A slant of morning light breaks through the window and hits me in the face, waking me from nightmares of thin pale bodies, falling water, and rivers of blood. I turn my head to see Riley sprawled on her back in bed, as though she fell from the sky (her spaceship, perhaps?) and landed there. Something feels different. My heartbeat quickens. I sit up and look at Molly's empty bed, perfectly made, not a wrinkle in sight. She left her copy of Lord of the Flies on her pillow. I think about reading it, but I want to search for what's changed.
I creep up onto my nightstand and stare out the window, at the rows of trees and the thinning grass, carpeted with leaves the color of fire. The sun waits patiently in the east, taking a break before its scheduled climb over the building. There are no clouds or people insight.
"Knock kn - hey! Get down off of there!" It's Evan.
"Always ruining my fun," I grumble as I slide off of the nightstand.
Evan laughs and shakes his head. "That's right," he says. "Anyway, happy Thanksgiving!"
"It's Thanksgiving?" I say in disbelief.
"Last I checked," Evan answers.
"So that's what's changed."
Evan frowns. "I'm not sure I'm following you."
Me: "I woke up this morning and felt like something was different. I guess that's it - it's Thanksgiving. I didn't even know!" Before I realize it, tears are streaming down my face.
Evan: "Shiloh, what's wrong?"
I grip the sides of my head and pull on my hair. "It's just - it can't be Thanksgiving already... it's too early! It's Thanksgiving out there." I gesture toward the window. Evan moves to put his hand on my shoulder, but I wave him away. "No, it's fine... I'm fine... I just - it's just another holiday I have to put up with in here. No biggie." I sniff and wipe the tears from my cheeks.
"Riley, time to get up." Evan shakes Riley, who twitches her leg in protest but otherwise doesn't respond. This is routine. Evan disturbs her with another good shake, until the girl finally heaves herself from the bed and wanders toward the door with her broken mind on autopilot.
"Wake up, Riley," Evan says, hurrying after her. "It's Thanksgiving."
"Uhhhnnnggg," Riley replies.
YOU ARE READING
Freedom of Sketch
Teen Fiction-Completed- After seventeen-year-old artist Shiloh Mackenzie is accused of assaulting her classmate and setting her school on fire, her dark and graphic portfolio catches the principal's attention. Suspended pending a psychiatric evaluation, Shiloh...
