I don't believe there's a single reason for me to live. I'd do much better living alongside the dead. People overwhelm me. My mother thinks I don't socialize enough, and my brother says I am a sociopath. None of them understand when I say that I haven't met someone who in the least sparks my interest.
My name is Dalilah Woodson, and this is the year 2004. Where futuristic design, synthetic tunes in music, distinctive hardware design, encapsulating fashion with fur and plastic, and cyber-inspired movies and video games are all the latest trends. I don't get it though. Why would a 17-year-old collect robot figurines and listen to robotized sounds as an excuse for music? The people in my class say I'm smug for liking acoustic music, makes me look like a wannabe gold digger. I say I loathe them.
Although I might not have a circle of friends, I do have books. And my computer. Clacking away at the keys in the progress of writing a new story is heavenly in a sort. And reading is- bliss. The two activities kept me happy during the summer holidays. But now it was back to school- the final year of high school, to be specific. My nerves got the better of me, as I brushed my teeth and stood in front of my wardrobe.
This year I wanted to stand out. Wear something that will repel every single human on the planet, something like mosquito repellent. But that didn't exist in the form of clothing so instead, I settled for a graphic t-shirt that said 'I'm a freak' alongside some cargo pants that covered my feet. From the top drawer, I found a black silk scarf and loosely put itover my head. On top of it a black puffer jacket.
Perfect, I thought looking in the mirror. It would show every single halter-top-wearing idiot that I wanted nothing to do with them and their exhausting little gossip. I stomped down the stairs of our ranch-style home and into my mother's kitchen. Keyword: mother's.
"Good morning, Mom, I mumbled. "Oh, darling you'd better hurry up and get to school, your late", the sense of urgency in my mother's voice was more than ever. "Even Davud has left already".
"Got it, chill Mom". My aching body now itched to get out of the house and away from my mother's constant complaints. It might seem rude but try bearing those 100 times per second. I grabbed a piece of plain toast and heaved myself out the door. Bye Mom, I wanted to say.
The streets were empty here in Townsville for sure after 8:40. Another reason to not move here. I practically begged to stay in Sydney along with my dad, but that didn't sit right with my mother. So, she dragged my brother and me along with her to this dangerous town. Other than its pretty features, it didn't seem like an ideal place for children to live, especially me.
The reason why is that my dad is Persian. Instead of having snow-white skin and blue eyes like my mother, I've inherited his olive skin and striking black eyes. My brother got spared the agony and he fit in with the neighbourhood boys as though he had grown up with them. Every time I tried to get some fresh air; I was brought back to the cage of my room from the stares I got. Now I don't have an excuse to hide. My features were there for the whole town to see.
I got in the Toyota Camry (which was my sweet 16-present) and buckled my seatbelt. It would be the first time I drove in it, but my nerves hid what was supposed to be excitement. I turned on the ignition key and shifted to first gear. The engine roared to life, and I slowly backed out of the driveway and into the empty road.
It's hot, I thought. Turning the AC only brought an uncomfortable gust of air that circulated inside her car. There must've been a few kilometres between me and the school. I stared straight ahead at the winding road ahead. What had once been an empty road, was now replaced with a black object that came closer and closer every second that passed.
As it got closer, I realized that the object was a black car just on the way to hit. And that got me panicked. I swerved to the left of the road just in time before the other car screeched to a stop. A part of me said to get up and ask if the driver was okay. But the thought was soon overridden when 4 men got out of the car.
They were dressed like junkies, in black singlets hugging tight to their bulky figures, sharp jewellery clasped on their ears, lips, hands, necks- even the corner of their eyes. They weren't just dressed like junkies, they were ones. And they walked towards my car, which shrank at their sight.
"Hey, beautiful", one knocked on the door's window, telling me to open it. My body was paralyzed due to what was happening. I neither opened the window nor tried to drive away at full speed, which would have been what I'd done if my body wasn't in such a dilemma. The only part of my body that practically worked was my eyes. Through them, I saw the same man getting extremely annoyed.
"Open the door darling", he said, jaws clenched. He stared intensely at me, as though trying to find out what was so wrong with me. He must've settled down the reaction as fear because a huge smirk was planted on his face.
"I bet the girl's never heard an order in her life boys. What do you think will teach her a thing or two?"
YOU ARE READING
Her Soul
RomanceI'd like to live, but that would mean killing you- which leaves no purpose of life for me.
