The Race

My world

My world

(Naomi's POV)

Heart-wrenching, heart-breaking, hard-taking. Spilled tears, reminisced years, bleeding wounds; red as flowers newly bloomed.

My mother was poetic. Mo and I both inherited her talents. Even when we were little Mo would write little poems of fields of daisy's, where fairies flutter. I would write of shriveled, dead, gray flowers, that concealed monsters and miseries.

My overall theme hasn't changed much.

I look at my sister through the window in my temporary bedroom; she is stretching on the grass, oblivious to the fact that it is sprinkling chilly rain around her. She always loved dancing in the rain.

"Roses are red,

Violets are blue.

Sugar is sweet,

And so are you." I mutter to myself as I fold another black t-shirt onto a hanger. That was the poem my sister came up with for my mother on Mother's Day when we were five. I countered it with;

"The roses are wilted;

The violets dead.

The sugar bowl is empty,

And my wrist is stained red." Though I knew my mother would disapprove, so I didn't tell it to her. I told it to myself many times throughout my life, as it has often been true in my world.

My world. My safe world of loneliness and independence, hollow-heartedness. But the miniature bright side to my world, is that you never get hurt.

How did my world get turned so upside down?

Mo's POV

I raise my right leg and set my foot against my thigh so that my knee bends into a triangle shape, and I balance on one leg, holding my arms out; the tree position. I can feel eyes on the back of my head, and I turn to see a black head of hair disappearing from the other side of the window.

I shake my head and return to my stretches, preparing to race some more with Cami and attempt to outrun my troubles.

This is how my life has always been. I have always had troubles, but I have overcome all of them by running away from them. That would explain why I push myself so hard, because troubles are like a mummification of tape that suffocate you. Surely if you run fast enough, the tape will fall away.

That's just me, my life, my world. I look back up at the empty window and sigh.

How did my world get turned upside down?

"Who the hell are you and what are you doing in my damn house?!" I hear Cami shriek as I walk back inside.

Oh shit.

"Whoa Cami put the knife down!" Naomi cries, and I see her flea past the end of the hallway, towards the stairs.

"How do you know my name? Do I know you?" Cami asks, pausing.

"Cami!" I yell, kicking off my shoes and running into the living room to see her brandishing a knife and Naomi's black curls falling on the glass staircase as she peeks her head hesitantly back down the stairs.

"Mo? Thank god." Cami and Naomi both mutter tensely. They turn and glare at each other.

"Stay behind me Mo, there's a stranger in our house. I think she's mental." Cami whispers, still loud enough for Naomi to hear.

"Hey!" Naomi cries. "Me, mental? You're the one who was chasing after me with a KNIFE you crazy bitch!"

"You're in my house!" Cami bickers back. "And yes, I do have a knife so YOU are the crazy bitch for not running!"