ODE TO THE END: A BALLAD OF BROTHERS

CHAPTER 5

NAOMI

Dawn had come to the City of York just as its inhabitants began to stir. Beams of light slithered into every room, weeding out the darkness in every nook and corner. Naomi's room was no different, but, as the sun rays touched her skin, she groaned. The girl threw her covers over her body to hide from the shine, but the light proved far too invasive. The brightening cascades violated her thin blankets, leaving her in a cocoon of captured rays. There was no escaping now, so Naomi leaned upright with her sheet still over her head. She then rubbed the sands from her eyes and threw off the blanket. A rather contemptuous look was given to the light beyond her window.

"At least it's a Saturday," Naomi said. She tried to be optimistic, but her forced positivity did not make getting out of bed any easier. Even as she practiced her big bright smile, the weight of her thoughts did not allow the mask to rest comfortably this morning - not that it ever had. A frown took the place of her joyous façade, and the fire in her features dimmed. Naomi fell back down into her bedding and rolled over until he came to mind: The dark boy with moon light eyes.

She branded him an intruder, a monster, and memories of asphyxiation made it justly so. Naomi brought her hand to the bruise along her neck. Her throat was still sore. Her fingers still trembled, and her soul still shuddered from his ghostly gaze. Even now, Naomi could hear the haunting sounds of that moon-eyed assailant. His threat for her to never leave her junk there was palpable.

"...Shit," Naomi said.

She jumped out of bed and into the unkempt mess of her room. She tossed clothes and knick-knacks aside, hoping, praying, that her supplies were not where she presumed them to be. When nothing was found, she went to the cluttered library on her desk, then splattered clothes from her drawers, closets, and hampers. Absent. Empty. Gone. Nothing was found. With his haunting words in her head, Naomi skipped over the piles of clutter and burst from her room. But, as if she had run smack into a brick wall, the girl stopped.

Her mother's room was right across from hers. The door was closed, but nothing was new about that. Naomi could scarcely remember what the inside looked like, but she dared not trespass upon that realm, not even to refresh her memory. Even touching the doorknob seemed like an intrusion. "I need to find my things," Naomi quietly declared. Find or recover.

From there Naomi's search extended from her room to the entire house. She tore through the large home and left no corner of the Caitlyn castle without checking thrice. The end result: nothing.

Naomi had no right to be a source of stress. She knew this, so, as her lost supplies remained unfound, the sun-kissed girl steeled herself. She made one last sweep of her home for the sake of caution, but, much to her sinking fears, Naomi's rummaging efforts proved fruitless. After resetting the rooms she so thoroughly flipped during her search, Naomi sat in the silence of her vacant home. Her inaudible distress bounced off of the portrait-laden walls louder than any actual sound, but in the stillness, she made the hard choice. She had to go back.

The mission: retrieve her belongings. The opposition: a stranger with some notable resistance to bludgeoning. She was the knight; he was the dragon and she needed protection before facing the beast. In order to shield herself, Naomi equipped an assortment of umpire gear and knee pads. With her armor fastened firm along her petite frame, Naomi took a bat in each hand before stepping to the door. Courage kindled in her heart as she burst into that humid morning air. She charged, prepared for the battle of her life, but her assault ended before it began when she fell down the porch stairs.

Naomi's shoddily clad gear popped off the instant she hit ground, but it did cushion her fall. She recovered with wounds to her dignity, but little else.

She turned to the porch, curious about the oddly placed items that caught her feet, and found her backpack and all of its contents. Though she had disrupted the display after tripping over it, what remained of the neatly set clutter caused her to pause in awe.

Books seemed to sparkle on top of one another like a rising pyramid, and her baseball gear stood up as if they were the main attraction of a museum. Her gym clothes were folded into perfect squares too. All the items believed to have been in the clutches of that darkly deviant had not only been returned but set aside with a consideration Naomi would never have leant them. The mission was off and Naomi was left relieved and curious.

Naomi spent the rest of the morning taking stock of her supplies and found nothing out of place. Her things had been returned, but she faced a new dilemma. Tossing her supplies back into the chaos, after seeing them in such a clean state, felt like a crime. Circling her home for a worthy position, the best spots were already taken by some sort of trophy or accolade. The lack of ideal positions left only the dining table, so she set her supplies down in the dining hall and mimicked the arrangement with atrocious results.

Every attempt resulted in collapse, and, with every failure came a wondering about the assailant who originally set them. He attacked her. The proof lined her jugular as a fading bruise, but she was beginning to pull a memory from the haze. What did he say before she hit him? Her lips quivered and, after a long thought, she swallowed her inhibitions and stood up from her seat.

. . .

Believe it or not, I used to draw Naomi with straight hair. The kinks and curls I used to describe her hair texture are a recent addition to her visual design. Needless to say, I feel like the curls suit her better but Naomi WILL straighten her hair for special occasions.