Destructive (On Hold)

Apologies

The rubble grazed my feet and I winced when a sharp stone came in contact with my heel every once in a while. I ducked warily under trees as I decided I'd take the grassy shortcut to spare my feet any more pain. I eventually arrived at the start of the cobblestone path; a narrow copper strip stretching lazily from the fence to the door, chipped and faded. I tip-toed across it and let myself inside the door.

Aunt glanced up from reading the newspaper in the midst of yelling 5-year olds playing with dinosaurs on the carpet. She removed her glasses slowly and scowled at me.

"Where are your shoes?"

"Stevie stole them in gym!" I blurted out accidentally. I shouldn't have told. Tattle-tales get punishment from both Aunt and the person tattled on - without Aunt's knowledge.

"Didn't I teach you better than to yell at me with such disrespect?"

No.

I gulped. "Yes, Aunt. I'm sorry."

"Why did Stevie steal your shoes?"

"She doesn't like me," I said quietly. But that was nothing new. Nobody in the orphanage liked me. Stevie was a year younger than me, fourteen, and about the same size, but always prepared to taunt me and tease me for no apparent reason. I'd learnt not to retaliate when I punched her in the face last year and got a month full of my own chores and her chores, too.

Aunt scoffed and returned to her newspaper. "Get some friends, girl. You're a disgrace. I'll deal with Stevie later," she muttered. But Aunt didn't have any friends either.

I stalked up the stairwell and threw myself into my room, smothering my head under the pillow. "Kill me now," I mumbled into the scratchy fabric.

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After school the next day, I flipped through the tattered remains of my old picture books under my bed. Most of them had been cut up with scissors and teeth years ago, but there were still faint reminders of the Aristocat's journey back to Paris and vague images of the Powerpuff Girls fighting crime, colored in crudely with my stubby felt tips. The door burst open, and my memories flew away with loose leaves of paper. Stevie slammed the door behind her and exploded. 

"You TOLD on me!? What the hell? Do you know how long I'm grounded?" she yelled. She threw my stolen shoes at me, hitting me in the side of the face.

"Ow! Get out!" I said, rubbing my cheek. There was sure to be a mark.

"I hate you!" she said loudly, ignoring my complaint. She picked up my bedside lamp and smashed my window with it, the glass shattering and raining specks of sharpness onto the cold wooden floor and outside, too. I sat, paralysed in my bed, eyes wide as I took in all the mess.

She turned to me, dropped the lampshade, and grinned, satisfied at her performance.

"What was that!?" Aunt screamed, her heavy footsteps stomping up the stairs.

"Aunt, Ruby broke the window! She got the lampshade and broke the window when I gave her the shoes!"

"What?" I gaped at Stevie. This was the game in the orphanage. Although I was undeniably infamous for the tricks played on me, there were still small feuds throughout the rest of the kids here. The game was simple; destroy something, blame it on someone else. The prize; extra chores for your enemy. Now it was my turn.

Aunt burst through the door, but with difficulty because of her obesity. "What is going on in here!" she roared, chins waggling. She saw the broken window and gasped. Stevie pointed at me, smirking.

"No! It was her!" I protested. A crowd had gathered at the door, waiting for me to get punished and to be amused. 

Aunt shook her head, her mouth twisted bitterly. She scraped a clump of glass shards in her fist and threw them at my face. It barely hurt, but I felt my eyes stinging with shame. Aunt turned toward the kids who were shocked.

"Get out, all of you! As for you, Ruby, I told you, you have extra chores! Get downstairs and rake the leaves! Wash the windows, and tidy everyone's bedroom. Now!" she yelled, pointing her scary narrowed eyes first at the audience, and then to me.

They left me sobbing into the folds of my auburn hair, sticking to the tiny cuts that the glass had given me. I stayed there a good five minutes before picking myself up with determination that had been derived from my mother's soul, and began to complete the tasks Aunt had set me.

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With fire in my lungs and eyes, I quickly gathered the only belongings worth keeping; an old Hello Kitty notebook, a small torch with a powerful light, my hidden stash of candy I keep tucked under my mattress, my patchwork quilt, my toothbrush and toothpaste, hairbrush, and clothes. This was it. I was running away. I was going to descend the dislodged bricks that formed a miniscule and crumbling stairwell from my window to near the bottom of the wall, however unsafe and stupid it was, and run with my belongings stuffed into my rucksack until I found somewhere to go, someone to be, somebody to be with. I twitched nervously, sparing another glance at my clock. Quarter past midnight. It was dark, nobody would notice me leaving. In fact, they would rejoice at my departure.

Another game, of course. I couldn't pull it off for real. Where would I go? I don't have any money. I don't have any friends to accompany me. I'm on my own.

I played this game a lot, just to comfort myself that some day, I would be getting out of here, waving goodbye to those who hurt me and hello to a future where I would find someone who cares. My destiny, like Calypso said. But Calypso's homeless, she probably doesn't even know the meaning of the word. That was mean, I thought to myself. Calypso's leaving for London on her own. A girl, my age, with even less to her name than I, was embarking on a journey towards London by herself. I sighed as I wished I could be that independent. I slumped down on my bed sadly, filled with misery and self-pity.

Calypso said she was leaving tomorrow. I gazed out the window - well, what was left of it -  wistfully, and imagined myself an impossible future in London...

My apartment would be filled with fluffy rugs and Victorian vanities, a flat-screen television and an Apple laptop, an iPod, a jukebox, an indoor spa, jacuzzi, whatever I feel like. I'd have heaps of friends and zero enemies. Everyone would like me and I'd have so much money I could buy whatever I wanted - sparing at least a quarter for charity, of course. A massive double bed would sit proudly under a mauve canopy, the duvet studded with plush cushions and quilts.

An owl's hoot brought me back to reality, and I stared blankly at my true sad excuse for a room. A bed. A table. Scruffy, dirty white carpet, obscured by my second hand clothes scattered on the ground that I hadn't bothered to clear away. I unpacked my pretend running-away bag. I often did this. I watched the Mickey Mouse clock tick as I lay in my bed feeling stupid and pathetic and mostly, alone.