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Deborah

Deborah Down had lived in the same home she was born in for fifteen years, eleven months, and one day. Aside from commutes to school, church, or work she never left the few acres of land owned by her father and mother. Deborah never had a reason to. Her social life was nonexistent. A few friends popped up here and there, mainly other kids whose parents worked at the same oil refinery as her father. Friend was a strong word for the acquaintances she acquired but she would take what she could get. Not a complete outcast, she could hold a conversation with someone as long as she was not the one starting them. She also didn't really avoid people. Though her lack of companions would suggest otherwise.

Deborah was... there. She was a perfectly average background character in a world of protagonists. She never thought herself better than anyone or particularly beneath many. Her mother, bless her soul, had once asked Deborah why she seemed so distant. As if Deborah personally tried to detach herself from the world around her.

"No one is close enough for me to reach," she had responded with a shrug. Not in a literal sense, of course. Rather, Deborah never felt close to anyone. She couldn't find things to have in common with them. She didn't have preferences, though she did have a short list of things that she attempted to avoid.

Her birthday, for one.

It was quickly approaching, skittering around her. A mouse that emerged to hear her screech once a year. Birthdays in general weren't appealing to her. Celebrating another year that passed by like a car zooming down the interstate. No change. No break in the overcast skies blending with the road that was straight and, for the most part, smooth. To be honest, Deborah was bored. And she had been bored every day since she came hacking and squealing into this world. And she was tired of it. Tired of whole months passing without a single change in her stoic routine. Habits become habitual. And to Deborah, that word held a very negative connotation. Habitual meant never ending sameness. Just as that morning had been turning out.

Her father was gone, as per usual. Probably putting in extra hours that did nothing for their standard of living but made him feel as though he was accomplishing something. She never stopped to ask what he did at the refinery, but she assumed it paid well, as their home was warm and the livestock were well fed. Her mother was a florist. Flowers. Flowers everywhere. Half of their home was a makeshift shop where her mother would arrange flowers for weddings, gifts, and, on the rare occasion, funerals.

Funerals. Number two on the list of things to avoid. Never had Deborah even heard of a precession without shedding a least a half-dozen tears. They were a trigger for her for multiple reasons. The one thing Deborah hated more than wasted life was life cut short.

She watched her mother clip away dead leaves and pluck a few dry buds from a quickly fading perineal.

"I forgot to water it," her mother sighed. "It was tucked behind Mrs. Brewer's wreathe. Is that woman ever going to come pick this thing up?" Deborah glanced to the horrendously out of season disaster. It was loaded with dark, spiny, evergreen needles and gold dusted pine cones. The gaudy thing would likely be poised on the Brewer's door of ever changing colors before Thanksgiving.

Deborah couldn't hold in her disapproval. "Why do you accept every request they ask for. I know Mrs. Brewer asked for something ostentatious but giving her exactly what she wants isn't really helping her curb appeal." A slight groan emanated from her mother.

"I know. It's hideous. But that makes her happy." The unasked question hung in the air, What makes you happy?

It remained unanswered, "I'm going to get ready for school," Deborah got up from her seat taking her time walking down the hall to the bathroom where she quickly tamed her short, auburn hair, neatly cropped to hang in layers that grazed her earlobes. Her eyes always tried to mimic her shirt color. Today the dull orbs reflected a grey sweatshirt she had pulled over her tank top after noticing a chill seeping in through her bedroom window. Leggings and mud-caked Converse All-Stars completed the ensemble.

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