Obscurity

II. of golden chains and twilight rain

The soil was damp beneath her shoes, the soles sticking to the ground with every step.  

The obscurity took a one-over of her surroundings again--just to make sure that nobody was there.  She didn't know why though, because honestly speaking, no sane person would be in this area at this unspeakable hour.  

Which, realistically speaking, was probably why she was there.

She continued her unusual stride in the direction of the old oak tree.  She didn't know why she felt the extreme need to sneak out in the middle of the night (through her window and all), she just felt that she needed to.  And as cliche as it sounded, she felt a mysterious pull, gravitating her towards the ancient tree, and she knew that she just had to check if her letter was still there.

She didn't even know why she even wrote that letter. She felt as if the thoughts were eating her from the inside, tearing her apart slowly, and she needed to release her thoughts on something--on anything, really.

That she looked like a normal teenage girl on the outside, but she was completely and utterly broken in the inside.

And the worse part was that nobody noticed it.

People walked past her everyday--in school, at home, in the streets--and their faces all held the same expression.

Neutral. Unaware. Uncaring.  

She blinked back the tears that were starting to form in her eyes.  She always made herself cry with her emotional thoughts, and she honestly wished that somebody else would make her cry; because that would mean that somebody actually cared enough to hurt her feelings.

But nobody cared.

They barely even looked at her.

Her cautious strides were put into a halt, when she felt her worn-out chucks strike something that clearly wasn't just a rock.  She bent down cautiously, her fingers brushing the damp grass, and felt around the ground.  She couldn't see, and she mentally cursed herself for not bringing a flashlight.

The cool metal grazed her fingers, and she brought the unknown item close to her face.  She examined the round object, it's golden exterior shining against the pale moonlight.  The brass chain dangled from her fingers, and the within the head, she could only barely make out the arrow tip that was pointed north. 

Straight at the oak tree.

Pocketing the mysterious compass, she continued to make her way towards the tree, secretly hoping that it wasn't there; but the realistic side of her knew that no matter how hard she had hoped, she knew that her fingers would still graze the flowery stationery when her hand would enter the minuscule hole.

Things were just like that for her.

They never seemed to work out.

She balanced atop every root, careful not to fall.  She had way too much practice, and she managed to land in front of the tree unscathed.

With a deep breath, she put her hand on the hole, expecting to feel the folded parchment that she had left just a day ago.  But instead, she only felt the hollow interior of the hole.  

Surprise filled within her, a rare feeling that a self-proclaimed obscurity like her felt.  

Which is why she made sure to feel around the hole again, and then twice after that, and then three times after that.

And looked around the tree to check if she'd mistakingly looked at the wrong hole. 

She had to make sure that it was gone, because the more hope that she felt, the harder she would fall.  

And she didn't like crashing against the ground.

She rounded the old tree a second time, her hands dragging agaist the chipped wood, just to make sure that she didn't miss anything.  

But her letter was nowhere to be found, and it was either because a squirrel had eaten it, or somebody had taken it.  And because she knew that squirrels didn't like the taste of paper (who did?), then the latter must have happened.

Against all odds, somebody had found it, and possible read it.  

Her thoughts, and her rants.  Whoever had it had a piece of her now, a piece of her that was vulnerable, that had the depth of the innermost part of herself.

And the thought was completely gratifying.  

A smile formed on her lips, a foreign expression that she hadn't worn in a long time, and she hadn't noticed that her face had water on it, and it wasn't her tears.

The soft pitter patter of the rain showered on her, and she didn't try to take cover, or put up the hood of her hoodie that was getting heavier as it absorbed the moisure raining down on her.  She made her way across the dark field, the grass sticking on her washed out jeans as she took each step.  

But she didn't care.

Because for the first time, she finally knew what it felt like to be heard.

And it was the most liberating feeling in the world.