The eternality in our ephemerality

Chapter 13. Consequences of running away: no one believes you

A feeble ray of sunlight dazzled my view, awakening and entrancing me in the shivering frost my blankets had. My eyes evaluated the damage: my sister, profoundly asleep, spun around the balcony, whilst I incorporated my muscles, who now scolded me for sleeping in such a place.

The alarm clock rang.

A screeching sound that alerted my ears into paranoia and wished, in a blissful negativity, I was deaf. A resounding beep, with much resilience, that would never shut up.

I threw the pillow at the scandalous thing, hitting the shivering circular machine and finally succumbing to torturous silence. My sister, with purple hues caressing her eyes, looked at me with uncertain daggers and examined her current location. Once her mind finally made sense of it, of her distasteful hair and the jungle of feathers that locked her in a dream so eager that was near impossibility to lift her; I threw a pillow at her. Menacing was her current hair state, just as her face was now branded with the wooden pattern of the floor in a squeaking cherry colour. She looked utterly fatigued.

In my cruelty: I laughed at her misery and her tongue struck proudly at my scolding.

"Ow" were her regretful words: wishing, like any 17-year old teenager would, that school would not commence until our exhausted minds finally had a break. My lips, crumbling due to the cold, kissed her on the forehead as my speedy feet ran in search for some clothes.

It was the most dreadful thing I could be threatened upon.

A swift shower, with boiling hot water that forced a bright scarlet color into  my hands, was taken after the clock had imperatively announced that we would be late. My eyeballs searched for an adequate outfit as I moaned and complained. As usual the elegance of simplicity reached my sight: a yellow blouse that clung to my skin, some high rise jeans and the magnificence of pale slippered converse. The weightiness of my light chestnut hair still demanded my attention, and so, still staring at the needles of the heedless timepiece, I brushed it and passed the towel a couple of times until it looked.....suitable.

Unlike my sister ,and most of my friends, i did not have the gift of vanity. To be honest, I hung with a tough crowd and still was marvelled they had embraced me over their wings.

A quick spray of perfume, accommodation of my iron-pearled necklace and an attempted smile directed at the mirror. But I stared fearfully at my reflection, bringing to surface the last time I stared fixated at the glass and the events that happened next. Up and down my eyeballs went, until the nervous touring of my fingertips did not encounter something that was supposed to be there: an ominous reminder on what i had left in the woods, what I had lost to a stranger...In my cowardice, I hid the scar behind a pearl loop and stared, once again, at the reflection in the mirror.

"Ale were late!" she screeched.

No time spared, my feet sped across the corridor, down the stairs and finally arriving at the kitchen where my mothers kiss greeted me with a smile. Its warmth sped across my limbs like the water of my tea. Hunger, now noticeable on my tongue, fed itself with a green smoothie and packed the leftovers of breakfast in Tupperware. The car, in its precipitated desperation, honked aggressively: the driver, who's fatigued self evaporated unseeingly fast, screamed in a passionate fit and inhibited me from kissing my mother goodbye; although, as as I hopped inside the moving vehicle, my lips waved at my mom's lovely figure.

The car parked: my insidious quest began.... a newly encountered prudence took over my converse. I was never quiet, never talked about many important issues but, i hated the silence. I babbled in my nervousness and that is what people called my shyness. It wasn't, it was taking control of the conversation, securing safety in topics that could not harm you.