The halved century- written pieces

It still won't happen.

Characters: Damaica Laurel, Iris Telle-Ovett, mentions of Ander

Time of scene happening: 24 July 2023, all are at the age of 16

How does it feel to be reunited with an old friend when there's seemingly nothing else left to salvage? She certainly knew. Her life no longer felt vapid and stricken with dread, but instead placid like flowers shone with sunlight. It was a feeling she hadn't felt in quite a while, traced with so much nostalgia from what she thought was home. After seeing hell, this was an opportunity to approach and touch the jagged edges of an acquaintance, so she tried to mend it from abandoned scraps.

Albeit slow in progress, she was making changes- her life finally felt habitable. She was supported by a singular pillar, a really, really tall one if she had to' add. As far as she could comprehend, she has succeeded in fixing the cracks that formed after mental torture, and life will only improve from then on. 'It's okay,' she thought to herself, 'one step at a time. Nothing past this point will matter.' Destiny has come and delivered their blessing, now it's up to her own hands.

It's funny, really amusing to see this in retrospect. In a few fleeting months, she had started breathing her everyday quirks, these seemingly trivial actions that shape an ideal lover. Not to mention, her carefully articulated breath gave in to a honeyed voice that was of no other, melodic and electrifying to even to slightest touch of her ears. She drank, drank and drank her movements until she was full and could no longer take. She was a shell of unfiltered obsession, soaked in too much love to think straight. 

If only this never changed, right? She would still be happy. She'd rather suffer eternal pining than leave her to be free. It was engraved on the tender flesh on her heart, and she swore to the moon and back that this was the case for as long as she lives.

(Moon? That's wrong. She's the sun. She's the sun and- who's the moon? Who's the earth? It does not matter. It was written that she's the sun, so it should be the facts. No, nothing weird, she's the sun.)

Someone always has to step in to tell her she's wrong. How could she not realize? Beauty is not for her to keep, but for her to share.

There it is, a boy who came in like the sun, all triumphant with light. His hair was dyed red like strings of fate, like what humans circulate inside their body to live- blood. She was broiled alive upon the sight of them, interlacing together in such a short span of time, yet she knew that it was unavoidable. Her eyes, once amber, were mixed in with pools of green. Jealousy wasn't in her vocabulary before, and so she decided to sever what she built in the past.

A fresh bang knocks her back to reality.

"Damaica, are we not important now? Look- I just want to know what's wrong. Tell me, and we'll fix it. Please?" her words were painted with concern, trembling with each plead.

"It's- "It's what? Does she ignore with bliss, or does she confess?

Nothing. Nothing comes after, just plain frightful silence.

"Forget it. I just want to be alone for now? I- I don't know how to say it to you-"

"I thought we were best friends, Damaica. Please, we can fix this," The taller woman rushes in a panic, "we can do this together. We can go through this together. We are stronger than this, aren't we?"

Best friends, best friends. This was just some random label used to justify the situation, right? She grimaced at the pronunciation and combination of the two words, circling around her in the form of voices and echoes. It felt stifling, painful.

A truthful reply wasn't made until two years passed, where she was facing the fence to her untimely demise.

The only thing she could do was laugh, laugh at what she's done. And she did just that before continuing her clownery.

"I still remember what you said, Iris. You didn't even apologize for that shit, now you want to know what's wrong? Bravo, Iris. I really don't- "

"I did, I did when you stepped in. I apologized, didn't I, Ander?" She looks at the red-haired man for approval. He nods feebly. "I- did you even listen to what I said?" She Queried, this time with a tone of accusation and distress looming at its edges.

Did she say that? Did she actually say that, here? Maybe she wasn't screwed before, but she's definitely screwed now. Her brain itched from the frustration, and she backed up to the classroom door. The taller followed her trail, stopping when the shorter halts her footsteps. Then, her hands gripped the doorknob like a lifeline.

"I have feelings too, Damaica. Stop acting like- You know what? The issue's still here, I don't want to fight. I'll-"

"Can you just-"

A string snaps in half.

"You've got a lovely boyfriend Iris, why not you go fuckin' hang out with him instead of being here and sulking over a- I don't know, someone like me?" Her breath hitches as she spits her heart out, word by word. "You have friends, many of them Iris, and I still have no one. You hear that? No one. If you want to leave, then-"

"What the hell do you mean by that? When did he ever come into the picture?" She chided, "It sounds an awful lot like your own problem Damaica, blaming it on me doesn't fucking fix it. How about you stop acting like a weird shitty loner and go make an effort in socializing, huh? Does it sound like a good plan?" The taller pointed at the others, stationary in shock and fear. "Look at them with your eyes, you're not blind- or are you too stupid to realize that those are fully alive humans? Tell me Damaica, Tell me."

The response was again, bare silence, broken by someone else's voice.

"Ladies...? I think we should stop here, shouldn't we? Cmon Darling, you don't gotta- "

"Wow...! What a suggestion!" The shorter finally managed to snort out a few words, ignoring the vile presence of terror that was radiating in the classroom. "It seems like you've forgotten how you've reached this point, isn't it?" tears started to well up in the crevices of her eye sockets, threatening to release any second. "You'd be down in the dirt without me. But alright," she took one last breath, "just remember, bitches who look like they suck cock for a living wouldn't have even soared in the first place without my help." With this, she exited the classroom with a breakneck speed, greeting her next argument with a door.

How does it feel to be reunited with an old friend when there's seemingly nothing else left to salvage? She certainly knew, but her efforts were in vain. What was left was a dark pit, laced with the aroma of bittersweetness. Even then, the aroma could only be savored for so long before it turns into nothingness.