Writing Resources from Fifteen Minutes of Fiction

My Earrings

I was wearing two dangling earrings the first time I met you. We were seven years old, and you were the neighbour on the other side of the fence. Mum never liked me wearing earrings, but I thought they were beautiful -even if they made my ears feel as if they're about to fall off. You were a boy, I was a girl; apparently, that was all it took for us to hate each other.
Because we were two different people.
When I first saw you at school, I was nine years old and wearing silver studs. Our Christian school wouldn't let us wear anything else, so I had to settle for the plain, boring earrings which mixes me up with every other girl in school. It made me feel like I was one of them. And you were telling a million people about how wild my hair was in the morning, which made me mad. I punched you in the face.
Three years later and long after your nose healed up, I was wearing two golden hoops in my ears. I was doing a pet-wash at the local centre, and my lips twisted in horror the minute you entered the store. You brought a small, scruffy dash hound, and I had a hard time wondering which end his head was at. You rolled your eyes at my stupidity, and "to wake me up," you got the hose and sprayed water all over my face.
We were fifteen when we decided our childhood was behind us. Although we couldn't help jabbing insults, but we were mostly friends. I was wearing emerald earrings, ones which I inherited from my mother, when you said I wasn't that bad. I was about to sarcastically retort to that when I saw you looking down. Though it wasn't a love confession, it still made you uncomfortable to say something positive about me.
Which is why I simply replied with, "You're not that bad either."
You died when you were seventeen years old. But a few days before, I remember laughing with you. You were my best friend, though we tried to avoid such a "category" falling between our relationship. And then you had this disgusted look on your face when you told me I was spending too much money on earrings.
So I told them three weeks after you died in that plane-crash from Jamaica. You were supposed to tell me how wonderful it was, and I made you promise to get me presents. I never even considered you may not be alive otherwise.
Three weeks later, every one of my earrings are gone. I've sold them, given them away, anything to get rid of them.
I never wore earrings again.

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