Grayscale

-Chapter 7-

Loud, persistent clinks ring outside. Groaning, I pull the sheets over my head, but it only muffles the incessant sound. I roll over to discover my window being pelted, something continuously banging against the clear glass. Worried that the window may break, I bolt up and jump over. Looking down, I discover Sierra standing outside on the freshly-mowed lawn, wearing a puffy sweater and fuzzy earmuffs, grinning like a maniac, and armed with a bag of stones. I open the window. The cold immediately permeates into the room, goosebumps rising on my arms like the undead rising from their graves. Pnemounia, I'm going to contract it! I panic, rubbing my arms in a failing attempt to warm myself. Homeostatis, I remind myself, but I stay doubtful. Of course I'm going to keep being cold if I think I am cold. Don't doubt what you learned in science! I tell myself. Mind over matter. I convince myself that I'm not cold in a futile attempt. My teeth chatter on their own will, shaking my body in infinitesimal earthquakes.

"Finally!" Sierra yells. "I was here, for like, an hour."

I put my wobbly finger to my freezing lips to shush her. "Don't wake up the whole neighborhood!" Sierra grins sheepishly. "It's frickin' two in the morning. I'm going back to sleep." I slam the window and dive into my bed, snuggling up against my comforter. Pulling the blanket up to my chin, I try to thaw my freezing body, but before I can start my peaceful sleep and return to my deep slumber, the blanket is ripped out of my grasp.

"Get up lazy." Sierra stands above me, her eyes narrowing in disapproval.

"Go away." I mumble, giving up on trying to stay warm. I surrender the blanket to her, but my sleep is vital to my attitude. Sleeping is better than warmth anyways. "It's two."

"Exactly. Now hurry up. You wanted excitement? I'll give you excitement, but you have to get your lazy ass off this bed." She grabs my hand. "I'm not letting go, young one. Don't let go of me either."

She pulls me up. I stumble, grabbing my sweater as she drags me along with her into the cold arms of the night. "Why are we doing this?"

"Because we're young and stupid." Sierra laughs, seeing the horror on my face. I got up for this? "Because we can, and you won't regret it either. Oh young one, when will you have faith and stop worrying so much?"

"No vodka today?" I ask.

"Not where we're going. You see, yesterday was a vodka situation. Today is not a vodka situation. Therefore, I do not have vodka because we do not need it."

Knowing Sierra, I don't bother to ask her to explain that. Sometimes, she just blurts out mysterious, confusing sentences, not explaining them when you asked her what it meant. Instead, I just climb out the window and onto the tree conviniently planted outside. My mom once told me that when she was little, her older sister planted a sapling outside as my mom's birthday present. She was only three at the time and didn't understand the usefulness of it until she was in high school, climbing the large, sturdy tree to escape her house during long summer nights and all-too-short school nights. Mom still says it's the best birthday gift she ever received, and she gave it to me last year. I don't really use it that much, except to escape the prison I'm in when I feel suffocated, unable to breathe surrounded by the thick air of fraud around me. I go then for a run, but I never can run away from here, from my life.

I jump off the tree, the tips of my toes on the ground, my knees absorbing most of the impact, my fingers by my feet, stretched out and flat. The street is illuminated by lamplights, each creating a sphere of light on the sidewalk and the air around them. Moths buzz by the light, clinging onto the yellow, fluroscent glow of it like a young child clings onto their mother. Other than that and the pale luminosity of the looming moon, everything is pitch-black.