Sunday Girl

Chapter 1-Serena

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People would often blissfully lie to themselves,preferring to ignore the harsh reality of others and choose to love their own selfish ideas of them instead.

It was the same truth that broke one too many hearts in the first place.

The same, scornful truth that out of many possible people and possible places, it happened to them instead.

And it all started when Parker found the ballerina.

. . .

The drizzle's pitter-pattering on the ground rippled throughout her.

The city was stirring, waking and rousing at each passing second, like a delicate little flower unfurling her petals one by one. It wasn't supposed to rain that day, she remembered. The weather should be sunny, like how all summers are supposed to be.The rain would turn the sky into an ethereal mess of gray tones. But the rain was more than real, tiny beads that hurt like pins striking. Serena pedaled down the empty road, which soon would be filled by the reckless riot of cursing drivers and roaring engines.

And she skidded down to a halt, and looked at the corner of a street. Then she sped off onto the same,lonely street.

On some nights, when there were too many cars and people on the main road, she'd use this street to get home. And right now, she was using it to get to work.This street, where the smoke won't drown her as much, where there were less blinking light posts, where the abandoned shops and the shady people were more than welcome, she'd blend right in. Sometimes, she was a shadow and just walk and try to make no sound as she went. Sometimes, she'd bring Charlie along. Charlie with her pink tipped hair and her wild child attitude. Hey! Why are you dragging me here! Charlie would scream and laugh after. It's so creepy in here weirdo. But then again,Charlie knew that Serena wasn't a weirdo, in fact Charlie would be insulting her own self if she had meant it. They'd paint and sculpt and make installations all the time, or at least the time when they weren't working at the Lumiere, which never felt like work at all.They'd be laughing as they went, cracking awful jokes. She'd feel like a beacon of darkness, if there was even such a thing. They'd get an odd stare occasionally, but Serena didn't mind. As long as they wouldn't try laying a finger on her, she didn't mind.

When she arrived, the cafe looked like how it was supposed to look like every time. Or at least every time before that day happened. Later, she'd think about what if she hadn't taken that street, or didn't go to work at all that day. Would things have changed? she'd ask herself. But the cafe hadn't changed. It was still had the same blend of quirky and sophisticated. Everyone that worked for the cafe were artists, after all. The ceiling was bare and the lighting's skeletons were visible. On the framework of the roof, they hanged some of their best lamps and wind chimes. Each one had its own story, but were held by the same long metal chain that went from one corner to another. When people asked about why they use the same type of chain and the meaning of it, Alfred the manager would say "We like to think of ourselves as unique and original, but we keep forgetting that the others are too and that's why we are held by the same chains that make us the same as others" or something like that. Then the customers would buy a nice cup of coffee and pretend like they were pondering about this thought while the world stood still. But when the cup's over, the reality of the world snaps in and they rush again into their boring,monotonous life.

Well at least it's boring for Serena.
...

The sun was behind a thick mass of clouds. "Are you sure you want to leave? I mean it's great out here" Charlie mused. It was barely past three and the rain started to pour again. "Yeah. It's great here but I can't help feel like there's something for me if I move." Serena answered. Charlie then threw a small chunk of cake at her friend, which somehow had stuck at Serena's curls. "Hey!!" She picked the sticky mess from her hair. Serena knew Charlie would hate her with a passion if she did leave, butbut she wanted it for a long time . "Suck it up big girl. Oh look Playtime's over." Charlie snickered before descending down the stairs. Their break was over but Serena was still pulling the disgusting gunk from her hair. She wasn't the vainest of them all, but she at least puts effort on looking presentable.

The mood of the main level of the café shifted as she entered. When it rains this hard, customers were hard to come by. It happened rarely, and when it does the staff would be joking around or tinkering at their latest art piece. But this time, they were so silent and it only happens when there are patrons around.

"Why is everybody silent?" She asked loudly as she walked towards the counter. Adrian the barista put a finger on his lips and she stopped. Shut up , it said. He then pointed at one of the tables in the corner, where a tall figure was sitting, facing the wall. "He's staring at one of your works, isn't he?" The giant barista asked as Serena finally sat at one of the seats there. He was staring intently at the wall installation, which she had abandoned ages ago. It was a glass skull fashioned as a lamp-flower-pot-fushion. Metallic vines and chains stuck out of it, and at the end were what seemed to be flowers.It wasn't exactly noticeable when viewed at a distance, but they weren't exactly flowers, but itsy-bitsy ceramic figures dressed as ballerinas. The chains had thorns in them that pierced the figurines, which he was gazing intently at. Serena made this in between other pieces and it wasn't finished at all, which is what made her wonder.

"Go on, hand him his order." Charlie, had appeared in front of Serena, without her noticing. "A metallic tray with a huge cup of coffee and a muffin was put at her hands. She ignored the meaningful look thrown at her by the other stuff. They had been doing this ever since someone her age was struck by her works, as if they were trying to hook her up with a patron. She made her way towards the boy, dressed in an old leather jacket. He was all straight lines and sharp edges, which stood out even more as he stared out at the installation whilst seated upright and rigid. His eyes, which were a pale brown, was focused on it like it was the most appalling thing in existence.

" It's called The Awakening but it's not finished yet." She found herself talking to the guy. He peeled his eyes off the artwork and looked at her in the eye. "Oh, Is that so?" He mumbled something Serena didn't hear, so she slipped his order on the table. Maybe if she just slowly went away, it wouldn't turn into an awkward silence. She crept away silently, not before taking a hefty glance at the strange customer. His hair was a mess, like he slept in them and did not bother to brush them like most guys do. Dark circles lined his eyes the way she painted men in her paintings. He was striking. He wasn't as handsome as the movie stars she liked best, but she did find him striking. Like a bolt of thunder that breaks the sound of rain on the ground. His brows are still furrowed and his eyes still focused at the forgotten artwork.

The rain outside was steadily becoming stronger, and it was a sure sign that no one would be entering the cafe after him. She felt the sound of the rain rippling inside her again. Somehow, she knew that she'd remember this day gain, when she'd paint again on this very same art cafe. Maybe she'd find a way to immortalize the colors of the skies perfectly on the canvas, or her strokes match perfectly his mess of a hair. Or maybe she'd manage to paint his face, more specifically his brown eyes perfectly, with the same expression as he watched the artwork carefully, the one that could make someone cower. The way they made her cower. Then she'd sell of the same piece and forget it along all the other artworks she did but soon had forgotten.

Serena knew it made no sense why she was momentarily afraid, but nothing made sense at that time. Not the heavy rain on the first day of the summer, or the bitter taste of the black coffee he was sipping. But it was the same, senseless and whimsical days that drove her to create her most inspired pieces. She didn't realize she was the only one observing the stranger at the table she had just served.

Little did she know, the stranger was watching her too.