How Could You Forget The Sun

IV

So, I had bucketloads of inspiration for this and its been made the longest yet. Go Tree Powers! I was thinking of who I wanted this to truly be a romance with. Then again, I might not make it a romance at all (that's a lie). Oh well: I wonder who's watching Ana in such a creepy, stalker way. At this side, we have a lovely picture of Ana's house...

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ANA'S POV

I flicked through the pages of old music lying in front of me, positioned proudly on the music stand. The white paper crinkled under my delicate fingers, whispering. It was different than the whispers of wind through tree branches, comforting you. This whisper, the whisper of music sheets, granted you the permission to play. I come across the Hans Zimmer song from ‘Man of Steel’ that Donavan, Trinvilla, and I had found out of place three weeks ago.

I rub my index and thumb together on the bottom-left corner, contemplating whether or not to play it. The last thing I need is remembrance right now, but I am plunged into thought before I can rescue myself.

Ever since that day, I cannot tell if things have been different, or I have been more jumpy. I told my father that night when he arrived home from work about the odd atmosphere in the morning and after school. He dismissed it as a nervous bout, but he did change the piano room’s windows and he extended the security system into the basement.

If anything though, I feel as if the strange happenings have only increased since then. One morning I woke to my usual breakfast already sitting out for me. When I came home from school a week later, I found the door unlocked and my television show already tuned. In the night when my father had to stay another hour at work, the branches were scraping against my bedroom window when there was no wind.

Then there was the time that I had woken up to the sound of wind, but when I looked outside, not a single branch was swaying. I had heard the tap turn on upstairs while home alone downstairs. I fell asleep with my desk bare and woke to my camera inches from my face, watching.

It was not the greatest of feelings to know someone kept coming into my house and messing with me. I was terrified, but I refused to show it. After the fourth incident, I began to not tell my father the occurrences. He would only tell me it was my mind playing with me again. I knew it was not: but I did not know who to tell.

Trinvilla would become forever scarred and afraid that I would be murdered, Donavan would laugh it off and crack some joke, and Andrew would get concerned if I was feeling alright. Out of the three evils, I could not choose between the two boys. I stood there, trying desperately to decide, and my mind finally made its decision.

I placed the music sheet back down on the music stand and walked into the kitchen for the home phone. Dialing the number, I waited beside the island counter. On the third ring, he picked up.

“Hello?” he asked, and his voice sounded husky as if he had just woken up. Glancing at the clock, I could not blame him: it was eleven at night.

“Hey, it’s Ana,” I introduced, feeling quite awkward. “I know it’s late and everything, but my father left for a business trip tonight, and he only told me an hour ago. I would be fine, but things keep happening around here. Could you come over or I come over?”

“I’ll be right there,” he answered swiftly. “Can I just come in my pajamas?”

“Yeah, of course,” I responded, wondering briefly how many articles of clothing he considered appropriate pajamas. “Why don’t you want me over?”

“My parents are going at it,” he mumbled and, even through the phone, I could hear the uncharacteristic sheepish tone in his voice. “I might be twenty or thirty minutes because of the drive.”