Girl Not Found
a story by curioshittii
No one told me that the world was cruel to the impassioned— if I was warned beforehand, I never would’ve let the world trample on my hopes and dreams. Dear old young Alyssa was but a cute, curious, little girl. You’d always find me holding a novel like my entire existence depended on its safety; it was my favorite past time, and it allowed me to venture out into the world whilst I was at the comfort of my own home. I was called a nerd and a dork most of the times, but I didn’t care; Katniss was there to teach me to stand up to those asshats for making me feel like being literate is stupid, when in fact, being an oblivious, dumb, child like you, Gerald, was way worse.
Looking back, there was this time back in 7th grade where my teacher asked us to write a short story about a certain story which I can’t seem to remember. However, what I do remember is that my teacher at that time talked to me about the short story that I wrote about this dead girl whose soul walks the face of the Earth in search for her purpose.
“You know, Alyssa, this piece has potential.” said Mrs. Emmerson
It was such a weird thing to hear; how exactly can a 13-year-old produce something that has “potential”? It was such boggling thing to hear that all I could reply was, “What do you mean, Mrs. Emmerson?”
“You have raw talent, Alyssa. This piece was quite dark and morbid, but it was beautiful. How did you come up with this?”
I don’t know. I don’t know how I came up with it, I thought. Was it really that important? I mean, all I ever did was write for something that required me too— I really just wanted to pass this subject just so I could advance on to the next chapter of my life and move along with it.
“You know, there is a big writing competition coming next month. Clear your schedule. I want you in it.” said Mrs. Emmerson
It took me by surprise! I didn’t know how to react; I never even knew that I had it me.
“I’m pretty sure you can find someone way better than me, Mrs. Emmerson.”
“Probably, but that wasn’t a request. It was an order. You’re in.” she asserted
At that point in my life, it was just an upward spiral towards success. I was put under rigorous training by Mrs. Emmerson; in fact, she even took me in into her household just to tutor me outside of school. It’s a good thing that our house is not that far from each other. With her help, I was able to win countless competitions throughout high school. It came to a point where I knew that I was good at it and that I wanted to do it for the rest of my life, in fact it’s the college course that I took right after I graduated from high school. To purse the dream of becoming the next big author, I decided to study at a university that is known for its writing courses. It resides in a bustling city; somewhere near the capital where the hustle and bustle never stops. It’s kind of refreshing honestly. I live near somewhere that’s pretty solemn, almost as if the only living organism in that stuck up town were the grass that dances in the wind. The city is noisy; it is filled with the screams of vehicles racing to get to their destination. It is filled with the blinding lights of bars, companies, malls, and other destinations which can get obnoxious. What made me fall in love with the city was how diverse it is— it gave me the fuel to write the short story that made me come here, and turn it into a full-fledged novel.
At the age of 21, I was touring the world because of that story. Girl Not Found was an established hit— I was shaking the hands of many, signing their books, telling them how it came to be. Needless to say, it was exhausting. One day, when I was back in the city for school, whilst taking my things off of my locker, one of my classmates noticed that I was looking a little bit off-kilter, so she asked me what was happening with me. It was such a weird interaction because we’re not really close, and she weirds me out a ton of times because of how nonchalant and dead she seems.
“You know, Alyssa, you’ve been pretty dull lately. Want a hit?” she said
“A hit of what?” I asked
She inches closer to my ear and whispers, “You know, cocaine”
I was deadass shocked. Never in my entire career as a writer nor as a student did it ever cross my mind to ever do any form of drugs. I wasn’t even entranced by the idea of alcoholism or anything of the sort. I was pretty much sober my entire life, despite the fact that people have tried to peer pressure me into taking at least a sip of some beer.
I immediately flinched and pushed her back. “No thanks. I’d much rather die tired than have that near my system.” I replied aggressively. I started to walk away from her as it was such a chilling feeling to even think about consuming something illegal. I was a few inches away from her when she quickly ran in front of me and stretched her arm to my face to show me a piece of paper etched with black ink and some numbers.
“Here’s my number. Call me when you change your mind.”
Before I could say no, she quickly vaulted off of the stairs, never to be seen again. I don’t know why, but I decided to just keep her number in between one of my notebooks. I don’t know why I did that to be honest with you.
Months passed and school and work just got more and more hectic. I was in my 4th and last year in college, and things just keep on getting worse and worse. My backlogs are beyond reach, and I’m honestly just expecting to add one more year to my stay at this university as I feel like I’m about to fail all of my subjects. That’s not the worst part of it all though, my literary agent and my publisher told me that if I wanted to keep this entire reputation with my writing, I need to start writing a ton of things, like a sequel perhaps, to Girl Not Found. People online have been asking me for so much as well, and to be honest with you, it’s making me feel so much pressure.
Too much that I’m going insane— all I could do is write, write, write, and write, and trying to cram my brain for something serviceable to send to my publisher. My condo unit is littered with a ton of papers that I feel like won’t make the cut; it just feels so bland, and I feel like I’ve started off so strong with my novel, and I don’t want to disappoint the people that read my work. The clock ticks, minutes pass, hours, days, sleepless nights, and all I can think about is how I’ll ruin the reputation which put me into a spot that is able, independent, confident, and stable.
Unless…
I reach out to the shelf above my desk, and look for the notebook which I’ve kept the number. I literally had to rack the entirety of the pages just to find that tiny piece of scrap paper with that girl’s number. My mind was hazy in the midst of this, and shapes are appearing at the corners of my eyes; they’re floating like little clouds trying to smile at me.
When someone finally answered the call, at first, it was just someone breathing rapidly into the receiver, but it was immediately followed with a giggle and the girl from school’s voice.
“So, you’ve changed your mind, huh? Meet me at the 7-Eleven near the library.” she said
“I just want a taste of it. I need to stay awake.” I replied
“Fine, whatever. I’ll give you whatever you need. Bring a little sum of cash. Oh, and come quickly.”
She immediately hung up the phone without any hesitation. I quickly wear some socks and my running shoes and immediately rush out of the door in chase for that drug. I need it, and I want it. I can’t let my readers down, nor can I sacrifice my status as a writer. I’ve worked too hard for this; I can’t lose it now. What else do I have if I lost it?
I arrive at the 7-Eleven feeling like my eyes are about to burst from the blinding rays of the light emanating from the store, and my ears are literally bleeding from the sound of vehicles passing by the road. I scout around looking for the girl. I decided to sit by the curb to wait for her. In front of me is this beautiful paradise-like establishment which I’ve never seen before. It was filled with flowers, and this ethereal music was emanating from inside its walls. Whilst I was staring at its glory, I see the girl I was waiting for— she was wearing a black hoodie with black pants on. I honestly don’t know how I recognized her with the hoodie shrouding her face, but I just knew that it was her. She beckons for me to cross the street and to enter the building. I quickly stand up from my perched position and run on over. She runs inside, and I follow her into this building of pure beauty.
The next thing I know, I was staring at the headlights of the car, with a woman’s body laying flat all over me. Blood was covering her face, and her limbs was sprawled all over the concrete. People have started to pile all over the body— some were on the phone with the police, and some were white as a ghost.
“I honestly still can’t believe that that hooded girl was you, Death.” I tell Death, who’s beside me, holding his menacing staff atop my head.
“It was time. The wick of the candle was running out, and it was just unfortunate that you had to go through all of that.” He replied.
“I still can’t believe that I went crazy after all of that hard work.”
“Well? Are you ready to move on into the afterlife?” he asked.
“I don’t know, Death. I just feel like something in me is incomplete, like I’m some girl looking for something. I just don’t understand why I wrote— I don’t understand its purpose.”
“Then call me when you’re ready.” he said
After that, he disappeared into the mist, and I continue to look at my coffin whilst my family and closest friends mourn over my passing. I decided to walk out, and look for my purpose before I leave into the afterlife. I’ve decided to continue walking the face of the Earth, in search for my purpose.
At the end, I was the girl I was talking about— I was the girl not found.
