Underneath the clouds

I

When dawn was over the river, reflecting its light across the water, painting small aquarian crystals on the dirt and rocks, eyes started to open. Tired groans were muffled among the chirping of the birds. The sunlight painted the streets as it slowly rose, casting shadows onto the streets.

Bird wings fluttered, echoing in the air as a symphony of awakening. The night stole the temperature from the day before, allowing the cement to cool and the exposed water in the pools to calm. Houses were packed together; most had their curtains closed. Those who had their blinds drawn had been awake long before the sun could make the attempt to rise.

That same youthful light was beginning to shower down the street, bouncing off objects and finally touching upon the sill of her window. Her eyes scanned over text that had been reread multiple times already. Twirling her pen, she stared lazily at the textbook open in front of her. Each slow blink was met with a sudden storm of infuriating burns that radiated behind her eyes.

Today was a day that was familiar to her- it was one that always made her ask if she wanted to make preparations or not. Sometimes she'd contemplate making funny cards to greet her friends, but those scribbles would often be discarded before she could get to the second word in its design.

A small knock echoed from behind her door. When she tilted her head back, her eyes fell upon the mess in her room. Covers were draped over the edge of her bed, falling onto her floor, right next to the stack of books- the ones that were a mixture of academic and epic poems.

"What?" She groggily called out. The doorknob started to turn. Thrusting her head in, her mother stared at the mess. At first, her eyes simply glossed over the clothes that were whipped around, and the books that were scattered with their pages wrinkled and open on the floor. Then, her gaze hardened and she stared at her daughter with an authoritative gaze.

"Jolin." She said sternly.

Jolin said nothing. She simply remained there, sitting still. Underneath her fingertips was ink from her sharpies and highlighters. It stained her pores, creating black spots on her digits.

"What?" Jolin asked, barely making an effort to fully turn around and face her mother, who was staring at the mess with a mixture of disgust and anger.

"Unacceptable."

"I can't help it." She quipped.

"I'm so anxious." Jolin kicked the floor, swiveling in her chair. Now, she faced her mother with a tired gaze. Her mother offered nothing but a sigh that made both Jolin's anger and annoyance rise- it nearly overcame her exhaustion.

"Just get this cleaned up."

"Can't I do it when I come back?" Jolin asked, slowly rising to her feet. Her bones ache and her skin felt greasy to the touch. She was groaning inwardly, hoping that she could simply skip the day.

Her mother scoffed incredulously. Jolin held her ground, standing in the middle of her mess.

"Yeah- fine." As quick as the scolding authority was there, she was gone, leaving Jolin alone to stand in the middle of her scattered books and discarded clothes.

With a gentle sigh, Jolin began to drag her nails underneath her books, plucking them up from the floor. Her room was torn apart, drawers ripped away from their resting positions, revealing her clothes that she couldn't decide whether or not she wanted to wear them. As she moved, her pajama pants and loose shirt managed to rub up against her skin. The sensation felt grimy. It caused her to freeze and take a deep breath.

Her steps were slow and soft, her movements nearly enforced in her bones as routine. Soon, Jolin had a towel in her hands, and sooner, she was rushing towards the upstairs bathroom, hoping to wash the grime off her skin.

Downstairs, Mrs. Martin carefully swatted her hand through the various cereal options. Her outfit was already picked out and on her body- now it was just her hair that was unruly and unpresentable. The mess juxtaposed her outfit. Occasionally, she would catch her reflection in the windows and sigh; she looked like a mad woman.

Walking through the foyer, she grumbled. In her hand was a cold bowl, packed with cereal and milk- it nearly overflowed and fell to the ground whilst she walked barefoot. Then, she stopped at the door. Without touching it, she was frowning: she could hear the smallest sounds of a muttering monologue occurring behind the door.

Pushing it open, she gazed at the messiness that was scattered over the counters and floor. Papers with unintelligible writing were brushed over surfaces. She could identify whose poor handwriting it was: her husband's.

Hunched over a vial was Dr. Jeffery Martin. Mrs. Martin stared at him with a scowl.

"What is it?" He asked without sparing her a glance.

"Since you're home today, can you-" Mrs. Martin began. He waved his hand dismissively.

"Yeah-yeah, I got it." He said absent-mindedly. She bit her tongue, hand clenching the cold spoon. There was nothing else spoken between them; it was the kindle underneath the bonfire that exploded in her body.

It was hot and cold at the same time; confusion led to her small little glances towards his shoulder blades, and greasy hair. Most times, she'd remain silent about his condition, even going so far as to absolutely ignore what he looked like. Some nights, she wouldn't have to worry- he'd fall asleep on his workbench in this dank mancave of his.

"Take a shower. You look disgusting." Mrs. Martin found herself saying. He said nothing- remained still as he continued to work.

Occasionally, she wanted to ask what was so important- how could something so secret draw his attention away from the entire world? Mrs. Martin frowned and turned her back to him, walking away from the door.

Dr. Martin finally glanced up from his papers. Glancing over his shoulder, he noticed the door was still open. He could see the sunlight spanning over the foyer floor. The light made his pupils dilate- a dull pain sprang into his head and he had to look away. Screwing his eyes shut, he clenched his jaw, trying to evict the pain echoing behind his eyes.

The stairs were suddenly creaking. Its cause- the footsteps- could have easily been mistaken for jolly. Jolin practically jogged down the stairs, occasionally skipping a beat in her rhythm to create that happy facade in her steps. When she got to the bottom, she noticed the door to her father's "laboratory" was left ajar.

Peering inside, she noticed his shadow and the mess of papers scattered across his desk. Frowning, she abandoned saying anything to him. Instead, she popped over to the kitchen to figure out what she was going to eat. There wasn't that much time left until she had to leave- the crunch made her rush. Settling for a snack bar, Jolin gently held it between her teeth and rushed out the door, adamant on getting to school early to ease her anxiety.

When she left, there was nothing that followed. All she was waved away with was the tense silence of the house.

A/N: Hope ya'll are gonna like this revamped version of my first book! Don't forget to comment, vote, and add this to your library if you really like it!