We Watched the City Burn

Chapter 10

Friday. The 13th. I find this to be a bad omen, and a very, very good reason to not return home from school today. As I looked around my classrooms, I saw a few empty seats of the black cat fearing nature. Unless the 13th had suddenly become a popular vacation day - unlikely, given the negative stigma it receives - I can think of no other reason for so many people to be missing in each of my six classes. 

Another reason I won't be going home: I smelll like stars. Or how stars must smell, since this is my only encounter and I have nothing to compare it to. Stars smell like roses and rich, bitter coffee. Just in case you were wondering; personally I find it to be vital information in regards to my existence, but you might find it trivial. It makes no difference, this is my story. Not yours. If you don't care about stars, kindly put me down and leave.

 Father does not like the smell of girl. Or anything that comes close to it. I suppose it reminds him of my dear mother, the woman who's memory he keeps looked in a drawer. Similar to the way that you would lock a terrible nightmare in the back corner of your mind, chest locked and still twitching.

 I'd rather not have any friendly, nicey nice time with his fists. Instead, I press my shirt to my nose and inhale the greatest scent known to man, and well, anything. I don't know if she wears any sorts of body sprays, but if she does, she doesn't spray it in the classroom like most girls do. Probably far too considerate of allergies to even consider such an action. 

What an angel.

Now, I'm sure you must be dying to know how this has come about; I must be honest, I'm really just dying to tell someone about it. I can't tell Ferdinand, because he was there when it happened. I have no friends, so I repeat it to myself over and over.

Much like playing the same CD again and again because every second of it is just perfect and you can't get over the beauty of it; in fact, it's so stunning and perfect that it makes it hard to breathe. But you'd rather die at that moment, than any other. Because, now you know what it means to be truly happy on a cellular level.  

 I'm walking through the park now, as the sun is setting, it's still warm out, but it won't stay that way. I'll need to find somewhere to camp for the night, but I'm willing to brave the cold if it means I'm safe for one night. 

Honestly, I'm not sure how much more of his anger I can carry around anymore. It's getting harder and harder for me to hold my tongue; angry words try  to jump out from in between my teeth and I catch them just in time, before they land me in serious shit.

Even if I were to speak, I have no idea what I would say to him. I doubt it would even make sense.  If I didn't sing and hum during my showers, I'd be unsure if I could still speak at all. It's nice to have the option. It's like a secret weapon I have, a treasure I'm hiding and keeping for myself and no one else. Like my secrets, which by the way, are growing daily.

I swear, there are moments every now and then when I can feel my feet lift off the ground for just a moment.

 I can taste the freedom, so close at hand. But, taking off before I'm ready could lead to something very very bad. Before I go, I want to make sure I have enough secrets to carry me far away from him, his bottles and the frames of photos he's removed from the walls. 

 Since I've discovered his drawer, I feel like I've set something free in the house, A ghost or something. Can ghosts live in drawers? I don't see why not, but I'm no pro at this. I don't even understand reality for god's sake. 

Ferdinand likes the park, the trees and the singing crickets. I guess it reminds him of a past life, when he was in a huge pond full of lots of other fish, a few frogs. Crickets singing on the shore as night fell, frogs croaking to sleep on collections of lily pads. I guess the park gives him a taste of that life, not that he has an issue with this one, besides, the...err. Obvious reasons.

I'm sure that if Ferdinand were able, he'd take a big, nasty bite out of Him. Gum him to death, he would. I'd like to see that, but I'm sure it would take a while.

I walk across the grass and sit on one of the three sings on the only set in the park. I think this is why no kids are ever here, not enough swings. Any park worth it's salt should have at least 10 swings. But this facisham of a lie of a swing set only has three.

Prime example of laziness, if you ask me.

I start pumping my legs, slowly at first, then throwing my weight into it as I get higher and higher. I wait for that moment of Perhaps, the moment when you swung so high tha you thought you'd never come back down. I used to have these all the time, but now that I was grown, the magic seemed to be gone.

I kept my eyes fixed on the sky, not looking down, pretending there was no Earth below me. I managed to forget the gravity, the pressence of anything else but the twinkling above me, that is, until I heard someone clang into the swing next to mine.

Slamming my shoes into the ground, tossing my hair out of my eyes, I was fully ready to do anything I must to scare the intruder off. They were ruining my magic.

But everything, the world, my heart, my anger, it all stopped when I saw who was next to me, looking me straight in the face. Eyes aglow.

Aurora.