Bury A Friend

Chapter 3: Dust Hymn

The tall grass of the field is almost to my knees when I park my car in the giant lot. Vibrations of sound thump and course through the ground. Cloud-piercing lights rotate, guiding me to a center stage. With slender arms waving every which way, Cheer face directs multiple people, moving across the stage like a colony of ants. Whatever they were doing was worth it. The stage is a massive structure that I have to look up to take in. Black, web printed band equipment stands out in the center. A chilly wind sweeps over me, rotating little bats and spiders that hang thin strings. A glitter-filled fog sweeps across the stage that the staff don't acknowledge as they continue their work.

"Isn't it great," she shouts.

I jump at the question when Cheer face catches me off guard, an overwhelming mix of giddy and loud. She had outdone herself this year. I never attended, what with there being other people at this event, but I also wanted to avoid the person I know she came here with. I needed to get the hell out of here before he found me, but wished for a second I could actually stay. From the pictures that always spread around school after, this was all of those parties rolled into one. My amazement turns into confusion when I take my focus off the environment, turning it to her. Here she was spending what was thousands on a Halloween party, yet there she stood in a simple zombie cheerleading costume. Her own school cheerleading costume, with hints of faux blood lazily applied, to be exact. She catches me scanning her form and replies with a wink. Teeth bare down on her bottom lip, and a skinny finger twirls hair while she waits for my reply. This moment was tempting, and she was beautiful. The brown of her freckles danced across her chest and her blood spattered bow flaps in the wind. It was bizarre to think now how different we turned out.

We had known each other almost our whole lives, but when the fun we had as kids ended, we never quite knew how to be around each other. Now, there's no hanging out around town, no smiles in the hallway, definitely not the look she's giving me now. Just the whispered demands for drugs in empty hallways, while she pretends that she's asking me for homework help instead.

It looked like Halloweentown and I bet the food was just as tasty, but noting the time on my phone, Cheddar's death was soon arriving. Leaning forward, the weight of her top becomes heavier and heavier, almost making me forget there was a price to pay for even looking at her. I could not be here. I should not have a friendly conversation with her. And I did not want to face the wrath of the psycho she calls her boyfriend.

"I have to go check on the stage difficulties from earlier," she says, breaking the silence. "But there's food and drinks near that enormous tree. I'll come find you after I settle everything."

But why, I want to ask, we're done. A quick hug amongst friends conceals our transaction. My bag slides to her shoulder while she sticks her cash in my pocket. Deal done. Waffle maker ordered. More people have showed up since my arrival, the crowd denser than before, it's a struggle squeezing back through. If I speed now, it'll be right on time to see Cheddar fail at the match he can never beat. Donkey Kong. A game so hard that by the end of it he's cussing at me, the TV, and the little evil monkey that has irritated his soul.

My stomach grumbles when my nose picks up a delicious smell in the air. She said there was food. Food, that is free. I follow the aroma to a large row of black tables. A set of rectangular metal trays are on top and the front of the buffet is covered in cobwebs. The giant chestnut tree, the symbol on our town flag, covers the eating area with an umbrella of its leaves. Little black skulls, with lights in the sockets, twirl above my head. Warm food steams up everytime a cover is pulled for a person to grab a plate. I will stuff my face, then race back for the game. Finishing the last bite of a decorated donut, I look ahead through the crowd, planning the path of least resistance.

"So when are you leaving?"

I spin around. Not sure who said it, but sure they did not direct it at me. Her hair falls straight down her back in a brilliant blue. White highlights in the front streak all the way to the tips. The black toga she's wearing drapes down, meeting silver sandals that lace up around her ankles. Even the silver moon ring she had the first time I met her accented her costume in a dark, gothic way. Before today, I could say with absolute certainty that the Greek god Hades never gave me a hard on. Repeating the question, she chuckles to herself, then reaches past me for a bag of chips, and my posture stiffens at her sudden proximity.