Laser [Wattys 2016]

Chapter 2

I think my heart skipped a beat. Brandon from the school wrestling team was next to her, condescendingly sipping from a Starbucks coffee cup.

"Leave me alone!" I bellowed at her, grabbing the shrug tight around me, "It's none of your business where I go."

"Yo, bitch, who the fuck do you think you are to yell on my bae's face?" It was Brandon.

"Leave me alone," I repeated and hastily ambled away from them when a pair of strong arms tugged around my waist and threw me brutally to the ground. A sudden gush of pain jolted throughout my body as I hit the concrete pavement, a blunt moan escaping from my mouth.

 Curious onlookers started gathering and I could see Bianca kneeling down in front of me, only to remove the shrug from my back so the red stain was visible to the crowd. Someone tittered, others groaned. I wanted to hide my face from the world, my cheeks turning to crimson.

"Look who bled her pants and still dared to be scrappy to my girlfriend," Brandon guffawed, shaking his head from downright mockery.

"It's red paint, you sycophant!" I screeched at Brandon, tears threatening to overcome my eyes, sickened by the pain in my head, hoping anybody would listen, "That skank Veronica spilled red paint on me!" But it was like speaking to a hand. Nobody in the gathering stood up for me.

"What did you just call me?" He snarled.

"Get away from me," I huffed as I pulled up myself on my feet, a pulse throbbing behind my neck, "Either you get away from me or –,"

"Or what, sucker?"

I spat on his face and sprinted away on the promenade.

I didn't stop until I reached the threshold of my house. I sucked in a deep breath but the air felt like as if it won't go in, like my lungs were being constricted by rubber bands. A hard knot had formed in the pit of my stomach, causing me to feel nauseous and dizzy. Suppressing a sob I set foot into the house softly, trying not to attract the attention of Sean or the housemaid.

As soon as I was changed into fresh jeans and crop top, I tip-toed to the basement where a shabby sofa and a senile cupboard stood since I was small. 

The cupboard contained nothing other than some of the good and chattels of my late grandfather including a pair of skin sandals, his amethyst ring and a record player. When I was nine, I used to come down here every year on his death date, reminisce some of the things he'd said to me when he was alive, and cry over how much I missed him. For the last two years I had stopped coming because I was fed up with life and I was ashamed to admit I couldn't agree to his statements.

"Never lower your head in front of ordeals," he'd said, "Instead be sagacious and try to ameliorate the pains."

I glanced at the cupboard.

And that is when I discovered the "Zeta".

The metal box was leaden, wrapped up in a thin aluminum foil that could be easily removed. I lifted the box with all my strength and cradled it on my lap, admiring the intricately designed number lock padlock on the lid.

Five digits.

I immediately knew what it was going to be, my parents always used the Fibonacci sequence for everything. So I rotated the numbers into an orderly 1, 1, 2, 3, 5 and heard the metal box click.

This was going to be inquisitively scintillating.

Ignoring a sinking feeling in my stomach, I slowly opened the lid, my head cocked to one side, goose bumps rising on my arms.

It was a neon pink solid.