
Here are the opening and closing scenes to LISA. I have not edited it since I was twelve other than to cut out the middle (to make it shorter for you) and I changed the verbs to the present tense which is how it was originally written. In seventh grade, my teacher made me convert it into past tense because “No one writes in present tense, it’s just wrong”. I don’t conform well to rules, so it’s back to its original form. Screw you, Mr. seventh grade teacher!! (ok, maybe I haven’t totally moved on).
Have a read-through and tell me in your comments what you’d do if you read this story written by your underachieving, trouble-making twelve-year-old sister, daughter or niece.
Panting, Lisa runs through the wet grass, occasionally throwing a quick glance over her sore shoulder. Each time seeing his face, his dark and dreadful face.
Why was she the one caught in the position? What had she done wrong to deserve this?
Quickly and unnoticed, he catches up to her, grabbing at the back of her blouse and pulling her down with a struggle. She yells as she unconsciously twists her ankle and scrapes the side of her tear-streaked face. He now has her pinned to the ground on her back with her dark blue skirt pulled up under her cold chin. He fumbles with the silver button on his worn out blue jeans. Thinking no one heard her at first, she yells once more. Unable to control her screaming, he blindly hits her, nervously trying to shut her up. Her screaming is completely unmanageable and again he strikes her, feeling her cold, wet face and seeing it slowly redden, feeling no guilt.
She blames herself for what’s happening. She shouldn’t have run out of the house the way she had. She somehow knew her life would come to this, being forced into something she didn’t want. She stares up into his face and wonders if her step-father is aware of what he is doing. Could alcohol really cause such a gentle kind man to do such horrible things? Yet he looks so angered. So set to what he’s doing. Did he ever do this to her precious mother? Did he drink before she died?
Her thoughts are interrupted by another sharp slap across her face. She realizes she is still furiously screaming. He now has his underwear lowered and is ready. After realizing this, she makes her screaming much louder and high pitched. Closing her eyes in disgust, she feels a sharp pain enter her body through her lower private part.
…to summarize the middle; a boy named Bobby finds her and insists on taking her to the hospital…
As they drive to the hospital, Lisa looks at the car door handle and thinks for a moment. She has never met anyone who cared about her like Bobby does, but it just isn’t enough, she needs more. She reaches for the handle then pauses, looking at Bobby and touching his arm, gently. She then flings herself out of the speeding car and into the opposing traffic.
As she drifts through a mindless wander of names and faces, she hears her name called, one, last, time. But it’s much too late to turn back now.
She hopes that she will be reincarnated as a flower or a butterfly. Something she could be proud of, not just some worthless rag that someone decided to use and take advantage of while under the influence of alcohol.
Suddenly, everything goes black. She recognizes the fact that a passing vehicle must have hit her. Maybe this wasn’t the end, but just a new beginning.
Lisa died that night with a smile on her face, the only two to ever know why were herself and God. The only one who may have cared for her throughout her entire life. There’s only one way to find out. Walk through the bright light.
…the end…
How would you react? Tell me in your comments. I’d love to hear from you!
11 thoughts on “Lisa – the short story that ended (postponed) my writing life”
Well, Raquel, I would have reacted the same way as your teachers did. How can a 12 yr old girl come up with such a story ? You must have been such a handful as a child!!
I was a complete A-hole.
Truth be told, I too would have been concerned if I were one of your teachers. Considering the fact that the subject matter is so sensitive, and that the story is so well written, it seemed too real to be fictional. It doesn’t strike me as your typical 12 year old’s writing style.
12 going on God knows what age ! Raq, at 12 I couldn’t have written so well, nor could I ever have conjured up that subject matter in my wildest imagination !
Disturbing to say the least that a 12 yr old would want or be able to write about the content at hand; were all your earlier writings as vivid and violating?
I honestly don’t remember anything I wrote at all. Lisa stood out because of the fiasco that followed, otherwise, I would’ve discarded it from my memory as I have all the others. It’s likely all my writing had the same tone. When I wasn’t watching the Ren & Stimpy show or Pinky & the Brain, I was watching true crime and Law & Order.
I guess teacher (7grade teacher) was right. What could happen in the life of 12 yrs old girl to make up such a remarkable story. From perspective I can think that you were very observed and sensitive young person, going through some sort of difficulties and your written story made you noticed.
Great job Raquel!
I do remember this story Raquel. As soon as you posted the tag I knew what story it was. I remember the aftermath of it as well. At the time I just saw it as a “good” piece of writing. We lacked the perspective and the maturity to understand what a shocking, downright disturbing work you were creating. I remember the teacher in question, and he did the right thing. Any teacher with an ounce of sense would do the same. In fact, we are legally obligated to do so. I’m sorry the incident made you put down your pen, but I’m not sorry that someone cared enough to make sure no one was hurting you.
I completely agree! They did the right thing for sure. I was too stubborn to see that their concern had nothing to do with my ability to write and everything to do with the topic I wrote about. I’m glad I kept the story all these years so I could finally let go of the grudge I subconsciously clung on to.
WOW! I guess I was not in your class that year??? Was it Mr. Harrigan/Harrison? I don’t even remember you writing it…BUT I remember your rebellious nature and loved that about you. Those poor teachers!!! A great piece of writing, desptie the content. You have always had it in you Raq, so keep it up!
I have NO clue who Harrigan/Harrison is so I suppose we were not in the same class that year! All good teachers deserve awards for putting up with jerks like me.