Waning moon

Waning Moon-Chapter 1

I awoke from my nightmares with a jerk, my blue-black hair matted to my forehead with sweat although the room was cold enough to numb my toes.  I searched blindly in the dark for my blanket and pulled it up to my chin. It was cold too, which meant I had been thrashing around for a while and had pulled it off my body a while ago. I shivered both from the cold and the nightmare and curled up tighter into a small ball.

It had been a while since I had that dream, since the memory of Will’s disappearance had made itself so clear in my mind.  But I guess it made sense, since today was the anniversary of that horrid day. I trudged out of bed despite my body’s complaints about how early it was and made my way to the bathroom. A splash of cold water and a good brush to my teeth and I was awake. I stared at myself critically in the mirror, and tried to feed myself that lie. I was never truly awake, even now. My Ivy green eyes were sullen and cold, not the eyes of a sixteen year old girl. There were bags under those zombie eyes from countless sleepless nights and horrifying nightmares. My mouth was set in its familiar grim line that told most people to leave me alone right from the start. My body was too slender from my lack of appetite, barely any curves. My skin was its usual cream and roses, the only good thing about me, really.

I ran a brush through the long length of my jet black hair, the ends flipping outward at my waist.  I shook it out and the raven feather blue blinked at me. It was too thick for a ribbon to hold it up so I pulled as much as I could back into a braid. Some loose locks hung freely in my face, refusing to be tamed at all. I twirled the wild locks around my finger as I stalked back into my room and searched for something to wear in my closet. Jeans were the only real choice, and since I was going out to the woods most likely my oldest pair of jeans. But this was for Will, so I donned my nicest pair of dark wash jeans and a frilly top with a fluffy coat and padded out into the hall. I tiptoed past my parents’ bedroom, not wanting a remake of last year when they had blown up at me for going back into those woods after everything that had happened.

They had made me go to a therapist, to help me cope and move on. But it only made me angrier. I didn’t want to talk about Will’s disappearance to a stoic old man who had probably never gone through anything like this in his life, who probably didn’t have any kids or somebody close to him that he could feel about the way I felt about Will. He didn’t know the guilt and anguish you felt knowing somebody you loved had sacrificed themselves and you had run instead of facing the danger alongside them. He and my parents wanted me to accept that Will was dead, but would they be able to live saying that you had run while your best friend was murdered?

But they didn’t get it, didn’t get why I had to keep going back year after year despite the nightmares and tears it brought back.  They didn’t get how much I missed Will. Everyone, including my parents and the police, believed Will was dead. I knew better, I knew he was still out there; I’d know if Will was dead. That was just the kind of bond we had had. We were closer than just friends, we as close as blood, closer even.

As quietly as I could I trotted down the stairs, making sure to jump the last three steps so not to step on the “creaky three” as I called them. I grabbed my jacket from the main room of the house, where the couch where I and Will would watch T.V had been replaced with a modern leather sofa with a soft blue afghan over it. The coffee table that had been there even after me and Will scratched the glass with his model cars, was still there with the multiple remotes sitting in a straight line on top. My mother was almost Obsessive Compulsive and noticed every little detail, and I had inherited the talent a bit.

  I silently slipped out of the back door and was immediately attacked by the blistering wind. Winter had started early this year; the frost covering the grass instead of the sparkling dew was proof of that. I finally pulled on the boots in my hand and started to walk towards the line of trees twenty yards in front of me, the line of shadows in them.