Marigold

1.

Pre-school

It began seven years ago, when they were still tiny toddlers who begged their mom with red eyes and tear-streaked cheeks for candy. They could barely even form proper words. Their hands were stubby; they used it to pick everything from the closest toy near them to even their noses. They would go running bare-feet into the woods, not one thought about it. They were careless, not having lived long enough to have something haunting them.

The first time they met, it was in pre-school. Albany heard the door chime ring, and looked up in curiosity to meet whoever was coming in. An orange-haired boy trudged into the room, clutching the hem of his mother's shirt, which had stretched pretty wide trying to accumulate to the size of her pregnant belly. His parents followed behind him, ushering him to continue on into the preschool. He was whining about something, cheeks tainted with a blush that spread across his small freckled nose to his cheeks.

"He must be the new student that the teacher was talking about", she thought to herself, and nodded silently to herself in agreement.

After his parents had talked a bit with the teachers, his dad hugged him and leaned in to whisper something in his ear. His mom raised her eyebrow and smiled at the Dad, chuckling under her breath, light and carefree with her hands resting on her big tummy. She gave orange hair a kiss to the cheek, the lips, and to the top of his head before leaving, giving him a wave of goodbye.

Now he stood alone. Eyes were on him, because who had such orange hair?

Then, his eyes met hers, and wow, his eyes are orange too.

He instantly perked up from his gloomy state, and was now replaced with a cheerful glee. He gave a smile, but she just stared back, too entranced by his way too orange eyes. Amber, was it?

Lunch came, and the orange haired boy from earlier was sitting right across from her.

His lunch was pretty simple, like every basic meal that loving parents could pack for their kid. It consisted of a ham sandwich, strawberries, and a bottle of water with one of those Kool-Aid powder packets.

The orange haired boy was halfway through his sandwich when he noticed her lunch. He eyed it, specifically the chocolate chip cookie she had.

Mom said to be nice with first impressions. So, Albany pursed her lips and considered giving him the cookie. Does he seem nice? Is he on the "will kidnap you" list that Mom made? Albany shook her head. He seems nice. He doesn't look like he'll kidnap you.

Albany nodded hesitantly but handed it over.

The orange haired boy seems surprised, but smiled anyway.

"Really? For me?"

His eyes widened when he spoke, a tiny sparkle in his orange eyes. Albany stared.

He leaned in closer to her face and snapped his fingers to snap her out of her trance.

"Hello? Earth to-"

  He paused. He didn't know her name.

"Your eyes look like those flowers my dad plants."

Orange hair blinked at her once. twice. thrice.

"I don't think so. They'd have to be really pretty flowers."

"No. They're ugly." Albany was lying, she knew she was, but the faces that orange hair made whenever he reacted so something was too interesting interesting to miss out on.

  He gasped, a hand coming up to his gaping mouth.

"Mean! So mean-"

  her name?

"Shut up. You're being loud, idiot."

"I'm not loud!"

Everybody in the room turned their heads to look at them.

Albany hid her face behind her hair, face red.

"Sure you aren't. Maybe that explains why you caught everybody's attention too." The words were harsher, lacking the light tone she had earlier. Orange hair quieted down.

"Sorry", he whispered.

Albany sighed and nodded.

"Okay."

Then it became silent. Silent enough for Albany's anxiety to come up, worrying about what she said during their conversation. What would she say now?

  "Orange hair."

  Orange hair didn't answer.

  "Orange hair."

Orange hair looked at her, attention caught, and laughed.

  "You were talking to me? Orange hair?"

She scoffed. "I don't know your name! Shut up! J-just- just let me ask you this."

He nodded and laid his head on his arms, looking up at her in anticipation.

"What's your name?"

"Conner. My dad almost named me Orange Hair though, it was a tough choose between those names."

  Albany seemed unamused.

"Would Conner or Orange Hair be a better name? I feel like Orange Hair fits you more."

"Hmm~ tricky choose, but I think I'd like Conner."

"You mean decision."

Conner blinked. "What's a decision?"

Albany shook her head. "Never mind. I didn't think you'd know."

"Hey! My dad warning me about you type of girls. He said to stay away from the really smart ones who would correct you on everything!" He squinted at her and moved up in her face, as if to inspect her every movement. "You aren't that type of person, right?"

Albany winced, and flicked him in the head.

"It's 'warned', by the way, you orange-haired idiot."

**

It's dark. It's dark everywhere. It's nothing but dark. She can't make out anything in the dark, except for her own body. She stands up, and it feels heavier.

She looks down to trace down the cause of the extra weight.

  Her feet. They're connected- connected? More like glued to the floor. Not the floor, there is no floor. It's glued to the darkness. It's superglued on. No. Not superglued. Something has her stuck to the darkness.

Right. The darkness. Where is she?

"Dad." Her voice echoes through the room.

No one responds.

"Mom."

No one responds.

"Aiden."

Again, no one responds.

She gives a tug at the chains wrapped tightly around her arms, and it doesn't help the situation. They dig into her arms painfully, but she just pulls harder. She hears metal clink against metal. It rattles like a rattlesnake and bites at her like one the more she struggles against the chains. It'll create a bruise later on.

She can't move. She's stuck. She tugs at the chains again. No do.

Torn between feeling hopeless and frustrated, she starts crying. She never cries, but she did. It was weird, because the last time she's cried was six years ago.

  "Conner."

  The darkness goes away, and the dream ends.

The only thing holding her in place is herself.