Playing with Fire and Ice

Luis's POV: Alone

"We're born alone, we live alone, we die alone. Only through our love and friendship can we create the illusion for the moment that we're not alone."  Orson Wells' words are controversial. Some might argue that we are never alone..and that love and friendship are not what he calls an "illusion". But I know better: we are in fact alone. No one is going to really help you.  We are all isolated souls under the misconception of  companionship and love. But there are some that know the truth and don't easily fall under the spell. I am Luis Park...and  I am truly alone. 

                                                                                O O O

                                                             _______________________

I awoke to the sound of  silence and a beam of sunlight coming from the curtains. I lay on my bed and scanned the room: a small four walled area with bare walls, two doors; one an exit and another a closet, a simple desk with piles of clothes,  to the right a thin bookcase filled with novels, and  a simple circular rug with coffee stains and crumpled paper was placed on the wooden floor. I looked over at the nightstand, picked up my square-framed glasses and began my usual morning routine, quietly progressing my way to the bathroom next door. The house was still quiet when I came out of the shower--not surprising though, considering it was four in the morning. I lived alone with my so-called father and he didn't wake up for work until six but I made sure to leave the house earlier and diminish the time I get to see him.

I locked the door behind me and made my way to the  washed out green bike in the garage. The road to school is a calm one. Barely a car or two on the street and the crisp autumn breeze lulled me into a steady rhythm. Although I've been waking up and making my way to school this early for a few years now, I always appreciated the silence and lack of people. It gave me the impression of being the only person on the planet--a quite pleasant thought.

I stopped in front of a shabby corner store and entered. One of the ladies that ran the store, Elsa, always opens the store no later than 4:oo am even though her customers don't arrive until many hours later, but her insomnia keeps her up. Which is why she takes great delight in my usual visits at what she calls "her most loneliest hours".

I could go without eating breakfast or I could have picked something up at a near McDonalds by the school,--I didn't mind-- but  I've been going to Elsa's corner store for a few months now for my usual breakfast since I  stumbled inside after noticing the "We are Open" sign at such an early hour. Im not exactly sure why, but I feel a fondness for this petite, olive-toned, gray-haired lady with her odd liking in shirts featuring superheroes.  Today, she wore a spiderman t-shirt and she said I remind her of Peter Parker.

"What kind of sammich would you like, hun?" It was the usual day, Elsa would ask what kind of sandwich would I like (always saying "sammich" instead), I would always tell her the same thing: ham, cheese, lettuce and tomato, she would complain that "that wasn't enough for a teenage boy "and usually apply extra ingredients to meet her expectations of what was "enough", then she would serve me a cup of Agua de Jamaica which she enjoyed making because it would remind her of  her hometown in Mexico, and we would usually talk about whatever random topic she thought of that particular day. She is a strange lady, but she is one of the few people whose presence I enjoy, and she makes great sandwiches.

As I got up to leave, she noticed the  bruise on my arm (luckily she couldn't see the ones hidden underneath my shirt--those were the bad ones), I kindly explained to her it was nothing, I had  just fallen while on my skateboard. Believing me, she began to mumble about the dangers of such a contraption as I thanked her and left the store, the sound of the little bell on the door clinking as I walked out.

I picked up my bike, the only one on the bike rack, and pedaled the rest of the way to school. On the way, I took a few angry glances at my bruise,  dark rings of purple and blue, a clear reminder of the hidden secret behind the doors of my houseold, each glance fueling my rage as I pedaled faster and faster to my destination.