pearled fever

A State of Unrest

Kira

2:08am, September 2.

Early morning walks have become my new favourite hobby. I say Early morning, but I leave home around 2am and bum around my neighborhood with a RedBull until my favourite coffee shop opens. By that time it's already 6, and by the time I get home it's 7:30 and I'm in bed before my dad's awake. Everyday my dad leaves at 10am and comes back at 9pm with dinner, usually take out. 

But, Kira, if you're out all night how do you manage to stay awake during classes? I don't even go to school anymore, I have no will to socialise, I hate people beyond belief. I've already decided I'm going to community college, but seeing as I have a 68% plummeting attendance rate, I'm beginning to think community college won't even be an option. I was already taking AP science classes by the time I was half way through my freshman year, now a sophmore I don't even show up because there's nothing to do. The work is pointless and the people are overly rude.

I slid on my jeans, wrestled with the button, laced my high tops and shrugged on a winter jacket. Searched around a little and found my phone and butterfly knife, pocketing both and getting on my way. The wind seemed to blow right through me as I quietly closed the front door and checked the lock. The light from my phone temporarily blinded me and I began my trek into woods behind my house. My phone torch didn't illuminate much, but it was just a shortcut until I reached street lights. I've done this walk a million times and could do it without the light, however the wood seemed restless that night. The stream I was following, that usually ebbed and flowed, was in spate and swollen, it raged and blared my ears. It put me on a certain edge, paranoid. My eyes bulged, a figure. I tried to assure myself I was just seeing shadows. I'd been stopped dead in my tracks, however, coerced my legs to keep trudging on. 

My shoes padded on the thick layers of soft pine needles, though soon found rigid dirt and sort out my footing once more. Nearly there, probably only a minute now that I'm separated from the river. Perhaps I had breathed a sigh of relief too soon as the 'figment of my imagination' had decided to show up again. His lean frame rest on a tree, a glint by his leg, he was holding something by his side. A dagger? A knife? A hatchet. Two. I'm no expert, but two hatchets against a butterfly knife? Doesn't look like a very hopeful outcome on my end. Luckily my dad was big on self defence and had enrolled me in Krav Maga when I was 10. That lasted four years and two years after that I stand here wishing I was still enrolled. I palmed my butterfly knife and readied my stance, legs wide, body low.