Running to the Edge of the World...

WOW

Chapter 1: WOW

A ‘girl’s’ night. That’s what they thought I wanted. Wrong. All I wanted was to curl up at home in front of the fireplace with some hot chocolate, a good book, and my newest Marilyn Manson CD. Instead, I was here, with Emily and Kate, having a ‘girl’s’ night with them. But I was getting tired, and my two friends were beginning to notice.

“We gotta take her home,” Emily says. Emily and Kate live together in this gorgeous place only a few blocks from my own house – which was convenient for these nights…for them at least.

“Can you get back by yourself?” Kate asked, frowning.

“Yeah, I'll be right,” I assured them as I grabbed my things and headed out the door. I’d paid the rent the day before, so there was no way I had enough for a taxi, and I knew I’d just missed the last bus. Guess I'm walking. Oh, well. It's only a couple of blocks back to my humble abode; I just have to be careful of murderers and rapists. My fingers tightened around the pepper spray in my purse.

Usually when I have to walk for a long way or anything I'll pull out my MP3 player and jam while I walk. But right now, I'm a little too paranoid to render myself incapable of hearing, so I'm forced to just listen to the music my head provides.

Finally, though, I see it. My street. And, two houses down from the corner, my house. Thank God. I'm so tired that my vision is doubling…tripling…just plain not letting me see what's in front of my face. If I hadn't, in a fit of inspiration, painted my door bright red – with the occasional black splatter – I don't think I would have been capable of finding it.

I sink down on my front step, grateful to have the weight off my feet. Heeled shoes are all well and good for some things, but walking is not one of them. My feet are literally killing me. They have each grabbed a chainsaw and are hacking me into little pieces. I need to rest here for a second to regain my energy for the Mount Everest-like climb up the four steps into my house. I close my eyes and rest my forehead on my knees.

It's so peaceful here. I could go to sleep right now. I mean, it's a pretty safe neighbourhood. And the guy next door's wife is a really light sleeper, and he keeps a twelve-gauge by his bed. If anybody was gonna try something, I'd be okay. I'd just have to scream, and everything would be okay. Neighbour guy would come out with his shotgun to do battle and defend my honour. Sleep. That sounds so good. I lean over, intending to curl up on the little square of concrete between my stairs and my front door.

I don't make it. I bump into something first. Something soft, yet hard at the same time. Something warm. Something… human. Fuck. I didn't even notice that someone was there. I really hope that Mrs. Ormond hasn't chosen tonight to take a sleeping pill. I turn my head slightly and crack my eyes open. Another set of eyes looks back at me. Dark eyes. I like dark eyes. They're sexy. And I'm so incredibly sleep-high that I might have just said that out loud. There's really no way to be sure. I scan my eyes over him, because it's definitely a him, and gasp. It's not just a him. It's the him. And I don't mean the Finnish metal band – though that would be kinda cool. This is an even better him. Then I realized that this kind of thing never happens in real life, and I therefore must’ve been hallucinating. Damnit!

I glared at him. When I pair this glare with a smirk, it makes my guy friend Marshall describes me as 'a hungry shark who wants to rape and then eat' him. But I'm not smirking now. The overall effect (I know—I've practiced in the mirror) is a glare terrifying enough to peel the flesh from the faces of lesser mortals. “If you're a cheap impersonator, that shit really pisses me off. Go away.”

“And what if I'm real?”

“And what if I'm Tony Blair?” There's no way the real Manson could be sitting on my front step like we're best friends and this happens every day. Then I took a closer look at him. He's got the hair, and the leather pants, and the makeup, but something's off. Then I realized what had been off about it all. An impersonator would never let himself get this… grungy. The hair is mussed, the clothes sagged a little off his frame, and the makeup was smeared by…tears? Has he been crying?