Wonderful.

~('')~ The Calling ~('')~

Did I actually collapse?

While my mind still runs on dizzy, I think of walking to a chair behind me but slips on the way. I hit my head and the concussion is great.

"Help!" I feel my feet numb, my hands dashing to the ground as I improperly stand, still wiggling to fall.

There's noone here but me...until a dark figure prints in his shadow to the door in front.

I grow tense, wondering who could be approaching.

"Cassie?"

A black haired, thin framed, thirty year old woman calls, while carrying two grocery bags. It's mom.

"Sweetie!"

She dashes off dropping the items, and runs to me.

"Mom it's good I got it."

I tell her in reassurance, now attempting to regain back my ability to stand. Amy halts halfway and reforms her smile to a worrying one.

"Are you sure?"
"Yes. I was just looking for the phone."

Her face stirs into a more confused look. A sad frilled face I will often see on mom, whenever she feels more obliged to being a parent to me.

I haven't noticed it turned dark outside.

"For what?"
"Because there's a light out and I had to call you."
"Powercut?"
"Exactly."

I do another attempt. This time I successfully return, being able to walk. But mom still looks bothered.

"Are you alright?"
"What do you mean."
"There's no powercut. I even called a friend to check on you but she said you're not home yet. I guess she didn't have a look here."
"What are you talking about mom. There was a powercut."
"Alright, but I have to ask her if there really is. I think she just didn't bother to turn on the lights."
"Wait, are you sure there's no powercut?"
"Yes, why would I lie?"

I remember fragments from earlier.

A cold swirling chill that cape me, a blinding flash, and I blackout.

Before that, I remember that there's a powercut...

"I have to go, do you need help with those?"
"Oh yes."

Mom recollects her baggage as I get one. We halt, as she eyes me suspisciously.

"What has gotten to you today and makes you help me?"

I try to recall anything that could have but I only get the image of Hugh in my head.

"A boy."
"A boy,"
"Yes mom, a boy."

We cross the final flight of the stairs and go to the kitchen with the topic of him, my first ever encounter, from the boys team.

Something is still wrong here. Why does Hugh think that way, because I know for sure there's a number of people who wants to offer a free gesture but doesn't really account to it.

So why does he.

June 22, 2015. 8.00 am

It's another day in school. Mom offers me a ride since I'm a minute away to being late. The spring scent she has sprayed on her car is one thing that I don't really feel.

I'm more of a cosmical vagabond, and essences like these can give me headaches so I just breathe it less.

While I lean into my momentarily depressed state, mom turns on her radio.

Its our favorite radio station with producers just at the avenue after our town. They used to play heartbreak along with failed in love stories, Amy lives to hear.