Keys of Life

Chapter One: Faye (Again.)

Chapter One: Faye

One year later...

   I stared at the graffiti that smattered the edges of my desk, the desperate doodling of many who   had sat in the very same spot. My eyes traced the curves of letters, obscenities, and drawings of a bored mind's creation. Without even knowing it, they had needed to be remembered, etching their very essence into the wood so as they would be forever present, long after the ink had worn away to just a smudge of colour. That there would be a tangible gash they could claim as their own, made by their hands and the force of their will - that was their reward.

   The rain stroked the pane of glass, a gentle, insistent caress that seemed intended for me. The summer had disappeared without the slightest hint of protest, chased away by the lightest breath of wind. The bleak September afternoon was the last in a very long week, the swirl of textbooks and new teachers finally coming to a close. My eyelids fluttered as I blinked, my lashes tickling the tips of my fingers with a feather-light touch. A tear threatened to escape from the corner of my eye, an unspoken reminder of the grief pressing to the front of my mind, a token of the wretchedness a careless choice can wreak. Taking a breath, I focussed on the drone of a well-meaning voice; scolding and guiding ever so smoothly, taking care its charges wouldn't sense the authority the pleasant tone held.

   "Remember, this is a serious time ahead of you. I know that some of you are looking forward to your last year of easy-going, but I assure you there is work to be done. This is the foundation for important exams, even though they mightn't start for another year. You need a basis, and this is your chance to create one. I hope your first week back went well. Chat quietly amongst yourselves until the bell goes, and enjoy your weekend."  The teacher I hadn't quite caught the name of sat down and surveyed the room, glancing at the clock, and the rain outside. A grating wail set my already-fragile nerves on the edge, and I sighed as I put away the crisp new books, complete with a pencil case I hadn't needed.

   I missed the familiar surroundings of my own school, the usual chattering of the friends I would have had, the laughter bouncing off the walls as if to plead with someone to join in. In this barren landscape, the chorus of malevolent giggling had never made me feel so lonely, so completely isolated.

   The story is clichéd to the point of boredom. Someone moves school, feels lonely, obsesses about making friends, and everything is predictably fine in the inevitable end. Yet it doesn't make the early stages any less painful, or the end any more likely to happen. At least in my case.

   I started here a year ago. My second September in Lakeview Heights was so much more raw and tender than the first, like touching an unhealed cut. The name is no joke, even though the school is in the middle of Ireland instead of a picturesque cliffside, overlooking a wild sea. At least last year I had been able to convince myself that everything would be fine. Three-hundred-and-sixty-five agonizing days later, I settled for the fact that I would get by, that I could manage to survive each day if I established a routine. Two ever-absent parents, a brother recently departed, and a house empty of people did not make for a home. Just another building that had a welcome mat but no one to welcome in.

   I realised that I had been left standing alone in an empty classroom, staring unseeingly at the door. I rummaged in my purse for keys, grabbed my bag and headed towards the corridor that would take me away from the obvious emptiness that surrounded me. I paused, reluctant to turn the world from light to shadow by touching a simple switch embedded in the wall. A vacant room held promise of people to come, just as a crowded hall only held the disappointment of friends who would drift away, leaving someone searching in vain for a face that had long since disappeared.

   I stepped outside, the rain mingling with the salty tears I could taste on my tongue. The greying mist of dusk reminded me again that long summer nights were gone. The pounding of my footsteps on the pavement echoed dully through the streets, the thinning clusters of people bursting through the stretching serenity I could feel so tangibly lying at my feet. The leafy pathway seemed to lead me to the gates I loathed and looked for, without any conscious effort on my part. The balls of my feet were burning; screaming out for me to put on a pair of well-worn converse instead of the stilettos I was so intent on wearing.

   I reached the end of my journey. The wall, the hedge, the driveway, the very normality crushed me. I contemplated the little fob in my hand, the electric pad that would do everything for me. I grabbed the black metal bars, cool, slick and wet in my grasp. A whisper of a smile ghosted across my expression. I threw my bag over the top, letting the sopping material thud to the ground. Lifting a leg, I let the sole of my shoe search for purchase on the smooth iron. I laughed at the thought of the neighbours watching a tall girl with a blonde pixie cut scale a gate in her school uniform, not caring about the sludge on the concrete or that her new tights might rip. The smile lingered on my face as I dropped to the other side. I winced at the impact as my heels clattered to the ground, felling as if my ankles would snap under the pressure. Looking down, I realised I hadn't even broken one of the thin, non-regulation spikes.