"There are some things that only fear can explain."
✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧
The apartment door clicked shut as thunder crashed outside, the pitter patter of the heavy rain hitting the concrete directly outside the door radiating through the dark room.
Light flooded in from behind the girl who reeked of determination just an hour prior, yet now she no longer stands tall and her hair and clothes drip rain water onto the hardwood floor.
"Where's the food?" as the scruffy looking teacher spoke with a raised eyebrow it hit the girl right over the head, her alibi... she was supposed to bring back food...
She stepped further into the electricity lacking apartment, her feet dragging with each step and trailing rainwater in, she slumped down into one of the dining chairs that had hardly ever been used.
"I forgot." She said quietly, laying her head on the table, her body shivering a bit from the cold.
A loud exasperated sigh could be heard before retreating footsteps, and eventually, just as the girl was about to lift her head, a towel landed on top of it.
The towel was shifted around a bit, drying her hair ever so slightly before her father took a seat across from her.
"You 'went to get food' and forgot the food?" he asked skeptically, taking in every suspicious detail of his daughters soaked and defeated appearance.
The storm raged on outside, lightening flashing and lighting up the room for a brief second, causing the younger of the two to flinch her hands clenching into fists on the table.
"Yeah." She said plainly as she got up and stepped over to the sink, opening up the cabinet beneath it and grabbing a small cardboard box full of matches and the storm candles.
She'd swipe the match over the striker over... and over... until eventually a small orange flame surrounded the match head.
Her hands remained unsteady as she held the match to the candle's wick, every second wasted of trying to light it leading to another burn on her fingertips, over and over again.
After about the fifth match her father gently grabbed her hand and the matches with a small sigh, lighting the storm candles himself and putting the matches back under the sink.
