Perfectly Imperfect Lives

Everything Should Have Gone Silent

Missy's POV

            I glare down at the surface of the ground with a look of plain resentment. The calm sound of wind rushing through leaves surrounds the enclosure. A huge spider nest, protected by a thick white web which encases the young nestled inside, clings tightly to a fallen branch. The limb rests on an old tree, an elderly sarsaparilla. It has a hole in the center of its rotting wood, and I think back to when I was a kid. Back to when people stuffed the holes with concrete to prevent trees from dying.

            They thought it meant that a tree was ready to pass away when holes showed up in its core, but today things are different. Everything's different; it's like walking around with a fresh pair of eyes after being blind your whole life and finally getting glasses. It's all new and not all in a good way. A crystal clear drop of water falls onto the soft yet prickly blades of grass, and I absentmindedly wipe my eyes with the back of my dry hand. Its calluses and rough exterior irritate my skin.

            A deer comes bounding toward me and cuts to the right without seeming to notice my presence. It must have had to though; the species is usually pretty observant. I gawk at its beauty and smile at what I find. It's only a yearling: still young. I laugh as it slows its full fledged sprint and stumbles through obstacles made by cracked sticks, fallen branches, sharp bodied bushes, and scattered beer cans.

            The deer's adorable clumsiness in supporting the long legs it so proudly wears reminds me of a young Rosalie. It reminds me of how her height had made her clumsier than the average person because she was always growing and never stopped to get the chance she needed to get used to it. I sob harder as I watch, until my whole body is shaking. Soon the hurt is too much, and I shut my eyes so tight it burns.

            Colors explode behind my closed eyelids when my eyes hide behind them. Vivid pictures blur by as I take a moment to bear in my mind the pain and impede my pondering of nature to remember Rosalie. I recall how she always tried to stay positive through her actions; the sparkle brightening her olive green eyes always revealed her intents. I wish her perspective on life could have rubbed off on me, but whenever I let it come close, it left almost as soon as it had come. 

            The angel kisses dotting her dimpled cheeks and crossing her diminutive little nose brought out the country side of her that she never knew she had. All Rosalie knew of where she had lived, past and present, was that she lived in captivity, a slave to Damien. Despite her troubled present, when she was a little girl, golden with childhood, Rosalie had lived in Tennessee. This explains the effects the sun had on her skin, on her hair, on her everything. The natural golden hair, stopping just below her usually bare shoulders, came right from the sun down in Tennessee. Her bronze tan most likely went with the cold winters of Montana, but still slightly remained on her beautiful face, as I have seen in a many taunting pictures sent annually. I like to think her light freckles are the traces her tan left behind: the birthmark of Tennessee. They are the scars of being a true country girl, and I will always remember raising her there, before the attempted escape.

            Leaves crumple into shattered pieces whenever I shift my weight, but I barely feel their scrapes through the fog of memories swirling around in my head. The thought of her gives me a will to live; she's the only reason I have to never give up. I may be a survivor, but I'm not much of a fighter. Rosalie has always been the one hard as nails, the self-assertive one.

I become so lost in thought I don't hear him approaching. I don't realize there's someone other than me on my private trail. I don't notice him trudging through the countless cans I had thrown to the ground. I always drink too much when I'm down, and the remains are usually left behind instead of picked up. Call me an alcoholic, but in my defense, I'm getting better. I finally notice him the moment his body hits the ground beside me.