demons don't snitch (it 2017) (stand by me)

02. cherry's bikes and boards

     The next morning, Hester woke to clear skies and the sun shining. Not a single cloud in the sky remained from Hester's outburst from the day before. Her chest twinged when she looked back, trying to remember what had happened during those few moments when she blacked out, entering the state she hated the most. She never could remember.

      But that feeling quickly dissipated, her eyes lighting up as soon as she saw the sun peeking through her white curtains. She got up out of bed, slipping into her yellow flip flops and throwing on a black hand me down Zeppelin t-shirt over her tank top. 

She traveled half drowsily to the bathroom nearest to her room to wash up and brush her teeth. About ten minutes later, when she was done, she threw her frizzy curls into a bun, staring at her reflection in the mirror, as if expecting something to change. Even with the light filtering through the window, her eyes remained the same color. Pitch black, with flecks of gold and red right in the center. If you looked from a normal distance, it looked like she had brown eyes. But too close, and you were in for a shock.

As per usual, nothing changed. Same old youthful skin, barely there freckles speckled across her cheeks and a sad look instilled in her slanted eyes. She didn't think she was ugly, but she knew she wasn't real. Being a kid, she didn't have much acne, and she looked youthful and innocent, like a kid should. But she knew that inside she was decaying and rotting to the core, and it would only be a matter of time before that started to really show. She didn't care much for looks, but still, there was always that lingering feeling that her looks wouldn't last for long, that she would soon lose that perfect skin, and all the perks of being young.

Because what was inside was the opposite of perfect.

She sighed, smoothing out the tendrils that hung down in front of her face and went back to her room, sorting through her closet for a pair of jean shorts until she found her favorite pair. They belonged to her grandmother in the 50s around the time her mother was born, and when her grandmother was in her late twenties. They were high-waisted cuffed jean shorts with pockets at the side. A slim brown belt went around the hoops and tightened in the front. Her grandmother told stories of the times she was living in, when her wearing those shorts drew so much attention that she couldn't wear them without men trying to dress code her on the street.

She smiled as she remembered her grandmother, a kind and light-hearted soul who they had to leave back in Castle Rock. Her grandmother wasn't old and feeble or dying, but her visits would be less frequent. She knew why they had to leave though, and she wished them the best of luck, as always, not hurt or feeling abandoned by their sudden absence. Still, even though she knew her grandmother understood and that she wasn't upset, all Hester could think was: It's all my fault.

She pushed the belt through the holes and tied it through. She stepped in front of the mirror and tucked her shirt in to her shorts. She changed from her slippers into some black ankle socks and converse and swiped her small shoulder purse from off of the door of her closet, wrapping it around her shoulder.

She went downstairs into the kitchen, where even more light was streaming in. There was a slight breeze coming in from the windows, which had been left open over the humid, fervent night. Paperwork for her new school and magazines Star had left on the kitchen table near the window rattled as the breeze floated in, and Hester welcomed it, glad to be feeling cool. Normally, she was either icy cold or scalding hot, and weather usually complicated her temperature. She preferred fall weather, when it was fifty to sixty degrees and clear skies. Then, she could regulate her body temperature instead of shift between too hot and too cold.