Skin

1

"Where would I be able to find a bookstore?" I anxiously asked the truck driver as he closed the moving van, once filled with my contents.

He turned to me, scratching the beard covering his wrinkled face, "There is, it's just a block down right on the corner."

"Thank you." I nodded to him, looking down at my worn jeans and bare feet as I stood on the driveway.

"If you don't mine me asking," He began, looking hesitant as he leaned in. "What brings you to a place like this, anyway?"

"I had to get out of my old town," I smiled, pushing my hair out of my face as the wind blew.

He cocked an eyebrow at me, smirking as he dropped our conversation. "It was nice meeting you, Phoebe."

I returned his pleasures as we shook hands, then I walked back up the wooden steps to my new home, being welcomed by the heavily taped boxes at the front door. My furniture was scattered around the living area, my dining table stand slanted in the dark kitchen. I groaned as I began to unpack, wishing I had paid a few extra dollars for the moving men to do this job for me. I had to do some things on my own, I suppose.

I started with my book shelf, stocking it with the numerous books I had in an order that I refused to alter. This was my most prized possession, with that being said, I wanted nothing but perfection.

My name is Phoebe. I usually escaped my real life tragedies and dove into the ones of fictional characters, analyzing each detail of their situation and comparing it to my own personal life. It was something I found hard to explain, and so I felt inclined to disclose this aspect. I chose not to write about my life, to write a narrative about what I have experienced.

My journal had empty lines, the spine still intact as the pages remained crisp. The thought of my past sent me into a tunnel of anxieties, demons in which I didn't know how to contain. I am constantly haunted by what I have been through, and on my darkest days, I still recall the moments I have repressed, and I catch myself in an endless loop of suffering.

Post traumatic stress has left me with night terrors, ones that are so vivid at times I cannot distinguish between reality and the fiction of my own imagination. Saying I have done everything in my power to attempt to lessen these encounters would be an understatement, the darkness of the night quickly brings out the darkness of my mind, and this is something that is unescapable.

I cleaned and sorted my humble abode to perfection for three hours. The day was still young by this time, and I knew I couldn't waste my time behind closed doors. I quickly readied myself, removing my dirtied clothes and replacing them with a fresh outfit. I wasn't hesitant to leave my house, and took my time in locking the door behind me before taking a few steps back and admiring my estate.

For a moment, I was content.

I decided that now would be the best time to explore my surroundings, and make my way to the bookstore I was given directions to. My shoes clicked on the clean sidewalk as I journeyed up the small hill of the street.

The lawns were very well kept, flowers lining the path ways to the front doors of the people who lived around me. I walked past a couple with a small child, watching as they played in the front lawn, kicking a small ball around. The lady, who I assumed to be the mother of the child, straightened out her dress before waving at me with a smile on her face and I returned the gesture.

This was a quiet little town, the population not reaching over two thousand. The sun was shining behind me, warming my skin in a gentle and welcoming way. I was planning on staying here for a long while, and my choice for a getaway seemed to be a fair pick.