like real people do | c.g [#wattys2019]

Q U I E T

MY MOTHER ONCE TOLD ME TO TAKE RISKS. Not because you might regret not doing what you wanted, not because you want something foolish to look back on, not because it'll probably turn into a fun little story one day; but because, that way, we're in control of something.

The world has always been a chaotic place, even before. People believed in fate, gods, in anything and everything that could explain the randomness and abnormality of our existence. They thought something had to string us all together, that someone or something above us, beyond us, making us go through our lives. So, if we chose to break that chain, if we did something we would never think of doing normally, we'd regain some sense of control. Even if it was just the illusion of it.

I realize now, that was a dumb philosophy, but my mother had always been a bit whacky. She used to say she was a mad scientist- my dad was the pragmatist. She was the risk taker.

I used to want to be like her. I admired her so much. People used to say I was the spitting image of her when I was younger. My hair used to be red like hers, fading to a strawberry blonde as I grew up, and eventually evolving into its dirty blonde color, matching my dad's sandy strands. But our blue eyes, those stayed the same. Forever and always, I'd have that to hold of her. That, and my necklace.

I'm not my mother, though. I realize it now, that the upheld idea I had of her wasn't right. She was a human, a complicated, complex human that I will never have back in my life. Honestly, the list of complicated, complex humans that I will never have back with me seems everlasting. Sometimes it's hard to remember it all. The most recent one hurts the most, his name hammering in my brain every single day, but the rest of them seem to have faded, almost. Scabbed wounds.

So now, as I stand on the outfacing end of the back gate of Alexandria, trying to sneak out with only a couple knives on my back and a backpack on my shoulders, I remember my mother's stupid goddamn words, and it's enough to ignore the constant chant of 'bad idea, bad idea, bad idea' that runs through my veins.

I hear the metal stick Enid uses hissing against the rusty wall as she climbs up after me, but before I can see her figure follow me out of the safe zone- that doesn't seem to be all that safe anymore- footsteps approach us.

I hold back a sigh as I hear his voice, it still sounding clear, even through the gate separating us. My feet hit the ground silently and I run my hand through my hair as I hold and listen to their conversation.

"Enid." I hear Carl start off. I can already envision the stupid look on his face as he stares her down. He's probably raising his eyebrows. Probably crossing his arms, too, with that look on his face he always has when you do something he doesn't want you to do. It's a mixture of self-righteousness, annoyance, and worry that culminates in what has probably turned into his most sported look... That and his 'I-really-want-to-tell-you-something-but-I'm-afraid-I'll-set-you-off' look.

"I need to see Maggie." Enid stops him before he can continue on with what is probably gonna be an extensive rant.

"You're walking to the Hilltop? It's far." He says, his voice softer now. I inwardly bit my lower lip, suddenly guilty I didn't warn him about this. I left him a note, but since he hasn't asked for me, I figure he hasn't seen it yet.