The Author | Backstories #1

The Author | Part 4

It should be clear that Jessica didn't even try to go back to sleep that night; not with what her subconscious had just created for her when she was. She opened her window to get some fresh air flowing in her room, and leaned against the windowsill. She stared up at the sky and, despite it now being two o'clock in the morning, it was still pitch black. She couldn't even see the moon. No matter the case, she still lingered there, breathing in the cool air deeply. Her gaze lowered, directed towards the houses sitting across the street from her own. Her brow furrowed, and her grip tightened on the sill.

Something about looking at all of those houses angered a side of her. Thinking of how each and every one of them had a family living inside, and in each of those families half of the members didn't even have a goal they were striving towards. Half of everyone was throwing away the only lives they were given yet they decided their time would be rightfully spent judging her on her perseverance in her life!

Ridiculous. So petty. Why can't they just see from my perspective? Why can't they see how passionate I am about my future?

Sitting back down on her bed, she lifted her hand and reached back to feel her left shoulder. Her fingers delicately traced the edges of the newly found mark as her mind went blank. She couldn't continue her train of thought. She didn't want to. She knew she couldn't go back to...to that point. Not again. Instead, exhaling heavily and picking up one of the books she hadn't read yet, she delved into the pages to occupy her attention until morning came.

Once morning finally came, Jessica threw open the doors to her closet and shuffled through all of the shirts hanging inside of it, looking for the one that she felt like wearing. Finally, she found it. A dark black shirt with a unique silver pattern on it, which was made of silver strips going every which way haphazardly. She slipped into it, sliding her phone into her jeans' pocket and wrapping the leather strap of her watch around her wrist as she ran out the front door, not even thinking about grabbing anything to eat.

All morning she had felt a pressure weighing heavily on her left shoulder, dragging her down, and she was trying her best to ignore it. Her eyes pierced into the sidewalk the whole way to the library, but once she quietly opened the door to the entrance and made her way to the back where her and Brock's favorite red seats were, she was taken aback. Someone else was sitting in her spot, which had never happened before. Nobody ever chose to sit in the red seats in this part of the building. They had their legs crossed, a coffee cup from the adjacent cafe sitting on the small table beside them as they read a newspaper. Nobody was ever even here this early in the morning...at least not on this floor. Jessica opened her mouth to say something, but decided to keep quiet and just kept walking to a more open area with multiple open seats. Brock was already sitting in one, his nose buried in his phone.

"Hey," she said almost solemnly. "Morning. So you saw our seats were taken? I can't believe it." She nodded once and sat down opposite of him. "So...where did I leave off yesterday?" she asked. Brock scratched his chin in thought, as if attempting to stroke a beard that he most definitely did not have. As he did, Jessica began to mentally second-guess herself. Should I really be telling him all of this? Should I really be sharing what happened with anyone, even if they're unaware that it's all true?

"You found the mark on your shoulder!" He finally exclaimed, causing the surrounding people to turn and look at him. Upon noticing their staring eyes, he shrunk down into his seat. Just him. I need some sort of relief. I need to be able to talk to someone about what happened. Get it off my chest. Even if it is just telling it like it's a story. Jessica smirked. "That's right."

~~~~~

The mark was there, prominent on her skin. It was like it appeared out of thin air, and she just happened to notice it in that moment by pure chance. Or was it just that? Just chance. There are those that claim everything happens for a reason, and every decision each and every one of us makes has been predestined long before we were even conceived. If that is in fact true, any sort of concept such as 'chance' is thrown out the window; it's impossible. She was meant to find the mark. She was meant to wield it. Or so that's what her mind told her.

She threw open her closet doors and pulled out her bag, sliding the notebook out. Flipping it open, the torn up binding made it apparent many pages had been torn out. But it was no matter, there was still plenty of room left to write...and she had an idea that she wanted to test out. The second the ink hit the page a surge of what she could only describe as pure energy shot throughout her body, coursing through her veins. It felt raw, almost like it was birthed right along with nature itself. But most importantly, for the dark side of her, it felt good.