Just Like You
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Just Like You
by DreamCatcher81 2/7/2010, 10:05 pm
Just Like You
12/21/94
The snow fell gently from the sky, blanketing the New York City sidewalks with a thin white layer of snow, only for it to be worn to slush in mere moments by the pedestrians traversing the sidewalk. The busy hubbub outside seemed foreign and strange compared to the peaceful scene in the hospital where new life had just been born.
The mother lay on the cot, silent, admiring the child that lay in her arms. So tiny and beautiful and amazing; that’s what this child was. Her husband leaned over from where he sat crouched down by her side, only to brush several damp curls from her forehead, and then ran his hand down the length of her arm till he caught her hand and gently tugged it towards him, entwining their fingers. He reached his other hand across her to lay it on his new baby daughter yet again, still marveling at her.
“She’s beautiful,” he began, speaking softly in his wife’s ear, “Just like her mother, just like you.” She returned his smile with a weak one and gripped his hand tighter as he leaned down to kiss it softly and look back at her, and their eyes locked. His blue eyes were gentle and caring and filled with love towards the mother and daughter in the room, her soft brown eyes were quiet and solemn and filled with wonder at this new baby.
“No, she’s beautiful, just like you,” she replied quickly before he cut her off, echoing her statement back to her again.
“No, she’s beautiful, just like you,” he contradicted, and then they sat in silence, lost in each other’s eyes and in the beauty of their daughter.
* * *
9/11/01
“Why Momma, why?” a girl asked, her voice breaking with pain, from where she sat cradled next to her mother. She didn’t look to the right at her sniffling brother, or to the left at her trembling sister. “Why?” she repeated in a voice echoing sadness long after it had finished speaking.
“I don’t know honey,” her mother admitted, looking down at her daughter’s tear-stained face. “But he was strong, just like you are going to be now, because that’s what he would want you to do,” she explained, and although she looked comforting on the outside, inside a pain far deeper than that of her children’s cut her to her very soul.
“He wants me to be strong?” the girl asked timidly, looking up at her mother’s warm face once more, and sniffled quietly.
“Yes, Katelyna, he does,” her mother replied. “Yes, he was strong, just like you.” But the girl just bent over sobbing, because she didn’t want to be strong.
* * *
2/7/10
The little blonde girl sat on the rough pew quietly next to her dark-haired sister in her new wheelchair, solemn and dressed in black. She didn’t want to think about what was happening. She knew where she was- the church- and she knew why she was here- the funeral- and she knew who this was for- her older brother- but she didn’t honestly want to know.
She’d found the letter earlier that morning. She was only eight, but she could decipher some of the writing. It had gone something like this:
Dear Cecilia,
I know you were too young to know you brother very well when he passed away, and I’m writing this only days after he did. So this is to tell you more about him so you can have a chance to remember him when you grow older, He was a swimmer, he wanted to go to the Olympics for it. He was tall, and had brown eyes just like your sister, just like me, but he had blonde hair, just like your father, just like you. He liked smoothies and peanut butter and he loved Hawaii- if he couldn’t go to the Olympics, then he wanted to move there. But most importantly, he loved you very much, I want you to know that.
Love,
Mom
* * *
5/3/11
“I wanna know about Daddy and Blake,” the little girl whispered, watching the older girls face for reaction. She kept it stoic, fighting the wave of pain just from hearing that statement. Why did it hurt? She already knew it happened.
“Dad,” the older girl said, pausing fighting to keep her voice reasonable. “He was great. He died the year after you were born. You probably don’t remember him.”
“Nuh uh,” the blonde one interrupted. “I see pictures and hear stories.”
“Alright then.” The older girl smiled slightly. “Well he worked downtown New York in the two tallest buildings in the city and he was on the second to top floor.”
“And then the evil man wrecked plane into them right?” she asked, looking up dolefully with her big blue eyes.
“Yah. And then he died,” she said, brushing away the tear that trickled from the corner of her eye. “Blake, well you remember Blake right.” The younger one nodded so she continued. “He was a swimmer and good at it to.”
“Just like you. You are good too Kat,” her sister reminded her.
“Were,” she corrected. “Were, not are. I don’t swim anymore.”
“Because of Blake,” the younger one verified and the older girl nodded. “I don’ think he would want you to quit something you love. He would want you to continue if he was here.”
Dang, for a 6 year old she was smart, the older one thought.
“That’s my choice,” she snapped a little too sharp. “Sorry,” she muttered and continued. “Well he was hit by a drunk driver last summer and killed. I was in the car with him and that’s how I got stuck in this,” she said, disdainfully looking at her wheelchair. What would she do to change that day, not be in this wheelchair and have her brother back with her? She would do practically anything.
“And then we move ‘cause New York was hard for Mommy to be in. It remind her of Blake and Daddy dying right?” her sister asked, hitting the target once again. She nodded morosely in agreement.
“Yep, and if you don’t mind I’m going to bed,” she said, guiding her to the door even though it was only 8 ‘o clock p.m. but because she wanted to be alone then.
12/21/94
The snow fell gently from the sky, blanketing the New York City sidewalks with a thin white layer of snow, only for it to be worn to slush in mere moments by the pedestrians traversing the sidewalk. The busy hubbub outside seemed foreign and strange compared to the peaceful scene in the hospital where new life had just been born.
The mother lay on the cot, silent, admiring the child that lay in her arms. So tiny and beautiful and amazing; that’s what this child was. Her husband leaned over from where he sat crouched down by her side, only to brush several damp curls from her forehead, and then ran his hand down the length of her arm till he caught her hand and gently tugged it towards him, entwining their fingers. He reached his other hand across her to lay it on his new baby daughter yet again, still marveling at her.
“She’s beautiful,” he began, speaking softly in his wife’s ear, “Just like her mother, just like you.” She returned his smile with a weak one and gripped his hand tighter as he leaned down to kiss it softly and look back at her, and their eyes locked. His blue eyes were gentle and caring and filled with love towards the mother and daughter in the room, her soft brown eyes were quiet and solemn and filled with wonder at this new baby.
“No, she’s beautiful, just like you,” she replied quickly before he cut her off, echoing her statement back to her again.
“No, she’s beautiful, just like you,” he contradicted, and then they sat in silence, lost in each other’s eyes and in the beauty of their daughter.
* * *
9/11/01
“Why Momma, why?” a girl asked, her voice breaking with pain, from where she sat cradled next to her mother. She didn’t look to the right at her sniffling brother, or to the left at her trembling sister. “Why?” she repeated in a voice echoing sadness long after it had finished speaking.
“I don’t know honey,” her mother admitted, looking down at her daughter’s tear-stained face. “But he was strong, just like you are going to be now, because that’s what he would want you to do,” she explained, and although she looked comforting on the outside, inside a pain far deeper than that of her children’s cut her to her very soul.
“He wants me to be strong?” the girl asked timidly, looking up at her mother’s warm face once more, and sniffled quietly.
“Yes, Katelyna, he does,” her mother replied. “Yes, he was strong, just like you.” But the girl just bent over sobbing, because she didn’t want to be strong.
* * *
2/7/10
The little blonde girl sat on the rough pew quietly next to her dark-haired sister in her new wheelchair, solemn and dressed in black. She didn’t want to think about what was happening. She knew where she was- the church- and she knew why she was here- the funeral- and she knew who this was for- her older brother- but she didn’t honestly want to know.
She’d found the letter earlier that morning. She was only eight, but she could decipher some of the writing. It had gone something like this:
Dear Cecilia,
I know you were too young to know you brother very well when he passed away, and I’m writing this only days after he did. So this is to tell you more about him so you can have a chance to remember him when you grow older, He was a swimmer, he wanted to go to the Olympics for it. He was tall, and had brown eyes just like your sister, just like me, but he had blonde hair, just like your father, just like you. He liked smoothies and peanut butter and he loved Hawaii- if he couldn’t go to the Olympics, then he wanted to move there. But most importantly, he loved you very much, I want you to know that.
Love,
Mom
* * *
5/3/11
“I wanna know about Daddy and Blake,” the little girl whispered, watching the older girls face for reaction. She kept it stoic, fighting the wave of pain just from hearing that statement. Why did it hurt? She already knew it happened.
“Dad,” the older girl said, pausing fighting to keep her voice reasonable. “He was great. He died the year after you were born. You probably don’t remember him.”
“Nuh uh,” the blonde one interrupted. “I see pictures and hear stories.”
“Alright then.” The older girl smiled slightly. “Well he worked downtown New York in the two tallest buildings in the city and he was on the second to top floor.”
“And then the evil man wrecked plane into them right?” she asked, looking up dolefully with her big blue eyes.
“Yah. And then he died,” she said, brushing away the tear that trickled from the corner of her eye. “Blake, well you remember Blake right.” The younger one nodded so she continued. “He was a swimmer and good at it to.”
“Just like you. You are good too Kat,” her sister reminded her.
“Were,” she corrected. “Were, not are. I don’t swim anymore.”
“Because of Blake,” the younger one verified and the older girl nodded. “I don’ think he would want you to quit something you love. He would want you to continue if he was here.”
Dang, for a 6 year old she was smart, the older one thought.
“That’s my choice,” she snapped a little too sharp. “Sorry,” she muttered and continued. “Well he was hit by a drunk driver last summer and killed. I was in the car with him and that’s how I got stuck in this,” she said, disdainfully looking at her wheelchair. What would she do to change that day, not be in this wheelchair and have her brother back with her? She would do practically anything.
“And then we move ‘cause New York was hard for Mommy to be in. It remind her of Blake and Daddy dying right?” her sister asked, hitting the target once again. She nodded morosely in agreement.
“Yep, and if you don’t mind I’m going to bed,” she said, guiding her to the door even though it was only 8 ‘o clock p.m. but because she wanted to be alone then.
Last edited by DreamCatcher81 on 2/10/2010, 1:36 am; edited 3 times in total
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Re: Just Like You
by shadowsowner888 2/7/2010, 10:19 pm
Awwww. 
I'm feeling so bad for Kat all over again, and also remembering how awesome BTW was. xD
I'm feeling so bad for Kat all over again, and also remembering how awesome BTW was. xD
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Re: Just Like You
by DreamCatcher81 2/7/2010, 10:25 pm
Haha thanks! Yay, pity party for Kat! There's a lot of those in BTW. . . . . . And there's more in the sequel and especially if I ever get to the third one when- well if I said it it would ruin a huge part!
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Re: Just Like You
by LuckyPenny666 2/7/2010, 10:30 pm
That's really sad. :-( But you did a great job with it! 
Is BTW on Twig? I haven't read it yet, and I'd really like to.
Is BTW on Twig? I haven't read it yet, and I'd really like to.
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Re: Just Like You
by DreamCatcher81 2/7/2010, 10:31 pm
Thanks!
Actually I deleted it for copywrite reasons. Technically it is, but all it is is a bunch of blue posts that say something like Deleted for Copywrite Reasons or something like that! Haha.
Actually I deleted it for copywrite reasons. Technically it is, but all it is is a bunch of blue posts that say something like Deleted for Copywrite Reasons or something like that! Haha.
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Re: Just Like You
by shadowsowner888 2/7/2010, 10:49 pm
Duuuude. xD *whiney* You need to get it published so I can read it! Speaking of which, how's the progress? ^^
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Re: Just Like You
by DreamCatcher81 2/7/2010, 11:49 pm
Ugh. . . . Ok. I shouldn't but I'm going through and editing it a bunch before I write anymore though 'cause the style is just totally ticking me off! CH&A is soooooooo much better so now everytime I try to work on it ticks me off which bugs me more because I only have like 15 boring chapters in the middle to finish! 
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Re: Just Like You
by shadowsowner888 2/7/2010, 11:56 pm
Lol, well, that's still working on it. ^^ Editing is important. I get what you mean about CH&A . . . the boring stuff is the worst. 
It always helps me to work in some random subplots if things get boring!
It always helps me to work in some random subplots if things get boring!
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Re: Just Like You
by DreamCatcher81 2/7/2010, 11:57 pm
CH&A is fun though 'cause there's like no boring parts! Hehe.
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Re: Just Like You
by shadowsowner888 2/8/2010, 12:21 am
Oh, I thought you meant CH&A had the boring parts. xD That's good, then, if not!!
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Re: Just Like You
by rattyjol 2/10/2010, 12:27 am
“Yah. And then he died,” she said, brushing away the tear that trickled from the corner of my eye. “Blake, well you remember Blake right.” The younger one nodded so she continued. “He was a swimmer and good at it to.”
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Re: Just Like You
by DreamCatcher81 2/10/2010, 12:35 am
Wait I checked, and there's a my there. . . . .
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Re: Just Like You
by DreamCatcher81 2/10/2010, 1:35 am
Oh!!!! Thanks! Haha. I'm so clueless sometimes. 
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