In an instant, I was hit with the familiar stench of mould, garbage and dirt. Carefully stepping over the various newspapers and unopened letters that lay scattered in the entrance hall, I realised that as I was going to be out tonight, I wouldn't be around to clean up the kitchen. Peering through the doorway, I counted the number of dirty plates in the sink and decided I might be able to sort them out after school tomorrow, provided I went home immediately. The window was still smashed, and though tape can hold together most things it wasn't a substitute for glass, especially with winter approaching. As I walked slowly through the corridor, the door to the right stood tall and imposing and I took a deep breath before reaching forward and turning the handle.
The TV was on. The curtains were drawn, meaning the room was dimly lit - the only source of light coming from the television and the standing lamp next to the sofa. Various Coca-Cola cans lay scattered around the room, and there was a distinct smell about the room that was just recognisable enough to be unpleasant. Half lying, half sitting on the sofa was my dad, George Mayfield, a white and stained tank top barely covering his pot-belly, knee-length shorts fighting for breath amongst the sweat-covered hair of his legs. Due to the position of the furniture, he didn't notice me standing in the doorway until I cleared my throat.
"Hey, Dad."
He turned around, smiling slightly. "Hey, kid! Haven't seen you for a while, I was getting worried. I thought you'd died or something."
I shoved my hands in my pockets and looked down to the floor. "Yeah. I was staying at a friend's."
"I'm glad you're back home," he said, emotion starting to creep into his voice, "You know you're my whole world kid, you're my only reason for living anymore. If you were gone I-"
"Just stop, please." I crossed my arms. "I'm staying at the same friend's house again tonight. There's some leftover pasta in the fridge, put it in the microwave for one minute and twenty seconds, and use the clean bowl that's on the drying rack."
A frown started to creep onto his face. "You're leaving again tonight? When did this start happening?"
"You can survive a night on your own, Dad. I bought these for you." I pulled out the packet of cigarettes I had bought earlier, and his frown was replaced by a crooked smile as I threw them onto his lap. "What a champ you are kiddo. So self-sufficient and responsible for your age."
"Whatever," I responded, leaving the living room and closing the door behind me.
After grabbing a few things from my bedroom and changing out of Juno's outfit, I headed briskly back downstairs to find Aubrey sitting on the steps outside the front door. She greeted me with a hello, lightly resting her hand on my arm. "You okay?" She asked softly. I sighed and nodded, pausing for a moment to revel in the feeling of fresh cool air across my face. "All good. He said it's fine to stay at Juno's, but we should probably head over now before it gets too late." It was already arguably too late to be foraging through the forest, but having a friend made it feel far more manageable. We wandered back down through the mostly silent streets of Sylvatica, the pavement glistening under the light of the street lamps, yellows and oranges painted across our faces. The September air breezed by our feet, forming ripples along my t-shirt, undershirt and faded baggy jeans, my blue hair gaining a green hue as we travelled between each patch of light. I watched Aubrey walk beside me. I watched the trees rearing their heads as the winds pushed them around, clouds in the distance threatening rain. I watched the people in the lit windows, and the shadows in the unlit windows. I breathed in and out deeply, trying to produce as little noise as possible as not to alarm Aubrey, and thought. It had only recently struck me how much had happened in the last day or so, and I realised that I really hadn't had any time to work through what had happened. Everything went by so quickly, but now it seemed as though time was slowing down, giving me a chance to breathe. What had happened in there? What had really happened? I had felt... some sort of plant, or something organic at least. It was dark, really dark, and I had smelt something sickly sweet and nauseating. Everything about it felt wrong, and though I could feel the logical side of my brain working through solution after solution, the only thing I could think about was Juno and their stories. Juno, who knew too much and said too little.
I was about to walk into a tree trunk before Aubrey grabbed my arm. I hadn't realised how long we had walked, and we were already at the entrance of the forest. I shook myself back to reality and looked apologetically at Aubrey, though even in the dim light of our phone torches and the fading street lamps, I could see that she had also been lost in her thoughts. I slipped my hand into hers.
"It was really dark." She said.
"It was." I said.
And that was all that was exchanged between us as we walked onwards through the forest, hand in hand - a friendship that had been formed a few hours ago, and already felt as strong as family. A friendship born from fear and desperation, from loss, and from helpfulness. I hoped I could spend more time with Aubrey that wasn't in a near death experience. Maybe we could be friends for more reason than necessity. That would be nice.
☆
It was around 8pm when we reached the familiar clearing in the woods and started the journey up the long path to Juno's house. The cool air was beginning to edge on chilly, and what once felt like a sufficiently warm clothing choice was beginning to give way to the cold of the night. As we were about to knock on the door, it swung open and a tall figure wearing a star-patterned jumper stood in its place, one hand on their hip, one hand on the door handle. Juno brought us inside and sat us down on their bed, the room just as cool as I remembered, with a seemingly endless supply of bookshelves, posters and various trinkets. One book in particular was lying on their bedside table, and it caught my attention. It had a deep purple leather-bound front, with an engraving of a flower across the front and the small words "flores." written, lower-case in the centre. There was a leather chord tied around it, and everything about it felt as though it was plucked straight from a different time entirely.
"Hey, what's that book? Is that your diary or something?"
They glanced over to the bedside table, eyes resting on the purple cover. "Sort of. It's my grandma's journal of the language of flowers, though I don't think she was the one to write it considering how old it is and how many flowers there are in there from before she was born. There are quite a few pages missing though, and some pages of flowers with incomplete meanings. I've tried to ask her about it but she says she can't remember."
"Huh. Neat," I said, unsure of how to respond. Flowers seemed to be something so personal to Juno that it would be insensitive to act uninterested, however I really didn't know or care enough about them to ask any further questions.
"Juno, about earlier..." Aubrey started, trailing off and looking down at her feet. I noted how afraid and hesitant she seemed, realising how my first impressions of her seemed fairly far off to how I knew her now.
Juno sighed, and sat cross legged on the bed facing us. "Okay, I think we have a lot to talk through, and I know it's going to be weird and feel untrue and fantastical, but trust me, it's not. Everything I am going to say to you will be the truth, and I need you to listen closely, because it may help you keep your life."
From outside, the previously docile winds battered against the windows, rain starting to hammer down outside. The stars were no longer visible, covered by the thick entourage of clouds. And across the town, throughout the trees and over the sky, the sickening sound of nature being disrupted could be heard, just quietly.
