Summer

Chapter One

I'm editing this by next Saturday. For now, enjoy this version :)

Dedication to Hendrixx for her story Lady and the Wolf.

I’m late.

Oh god, I’m late. Again.

Parker is going to skin me alive. Absentmindedly, I touch the burn mark on my elbow after experiencing with the fryer, the boss warned me if I ever mess up again he’ll make my life full of torturous pain. I picked up my pace to The Wonderland and safely wrapped my cotton scarf around my neck after a chilling wind blew past me. It was that time of the year again, season of death. Reason being is that Old Roacher becomes a ghost town when the living souls stay inside their warm home, wrapped in their blankets to the point of sweltering to beat the cold.

Winter, as some people would correct me or as Parker put it, “Nature’s regeneration period.” But I scoffed at them once I gaze at the view outside; wilted flowers graying the ground, bare trees with skin of dull brown, and the cloudless sky resembling a mono color. However once I get inside the café, death feels like a wrong adjective for winter.

Beauty would fit more.

The world becomes beautiful, I thought as I kicked a pebble out of my path. “Beautiful in a form of tragedy, I wonder how many people just connect with winter.” Another blow of wind made me shiver in my thick layer of clothing. I changed my pace to a light jog once I seen the café at my view, and in less than a minute I’m through the front door, instinctively getting my apron from behind a counter.

An extremely annoyed voice asked me, “Now where have you been, Summer?” His tone emphasized my name and created a shudder to my bones when I turned around to see a pissed off Parker with arms crossed in front of his chest. He decided to dye his hair from a chocolaty brown to the dark shade of my hair, and even possible, darker to match the new theme of The Wonderland.

Inside the restaurant, the colors reversed and the furniture is now black and the walls are painted white and the floor still remained the dark wooden color. Parker added a second-story for the very important people, making sure to add a luxurious aura with the café.

I touched the side of my neck and tried to create an excuse, “I’m sorry Parks, it’s an honest person’s mistake.”

He glared at me. “You’re working at the second-story until two hours past midnight.” My eyes widen and I scowled. Of course I would expect a vendetta from you if you gave me the second-story of all things.

“Peachy,” I outranked his level of irritation and walked to retrieve another color of apron—which indicates our shift—and fixed my ebony hair into a tight ponytail with only a few strands of hair escaping from the clutches of the elastic tie. I breathed deeply.

It was five o’clock in the evening and people off work weren’t here yet, a rare peaceful moment before rush hour. The soft music of Yann Tiersen could be heard without the buzzing voices of customers. A benefit of working in The Wonderland was the music Parker only played during this season.

I close my eyes to the melancholy sound of the piano piece. It reminded me of winter, a meek melody that must’ve been mistaken as depression from the musician but this type of sadness conveyed was grief— appropriate for a funeral. I blinked my eyes open. It reminded me I had a burial to go to.

A week ago, a girl from my community college was killed with a fatal wound to her chest. The news spread fast like wildfire in Old Roacher, the absurd rumor that something bad happened here was shouldered off as an accident or suicide.