My therapists told me to publish my journals. If you want continuations, or to correct my grammar since I’m translating them from my native language to English, you can DM me, but I doubt anyone will want it. So….
“I met her when I was young. Between five or seven, I don’t know, the memories blur themselves with time. I do remember how we met though. My family used to go to this very small mountain town every holiday, vacation and long weekend we got; something about dad liking ‘the fresh small town air’. We would stay at my grandparent’s house and while the adults did “adult stuff” I would be bored out of my mind. A bored kid does stupid things. This specific day, I decided climbing the tallest tree I knew of would be a nice engugh adventure.
It wasn’t.
“Hey, why are you crying?”
She looked so cute as a kid. Red curly hair behind her ears, little nails painted red, a red dress and red shoes, with skin so white and not one freckle in sight on her face. Even her lips were red, probably due to the strawberries in her hand.
“Wha- I’m not crying!”
“Really?” Tilting her head and narrowing her eyes “Doesn’t look like it. What It does look like “munch” is you climbed the tree, “munch” fell, “munch” and now you’re crying on the ground.”munch. “
There went the last strawberry in her hand. I was fixated on them, for some reason.
“What is It to you anyway? Gonna snitch on me or something?”
“I don’t really care. I was just curious. You looked all red and I wanted to see If you were gonna die. But you seem fine, so I will just get going.”
And with that, she turned to leave.
“All red? What?” But as I looked down, I understood what she was saying. I was pretty high up when I fell down the tree, and the only thing that probably saved me from demise were all the branches that caught me on the way down. Unfortunately, due to that, I not only had a very bruised bum, but my arms and legs were full of small cuts that were bleeding enough to make my school’s nurse faint. I got up in a panicked state, and in my haste to reach the girl I fell down again while speaking:
“Oh no nonono aaaah! Wait! Please! You gotta help me out!
“What?”
Mom’s gonna ground me forever if she sees me like this! Please, please help me out!”
She turned her head to the side, much like our puppy when presented with a treat:
“I dunno… I really shouldn’t be talking to you, you know? Actually I shouldn’t even be here, I’m…”
“See! You know! Mom can’t see me like this! “
Kids always knew where to press
“I won’t tell anyone about this, I swear! I ain’t a rat, *“you never existed!** Just, please, help me!”
“And what do I get out of It?”
Kids always knew where to press
“I… anything!”
*Still, even knowing where to press, kids are** very, very** stupid
“Anything you want, If I can give It then it’s yours! I got this pokémon card collection…”
“I don’t want your collection. But… alright. I will help you. I will hold on to the favour, though. I haven’t decided what I want yet. Follow me. And don’t touch me, you’re dirty”
“Alright! Thanks a lot… hum… what’s your name anyways? Mine’s Alex.”
“I don’t need a name. I don’t exist, remember?”
“Well I gotta call you something! I’ll call you… Red! Like little red riding hood!”
“Red, really? Not very creative, are you?”
“You could always tell me your name if you don’t like it, Red.”
“No, I like red.”
Red It was.
**Practically, today, no country recognizes an 8 years old child signature as a binding document **