DROWN YOUR DEMONS | "i've loved you since we were children, i just didn't realise it until now."
Toby McAllister was just like any other troubled teen. With a sharp toungue and glare that could cut glass, few dared to see past the sarcastic remarks...
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The hour that dawn broke was always the most peaceful on the outer banks. It was when the sky was painted a deep purple, the darkness of the night slipping away to bring the warm sun that heated the long summer days. It was when shadows retreated, dissolving as the first rays of light crept over the horizon. It was when the gentle rustling of leaves were carried through the cool morning breeze.
It was beautiful in a poetic sort of way.
Unfortunately, five year old Toby McAllister didn't like pretty things, and had no idea what poetry was.
She didn't see beauty in the dawn. She saw dewy grass that would dampen her socks and stick them uncomfortably to her skin. She saw chilly mornings that made her want to cuddle up in her thin duvet forever. But most annoyingly, she saw, or rather heard, an incessant clucking shattering the silence of the early morning peace.
The clucking from her neighbours mutant chickens — yes, mutant, because there was no scientific explanation for the sheer volume that the egg-laying demons produced — had begun not five minutes after she had forcefully ripped herself from the comfort of her bed. The noise had only grown more consistent as she tidied the mess made by her parents the night before.
Her small arms struggled to hold the long broom, fumbling to get the right grip to sweep away broken glass, cigarette butts and the occasional used needle. Once the floor was mostly clear, she had discarded the broom in favour of using her hands to throw away the empty beer cans, not wanting to risk them clattering against each other and waking her parent up with the noise.
It was a familiar routine for the child. Waking just before the sun to erase her parents nightly activities. If they woke up to a clean house, they woke up happy, and they always treated her with kinder words that way.
Once she was satisfied with the state of the living room and kitchen, she crept to her parent's room. Toby knew just how far to open the door before it began to squeak, and she peaked through the small gap to see if there was anything in the room to be taken care of. Luckily, this time there was nothing to do. The floor was absent of vomit, and both of her parents had managed to make it onto the bed before passing out. She watched the still forms of the pair for a moment, only closing the door once she saw both of their chests moving in time with their shallow breaths.
By the time six am rolled around, the noise from her neighbours hadn't ceased. Toby sat on the worn down couch, strategically positioned where there was no questionable stains, with her head in her hands. There was a dull thump just behind her eyes, a tired ache that was only intensified by the loud noise.
She considered, for a moment, sticking her hand on one of the needles she had found earlier. Death by dirty needle seemed like a heavenly alternative to sitting and listening to that maddening clucking for one more second.
