Creative Writing: The Giver

Words: 1151
Pages: 5

Layer by layer, she transformed herself. She watched her skin turn from a sallow, bony, splotchy mess into a luminescent glow. She lined her eyes with a dark charcoal pencil. Her lips became a deep crimson.

She slid the dress over her bony hips, pulled the straps over her shoulders, and tugged up the zipper. She surveyed herself in the mirror. That dark part of herself struggled to find something to hate about it. There could’ve been a million things. She was too skinny, she was too pale. Her breasts didn’t quite fill it out the way she would have liked.

But the thoughts didn’t intrude. In fact, she thought she actually looked kind of…. Good.

A small smile inadvertently crept onto her face. She grabbed her keys and slipped out into the
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I do not have a drinking problem, he thought. He was nervous. That’s all it was. He was taking out a gorgeous girl. He wanted a drink to calm his anxiety. He did not have a problem.

“Jonas?” His mom poked her head through the door suddenly. “Are you ready? Delilah is here.”

His stomach jumped, out of nervousness or surprise, he couldn’t tell which.

“Uh….” he said. “Be there in a minute, mom.”

She nodded and shut the door.

Jonas gently shut the door behind her and lowered himself onto the ground until he could see under his bed. He reached out and grabbed a cardboard shoe box that was tucked away under a dusty blanket.

Sitting on the edge of his bed, he opened the box

…he watched the door close, and poured himself a drink.

She didn’t have a family. Not like Jonas did. Her family consisted of herself and a distant man who didn’t exist with her as much as he did in his own world of smoke and pills.
Meeting his mother, she felt a strange sort of sadness for a life she might have known. The woman warmly welcomed her into the house, offered her a cup of tea and a chair.
She felt she could find a home here.

Why was he the one who came out with the twisted mind when he had a perfect portrayal of a
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It stretched on and on. Finally, he spoke. “I don't want you to think less of me.”
“Less of you?” She was amazed. “How could I think any less of you?”
He mumbled something. She tried to catch his words.
“Nothing,” he responded quickly when she questioned him.
She insisted. “Tell me,” she whispered.
He shook his head. “It's so stupid and cliche.”
Delilah bit her lip, knowing how he felt. “You know I would never think you were stupid,” she murmured softly. “Tell me what you're thinking.”
“I don't want you to think less of me because…” Jonas shook his head. “I’m broken.”
“...broken,” she repeated softly. Yes; she understood, possibly more than anyone. She drew her knees up to her chest and rested her head on his shoulder.
She didn’t question him further, and for that he was grateful. He could have told her about the drunken nights, the nights of shaking and mutilating and sickness. He could have told her about the days when he was higher than a kite, and lower than the ocean the next minute.
He could have told her all that, and he knew she would understand. But he had a feeling he would be able to tell her everything, someday. For now, he was able to rest in that comfort.
But for now, it was enough to just sit