bluebird - paul mccartney and wings
The scent of the pine trees that circles our campground is almost too much to bear, but the smoke from the fire drowns it out. My eyes follow the trees upward, looking at the crisp, clear sky, centred by the glowing moon, even brighter than the crackling flames. My gaze shifts down to my group and I glance at the people around me. Three others, all caught up in their own little world as I observe the one around us. We are all living in our own minds in this moment, the area would be completely silent if not for the sound of the fire.
"I think it's time we better get this party started properly," I hear from my left, my attention moving in the same direction. I blink slowly as my eyelids weigh heavy while Brett, my boyfriend of two years, pulls out a glass bottle from his backpack. The brown liquid inside widens the eyes of the rest of the group, but it's not enough to lighten the weight of my own. "That's right folks, whiskey and ghost stories. C'mon, who's up first?"
"I think Lacey could use a bit of a pick me up, how does that sound? We are on vacation after all. " I pick my head up at the mention of my name but furrow my brow. I'm not in the mood for alcohol. I don't think it goes very well with camping. Plus, I want to be sober while I enjoy my time in France. The only time I like to drink is when I'm back home in London to drown out the misery I feel in that place.
"Alright, Tilly. Now you know I don't drink," I say with a slight chuckle to my best friend, sitting opposite me. She flips her hair over her shoulder and raises her eyebrows at me, but I ignore her. I love my best friend but she is definitely more of a party animal than I am.
"Fine then. I'll go first," she volunteers, grabbing the bottle out of Brett's hand, ripping off the plastic that seals the top of the bottle. She takes a swig and passes it onto Emmett, her boyfriend. "Have you ever heard of the crazy old man that supposedly lives in these very woods?"
"I mean, I know a lot of crazy people, most of which are sitting right across from me, you might want to elaborate on that," I joke, earning myself one of her signature eyerolls. I take a sip of my bottle of water and lean forward, ready for her story.
"A very long time ago, in like, the 1800s or something, there lived this crazy old man in these very woods," she starts, getting a laugh from me and everyone else. "Shut up," she yells at me, swatting my arm, "just let me continue!" I snort one last time but take a deep breath to control the laughter.
"Alright, fine, I'll stop," I promise, earning another hit to my side.
"Anyways," she continues, scrunching her nose up, "this old man was literally off his rocker and he never ever left his house because he was a danger to society." I roll my eyes at the exaggeration of every word but continue to listen. "One day, a girl about our age," she says, gesturing around the circle, "was wandering around when she came across his cabin. Tired and lost, she decided to check it out. Little did she know, that would be the worst mistake of her life."
"And why's that, sweetie?" I turn my head to Emmett, who is playing with Tilly's hair, his eyes completely fascinated by her. I look back up at the sky and watch a bat fly by as they start sucking each other's faces off before she finishes her story.
"He murdered her! He slit her throat and hung her from a tree," she answers, setting off what must be my hundredth eye roll of the night.
"And you actually believe this? Plus, that seems a little counterproductive, slitting her throat before hanging her." I raise my eyebrows and then furrow them when she nods her head yes. "Right, well I think it's time I call it a day. You guys can stay up but I'm exhausted," I admit as I turn towards my tent, sighing as I enter. I sit down on my side of the space, pulling out my phone and scrolling through all my social media as my eyelids grow heavier and heavier.
"Hey, what was that shit out there?" Brett stumbles into the tent, obviously tipsy. I shake my head and stare up into his glassy eyes.
