The sleet hits my face in hard chunks as if bracing for the impact against my face.
My arms brace around myself as if attempting to squeeze myself so tight the shivering will stop. The wind is relentless, ice drops form on the lids of my eyes.
Even the drive to the station in a cruiser as if I were some sort of a convict was preferable to this.
Finally, my boots meet the ruff doormat of the house, scraping every drop of water and scuff of ice off my feet. I step inside welcoming the warm fist of air that meets my face, embracing the tingle warming my from my spine and out. The house is empty, and in my moment of freedom, I find the thermostat and crank up the heat in a sad attempt to warm up my numb constantly cold limbs.
A humming in my head grows louder as I slowly ease out of my winter jacket, flicking away the caked snow off the cuffs of my sleeves.
My face is tense, and slowly, I attempt to release the muscles forming an arch in my brows. I would only grow the headache forming in the base of my skull. Instinctively I reach up to rub my face, my temples warm under my touch. Mrs. Partridges had been wearing a wool sweater. Only a reminder of my wonderfully treacherous meeting. A lingering gift left from her, surely to remind me what pain she could bring in court if I didn't give her what she wanted. She would get what she wanted eventually. She always did. And I would lose again.
I run warm water over my hands, dampening the cuffs of my sleeves, melting the snow away, and attempting to erase the numbness in the tips of my fingers. It eases the pins forming through my hands but leaves my damp sleeves hanging and too long. My skin itches underneath the damp cloth. Futility I pull my shirt over my head, my bare arms bristling against the cool air. Ashamed of being in my barren state, even alone I pull my arms around my chest, my hands leaving red prints where the blood gathers on my arms. I rush up the stairs to my room, finding the nearest T-shirt in an attempt to let my arms dry, quickly pulling it over my head, and letting the cool fabric adjust to my body temperature. Goosebumps rise on my skin, my arms bristling to the cool air.
Futilely I give up, throwing myself backwards on my bed and pulling a warm blanket over myself. I tuck myself into a fetal position, my feet cold against my already freezing body. My breaths come slow and even, yet my heart races. I wasn't sure what I was doing to myself in the office at the station. I couldn't afford a lawyer, and I wasn't a criminal so I wouldn't be provided one. The only legal advice I would be dished out is my own poor opinions. I was doing something, something that could also gain me charges of my own if I didn't tip the scale carefully. But I was determined to turn what I had seen into something of use. I had seen what no other person had, and right now my knowledge was important. And if I could use this knowledge to my advantage I could change my, and Mom's fate. And right now that was the only hope I had left to cling onto. hope was so far and distant I could barely see it, but I was clinging onto the shape of a dream.
YOU ARE READING
Space Egg
ActionWhen she would walk down the street in the dead of night Elfy would look to the sky, and stare at the stars. It would ease the boredom. She would count the stars, one by one, one by one, one by one. Until she would trip on a rock and scrape her knee...
