Blanket of Stars (Chaelisa ver.)

Chapter 2: Fade In

I'm not a huge fan of early mornings, but I don't despise them. It's nice to go to bed late and get up early sometimes. It can make you feel like one of the only people in the world: being awake when everyone else around you is sleeping, existing only in dreams, nightmares. Hearing the sounds the world makes, breathing in the fresh air that has yet to be tainted, seeing the sky change colour, and watching the stars fade out for the sun.

They say you're almost paralysed during REM sleep. So, my question is: what would you do if you were trapped inside your own body? If you could control your dreams, what would you dream of? Would they all be concerning the same matter? Would you try to control somebody else's? Would you do something great?

I'm standing on the edge of the sidewalk, hovering a foot over the asphalt and slowly dragging it over a loose piece, I like this sound.

This road gets fairly busy. I come here a lot but sometimes I forget why. Most of the time, actually. People say they see me here sometimes. They forget to mention they never talk to me.

I see the same people at the same time almost every day. They don't speak to me, but they give me a nod of recognition. I appreciate those. I see the same cars over and over again, with the same people in the same seats. There's a car approaching that I've never seen before. It's not from around here, and neither are the people.

The girl sitting in the back of the car is looking right at me, right into my eyes. She doesn't look like she knows she's doing it.

A removals van isn't far behind them. They must be the new family from Thailand. All new families look strange the first time you see them drive up to their new house opposite yours. My mother used to be the kind to drop off some kind of welcome gift to you, but that's something she stopped doing a long time ago. I haven't asked her why. I'm afraid of the answer.

My feet carry me to Carrington Avenue on autopilot, something that happens frequently. The removals van is parked and the people occupying the black SUV exit, each looking fatigued as they enter the house for what I assume to be a strong cup of coffee. I've never moved house, so that's all I can do: assume.

The large master bedroom window now holds the frame of a beautiful girl, the girl with identical eyes to her mother. She looks like she doesn't know what to think of the mediocre neighbourhood. I could tell her my opinion one day, born and raised mediocre neighbourhood resident at her service. Somebody could listen to me for a change.

I haven't really got close friends anymore. I think maybe we just drifted apart, people drift apart everyday. I'm not the first person this has happened to, and I certainly won't be the last. It's just a part of life.

Mr. Banks is on his way to get his morning newspaper, his old bicycle sounding like it's going to fall apart any second. He smiles at me, nodding his 'good morning' my way. I smile back and bring my hand up, moving my slender fingers back and forth, waving to him; until the next time.

He's a nice old man. I don't know why only a handful of people acknowledge his presence.

The girl in the window doesn't look at him. she must be deep in thought with the questions that I can only assume fill one's head once they move to a new country.

The rumour about her tongue being cut out is false: she just dragged it over her lips. I smile at people's idiocy and kick a small rock an impressive distance away from me. I take one last look at the person who I've originally dubbed 'the new girl', and notice her eyes are resting on the rock that's just come to a stop in the middle of the road. She isn't looking at me. I think I must be hidden in the shade.

After stopping to pet a black Labrador affectionately, I walk away from Carrington Avenue. I should look for my sister. Sometimes she's at the small park by the end of third street, but I haven't seen her there for a while. I think she must like to be alone. Babies smile at me a lot. It makes me smile, too.

My old friend Hyeri is walking to school with a friend of hers I never really liked, and neither of them so much as glance at me. I won't lose sleep over it.

I used to enjoy school. People say I was especially popular. I would never use that word, but I was well liked. My attendance isn't worth mentioning these days. I hardly ever show up to class anymore, and when I do, I get the silent treatment. Even from the principal.

Those thoughts quickly diminish and, throughout the day, my legs carry me to destinations I've been to countless times before exploring as a child, sights looking eerily similar to each other. People's actions looking robotic, stuck in routines.

One thing has stayed with me all day: how she looked me in the eyes. I won't forget that any time soon. The wind tousles my hair and I think that finally, home sounds good to me. I head back, my feet walking the same paths they always have; right back to Carrington Avenue.

I enter through the back door and can see the same furniture and belongings I always have, except this time, they're becoming blurry. There's something else there now, something unfamiliar.

Things seem out of place somehow, that scent, that energy. Those boxes.

I think the new family lives in my house.

The new girl has my room.

I want it back.