Author Games Compilation [Cycle 1]

Task 5 - Dropping the Moon (NN)

Task 4 will be posted sometime later because I don't feel like re-italicizing everything...

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Windows: the equivalent of apprehension, trepidation. Close the shutters, lock the bolts! Board them up, pull the curtains! It's time for the blackout, so the enemies don't see us. It's time to keep the cold out. It's time to keep the others from peering in. It's time for hiding, for secrets, for safety. It's time for the end of the world; as the ancients would put it. Smear blood on the sill, pour salt, keep the demons out, keep the enemies out. Keep the psychopaths out.

Naomi stared on at one of these so called windows, and everything she knew about them - that they offered protection from the outside - was switched around. She needed protection from the inside. The blurred glass was deceptive; she couldn't even see the outside world. What she saw was a line of windows far out of her reach, short - and locked. Reaching up to feel around wasn't necessary, she knew it as fact from her years working there.

The small, blurred windows in the bathrooms never opened, and therefore, were deceptive.

Naomi let out a soft sigh at this realization. In her haste to relieve her bladder she'd left Radley behind and now stood in the Little Ladies Room just staring at those windows she forgot existed. Lies, that's what they were, and now she was all alone. But hey, if a girl's gotta go, a girl's gotta go.

Abandoning her philosophical opinions on the fear that windows both kept away and provided, Naomi stepped over to one of the mirrors. They weren't like her mirrors back at home, not grimy nor immaculate, just in the middle. No, these mirrors were covered in a thick layer of smudges and marker. She found herself scrunching her face up at the graffiti. "Caster hearts Scott."

 A stickman with a hastily drawn noose sat in the corner, a bubble drifting off saying, "Fuck the school, it's stoopid."

And then...was that - was that a dick drawn in bright red?

Naomi stuck her tongue out in disgust before moving on the mirror beside that one, a much cleaner one save for a few purple scribbles. "Everyone should ship Nadomi. (aka, Radley + Naomi)."

Her hands found her hair and she tugged lightly in frustration. "It's platonic," she whispered, so quiet that not even the ghosts would hear her. Probably the ghost of that stickman; that noose looked wicked tight.

She flicked her eyes back to the center of the mirror, where her face stared back at her. There was something haunting about the way her own grey eyes stared back with some kind of emptiness she couldn't pinpoint, the way her crows feet still sat proud at the edges, even with a chapped frown taking up the majority of her face. Blood had dried on her cheeks, sweat had plastered her brown locks to her forehead. Damn. I look like shit. Boo-boo won't be kissin' these luscious lips anytime soon.

With a newfound vigor, Naomi straightened her back, fixing her frown into a tight line to match. She did all this only to slump back down again, crouched towards the sink. The faucets ran with water cold enough to frost her fingertips but she didn't care; her cupped hands fell into the line of fire. No hesitation was cost at the expense of warmth. Liquid ice met her face and she gasped at the chill running down her face. She rubbed, scraped away the blood, rubbed her eyes. Mascara ran black as the roads to the school but she couldn't care less.

It was the blood that sent unease coursing through her, and now that the little stains were gone she could settle into semi-comfort. The way she smiled at herself in the mirror made her look like one of those creepy little shits from horror movies, black lines smudged over her cheekbones, and she let the comfort on her face fall as soon as it appeared. Ew. I wouldn't be surprised if a student shot me, that was horrifying.