Masquerade - The Complete First Novel

- 20 -

(Dakota)

I sat on the couch, cuddled with a blanket and tear-stained cheeks. Ana flipping the channels as I stare at the changing box of content. I twirl my orange hair, my head stuck in the tilting position. I find myself staring at the books on the shelf: reading the titles. Some dramatic, and some comedic. Only one murder mystery on my shelf, the only book Ana would actually read. The Broken by Jennifer Price. Something about a girl who was murdered and it's up to a complete stranger to find out who killed her.

Sometimes I wish my life was a make-believe story for others to enjoy. That would end in happiness or to leave the world better than it came. An icon I would be if I was the main character, something the youth could look-up to or relate to. To be re-read over and over. My story. Unlike any other. I move my attention to who would be the real protagonist: Anastasia. She would be the icon, not me. A side character, I would be. A supporting actress. Her yellow seemed to shine brightly; as did her soul.

"Are you good?" Ana's eyes caught mine and I quickly turned away. They started to linger as I answered.

"Yeah," She smirked and became the first to turn away. She acts so normal as if I didn't just pull her away from someone. As if I'm worth it. As if I'm worth anything. I smile as she gives me a sense of confidence. I'm standing in the light of her halo, turning the devil to become a fellow angel; I pray she doesn't fade away.

I watch the motion of color on the box as Ana passes me the popcorn as I gladly take a handful, consuming one by one. She rests the colorful bowl between us on my knees as her eyes don't break from the TV.

The sun reflects off the television and onto a painting I have on my wall, illuminating the tree with no leaves. The cool streaks place the tree on a hill and a white ball that hides away in the grey clouds. I feel as if I belong here; as if in this moment I'm needed. As if I'm being pulled somewhere. Where that is, I'm not sure. I hope I find out soon.

I genuinely smile for the first time in a month. It seems like the weight has been lifted off of me, and now my bruised shoulders are finally starting to heal. They still burn because of meddling with the blue flames that reside in Ana's eyes. That flame seemed to be put away in her eyes for the moment. They actually are starting to turn soft and not cold. They are still the blue ice I'm used to, but they seemed to have melted into water.

I look back at the books, finding myself staring at that one bookend again. The right one as usual. It's chipped. It's chipped? The left corner is chipped. I get up from my place on the couch, placing the snack in Ana's hands. I levitate to the shelf, taking out the bookend. The three books on the end start to fall off the shelf as Ana questions my actions and in turn, picks up the stories that lay on the ground. I start to feel the weight of the bookend, feeling its heaviness.

The gears in my mind start to work as I drop the bookend, realizing what I stepped on earlier today. And I'm praying I wasn't right. The smell. The uneasiness. The disheveled dirt. The mound. My heart drops and resides in my stomach as the skin on my feet starts to pound on the wood underneath them. The door handle hits the wall as run out of the house. The redness of dawn bleeding with my hair. My feet run through the flowers, leaving a trail of death as I slide across the ground to the bench.

I can't believe I sat there, I can't believe I stood there. My feet stood on...on...

I use my hands to dig as fast as I humanly can, my eyes starting to produce the tears I only dropped two hours ago. Ana starts to tug on my shoulders.

Please, don't let this be what I think it is.

I stop. My hands dipped in the dirt as I see what I have uncovered. Anastasia's hands stop moving and fall off of my shoulders. My tears renew the trails they went on moments ago. The dawn reflected off of her face as her blond hair was ripped and tangled in the dirt. Her lips and eyebrows were the color of blue and her skin was as pale as the snow that falls in winter. Her fingers lifelessly lay on her stomach as dried crimson sticks in a mess on the side of her head. Her dress was a deep blue with baby blue and peach stripes on the bottom, and her body was tightly wrapped in rope. Her necklace was placed on her chest as the small silver heart had dirt in the lines that made up the words 'Clementine'. Her sky eyes. They didn't resemble the sky anymore. The color was drained and the life was forcefully ripped from them; she looked as if she was in a state of fear when her fate was sealed. Her body seemed to decrease in size. I knew she was dead. I knew that Clem was dead.

I picked up her body, clutching it in my cold hands. My neck touched the blood that no longer poured from her head. I cried. As I always do. I cry for the life she could have had. I cry for her violent death, as her body seemed to be thrown in aggressively. I cry for her friends as they will be notified. I cry for her poor father as her next of kin. I cry for Clem. I cry for Clementine Foster.

I cry for my sister.

Ana wraps her hand around us, trying to comfort us. I can hear the sirens in the distance, and the red and blue start to surround us as I loudly cry. In this moment I realize what hardship I just bestowed upon myself. All of my questions. Unanswered. And because of this, we might not ever know what they were.