Key To The Blue Flame

Chapter 2

As my mind’s consciousness disintegrates into a sleeping sleepless world of complete amorphous comfort, inside the color of my head is an achromatic tranquility, where pain and worry doesn’t exist until the lingering thoughts of one’s  mind decides to grace or disrupts one with a life like reality, or the endless creativity of a dream.

“Jesse where are you, come and say bye to Timmy.”

I continued to stay in the little ditch I hid in with my tiny bruised knees tucked to my sobbing face.

In this little crepuscular confined space I had time to think about things like how I didn’t want to be in the place I had to be, and how I honestly hated Timmy and was glad he was leaving and hoped he never came back like the rest of them.

“Leave me alone,” I whimper. “Leave me.”

But I never had to ask for that because I was already always alone.

“Where are you!” I scream to the expiring sun. “Come and get me, tell me I’m wanted!”

I clutch my tiny aching heart, why does it always seem to feel pain? Why is it that at the tiny age of seven I seemed to understand the strong sentiment of pain?

“Jesse Ameli so you were here all along, Timmy has already left.” She says holding out her arms for me to come.

When I did she wipes away the tears I had a right to, the tears that should have absorbed into my skin as a means alike the pain I can’t easily wipe away.

“I know you’re sad that another one of your friends had to go again, I understand. I know it’s hard to see that everyone’s finding loving parents but you, but remember your time is going to come soon.”

“But why couldn’t I have those parents instead of Timmy?”

“Because those nice people were meant for Timmy.” She soothes rocking me.

Foster care was the only place I knew as a home.

The next morning at breakfast Ms. Divine walks in with a tiny trembling girl with pretty peacock colored eyes and cinnamon toast colored hair, who had different colored shoes on.

“This is Becca Doestrings she will be with us for a while, everyone be nice to her.”

“Hi I’m Jessie, I’m seven years old how old are you?” I couldn’t help but try and seize the opportunity to make a friend.

“I’m seven too,” she says a little shy.

“I knew it!” I say pushing her to my spot. “Hey Becca why are you wearing one red shoe and one yellow shoe?”

She puts on a sad smile,

“Because that’s all I could find in a short time.”

She wipes her eyes.

“I’ve been in here for my whole life,” I begin putting my best effort to try to seem okay about it.

“Ms. Devine told me I was found by some passerby on the street in an alleyway.”

I can remember what she told me to such detail. One and a half months old in a white blanket placed so precisely on a box covered with snow on an arctic biting January night.

The baby was quiet with her big granite, silver in color eyes open. Her pink fuchsia colour cheeks cold but if you can comprehend it’s poetic saying when I say the icy intense breath of the wintertide airflow seemed to try and cradle her, the cold her impermanent company, her parent, and friend. Transitory was her life from then.