Ominous Silence
Jargo sat poised on the park bench, her back stiff as she watched the city shifting in concordance with the passing time. She often did this on nights when sleeping wasn't an option. Jargo wasn't seen as anything special, if someone were to describe her, flattery would be sparse; average height for her age (18), brown eyes, pale skin, average weight. She was completely invisible to the eye, a passing ghost in a busy street. Her only distinguishable feature being a tangle of brown, curly hair scraped back from her round face into a half-hearted bun. This was a usual look for Jargo, she didn't care about how people viewed her. Jargo didn't care about anything.
This was her favourite bench, it was under a thick oak tree so it rarely got wet and was positioned on a slight mound just at the top of the park, perfect for the days when Jargo just wanted to watch the world. Today, however, it was slightly more cold than usual, meaning Jargo had to sit on her scarf to avoid morning dew staining her jeans with a darker complexion than a dry bench would give. It was 5 AM meaning there were no people around, just the sound of early rising birds and the usual whisper of wind that whipped past her ear (a gentle reminder that the mild October weather was taking a turn towards freezing). It was only a Thursday, Jargo had already been here twice this week, and she could make a confident prediction that she'd be returning at least twice more before the week was up. If someone with interest were to ask her why she comes here on mornings the answer would be far too long, Jargo didn't particularly like long sentences or any type of verbal communication for that matter.
' conversations are taxing with people in this town...' Jargo would explain to her brother, 'nobody truly wants to know how I've been, if they did, I'd simply pose the question as to why it's any of their business.'
Jargo's list of humans that tolerate her was short, her brother (Jacob) and her best friend (Eden), neither of which she liked. Jargo didn't like anyone who paid any attention to her that was more than a passing glance or an introduction. She hated the idea of someone knowing anything about her, and yet somehow did not detest the idea of Eden spending time around the cold, bitter living complaint that was Jargo.
A single drop of rain fell onto Jargo's eyebrow, interrupting her thoughts, a late warning for the many that attacked her seconds later.
'How rude.' Jargo mumbled, throwing her damp scarf above her head as she dragged herself home, she didn't care too much that it was still far earlier than she'd usually head back, besides, mum would be awake soon. Walking home was never a boring process for Jargo, although she preferred to return home dry. It involved a maze of different streets and alleyways, all of which rang with silence and sleep as she inhaled the brisk air that seemed to be enjoying pinching her face. The sun was still not up, meaning the combination of moonlight and dimly lit street lamps invited theatrical shadows to widen, and warp as Jargo passed by them.
The city of Clifton was not a wealthy one, yet Jargo has always admired its talent for creating such an individualistic atmosphere, that it could be considered unique and beautiful. Each corner turned presented a new set of shops, each one still lifeless and sad, awaiting their opening. Most of the shops seemed completely useless to Jargo, not of any value to the quiet area she lived in, and yet to dispose of them would be to rid a part of these streets that gave an ounce of personality to this city. The rain began to thin, indicating a slow in the downpour and an invitation for Jargo to look up at the inked sky that lay above her. This was Jargo's favourite time of the day, no one was awake, the streets were completely hers creating the idea that air which passed through her lungs was fresh and untouched. Scuffing her heel along the pavement beneath her, the usual scent from Jargo's favourite bakery triggered a sharp inhale of air through her nose, she loved to smell the fresh bread being made in the early hours, today the delicious scent was accompanied by a sharp sting that carried with October weather, but she didn't mind. Jargo's weary, brown eyes drifted from the pavement as she approached her road, following her usual eyeline towards a notable structure.
Observation was one of Jargos' strengths, lack of communication with people means more time to examine behaviours, more time to take in features of areas she routinely passed that would typically go unnoticed by a selfish eye. Her favourite observation was the apartment at the end of the final street. The apartment lived across from a small corner store, perched above a barbershop, tilted slightly to the right with a warped frame suggesting it had been there long before Jargo was alive. Every week Jargo noticed a new set of flowers sitting in the window, and a different card sat next to them each time. This week there were delicate, purple lilies leaning against the transparent frame, decorated by shadows of raindrops that slipped off the glass. She couldn't help but wonder whether the woman living there was sick (that these were sympathy flowers) but every time she wondered, Jargo would remind herself that this was none of her business and that she simply did not care enough for it to linger on her mind.
Once the view of Jargo's black gate was in sight seconds began to slow, the little excitement that the lonely streets had given her was washed away with the brisk, autumn rain. Jargo lived on a boring street, each house was built of the same dark brick with only the doors and front gardens to reflect the owner's personalities. Her immediate neighbour had gone through the effort of paving over their lawn with a smoky stone, bordered with wildflowers and shrubs. While her other neighbour had just a few simple, carved statues decorating their gravelled entrance. It was fitting that Jargos front garden was completely neglected.
Squeaking beneath her hand reminded Jargo that the metal gate had not been opened since the previous evening and the grass beneath her converse was damp and untouched, producing footprints as she stalked her way up the front garden. It was evident a drop in temperature had arisen during her journey between the park and her house as uninvited trails of wind whipped the back of Jargo's damp hair, accompanied by biting air that was intrusively grazing her skin causing the hairs on her neck to stand on end in an attempt to escape it. Before Jargo had made it halfway to the house she could feel something was not right about her front door. Jargo looked in either direction of her gate to ensure this was her house or even her street, it was silly of her to do so but she knows sleep deprivation has a habit of warping the mind. There was no distinguishable reason to do this, everything looked as it should except the usual shadow that cast across her red door at this hour seemed to have tilted slightly to the left, indicating the door had been left ajar.
With any other teenager, the idea of fault would fall on the assumption that they must have left the door open by mistake when they had left earlier that morning. Insinuating that Jargo carelessly forgot to check if the door had closed behind her while sleepily making her way towards her usual spot. However, the idea of walking out the front door at 2 am makes Jargo feel far more mischievous than she intends, she usually just needs air and does not want to create any unnecessary noise that could run the risk of an onslaught of questions from her mum.
That's why Jargo has always left through the window.
