The Girl (Would You Rather Say Goodbye)

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Clarissa collapsed onto the family couch. It felt like her heart was being wrenched from her soul. Her father's words resounded in her ears. This was all her fault. But how could he have left them like that. She recalled how she had begged him to stay, but he just continued to shove his stuff into his old suitcase. Not even her own father could fight for her. He had looked her straight in the eyes and said, "No matter how hard I try- you are still a failure. Everything I do fails. I'm sorry my dear." Then, he marched out the door, got into his car, and drove away.

The worst part was that she had waited years for this to happen; she knew it was coming, it made it hurt all the more. Her parents had argued a lot, sometimes every day before she went to school. Clarissa tried so hard to keep them together; to cool off arguments, setting stuff up so they avoided each other, and begging them to understand the other. She constantly took the blame for the other parent's failures. It wore down on her day after day, night after night. However, her greatest fear had come true. Apparently, after Clarissa had gone to school that morning, they had fought some more. When Clarissa's mother went to work, he started packing.

After a while, a splitting headache pierced her thoughts. All her tireless work and stress had marched out the door. Her whole being seemed to shatter into a million pieces. She had a sinking painful feeling that he was never coming back. She wanted to call someone- maybe her best friend, Emerson. No. He had basketball practice after school. There was no one else to call. She resigned into a weary, exhausted sleep.

After a half hour nap, she woke up. Pain seared with all its strength into her head and heart the instant she opened her eyes. She headed to the kitchen for some Tylenol. Glancing at the digital clock, she realized her mother would not be home for a few hours. Needing to clear her head, and her headache, she laced up her boots and headed outside. Her shoes clicked against the concrete sidewalk; meticulously, rhythmically. A few stars peeked out from the suburbs' lighted glare. The moon and wary streetlights casted odd shadows. Somewhere ahead, she heard a clatter, then the sound of something hitting the ground.

Time, and time again she had been warned about the amount of nightly crime in that area, but her curiosity won over. Cautiously, she came to the corner. She took a breath and stepped into the alleyway. She was met eye-to-eye with a shaggy-haired boy. He glared at her with fiery eyes. Before Clarissa could blink, he whipped his sword out of its sheath with a soft metallic "whoosh." Its sharp blade glinted devilishly under a streetlight. In his left hand, a dull purplish red rock was clenched between slightly bloodied fingers.

"Who are you?" he barked, the point of very sharp metal aimed at her.

Their eyes locked and a silent argument ensued. Her day had been tiring and stressful, she was not in the mood for any of this. She had come for a few minutes of peace and was met with this. Ah... why did her curiosity always get the better of her.

When Clarissa didn't audibly answer, he lunged with his sword. She heard it buzz near her ear, and it sliced a gash through her shoulder. Crying out in pain and fury, she clenched her shoulder with her hand. She landed a powerful kick to his gut, and he stumbled backwards. Grabbing the hilt of his sword, she twisted it and wrenched it out of his grip. He slammed into her with his elbow and retrieved his beloved sword. Still grasping her dripping shoulder, she glared at him, breathing heavily. His sword was pointed threateningly at Clarissa's chest. It was long, and quite sharp. Intricate designs were carved into the mother-of-pearl handle.

He smirked, "You do well. Who sent you?"

"What do you mean?" she snapped.

"Never mind. Just kick that over here."