Cinnyris

Meeting the Orange

I wake up with an exhausted expression.

I force myself up, no longer capable of holding myself from going to the bathroom. I walk towards it with disgusted yet hurried steps, they seem confused too. I finish my casual, tedious routine which I'm sure you are not so interested in, the only difference in it is that, I took more time than usual, and that, after I showered, I changed into my pajamas.

I lay on the bed, dreading the fact that Venice will wake up soon, and I know that her first demand will be food, which is not a thing with significant importance to me. If you consider the fact that, if I came out, I'll have to face him.

Still not ready to do that.

I start thinking of a logical way to feed my sister and myself, eventually, I consider that having breakfast outside is the best solution I could evet think of. I pick out my grey sweat pants, a plain black shirt, my black and pink Nikes, and well, nothing else, I couldn't care less about the weather.

For Venice, I pick her one of those blue Juicy Couture tracksuits. They're very fancy compared to what I'm wearing but, who cares?

I tie my hair up into a ponytail, then wake Venice up, I am really impatient. I'm desperate to apply my plan, because there are two part in it that I haven't mentioned. Two very important parts.

Venice wakes up with a desperate groan, dreading the fact that I missed school today.

Half an hour later, we're both ready to go, and so we set of. I walk out with cautious steps. No Luke appears. I sense a mixture of relief, slight anger and an insignificant hint of sadness. Just a slight hint though.

It makes me feel empty.

Due to the fact that I don't have a driving license, I walk past my beautiful car and stroll with a complaining Venice by my side.

"Are we there yet? Why didn't we have breakfast back home? Can't Will or Luke drive us there? Where is Alice? Why did you want to leave so early in the morning?" And it goes on like that.

She called the pack house home...

I answer each question of hers with miraculous patients that I never though I could obtain. And when I eventually lost my temper, a single, gentle sentence escaped my lips.

"Patience, my child."

It came out like it was said by a saint.

Venice giggled voraciously, ending her rather dull series of questions. We finally make it to Waffle House, a delicious meal of waffles was delivered to us, only to be wiped out in a blink of the eye.

I never thought waiting for breakfast could ever be so torturous.

And so delightful when it is eaten.

After the generous meal, we head to a nearby park. Venice runs to the swing with a cartoon-ish jog, with her red curls flowing like a lush cascade. I sit on a bench.

Did you ever get this sensation, when you feel stronger- much more confident after eating. You feel prosperous, somehow, this is what I am experiencing right now. The overwhelming joy of a full stomach.

I watch Venice swinging back and forth.

Her motion is ever lasting and constant. It makes sense in my absurd world.

I apply my physics lesson on her motion.

We leave with a slow pace, and during our walk I realize the first important thing I want to do.

Yes, I've mentioned the fact that there are two important things that I want to achieve today, and I am true to my word, the thing is that, I didn't know what to do. But now, I think I do.

I need a change.

I stroll through the street, which happens to carry the name 'Clown St.' Which is, and I must admit, is an amazing name. If you consider the fact that many people are afraid of clowns. I Imagine them walking in this street at night. A snort of pure mockery escapes my lips.

I'm such a horrible person.

Scarlet seems to agree

It saddens me, the level of depression she's in these days. But I can't help her, not before I help myself.

I find my destination at the dead end of Clown street.

A hair salon.

It's not a luxurious one, with it's small stature and lack of customers, but it'll do. I enter with determined steps. Inside I find a woman with her phone between her hand and her plump body resting on a fragile chair, of which I can't help but pity. Her yellow, yes yellow, and not blonde hair covers her face but only a hint of it is showing.

That hint is covered with an extremely thick layer of foundation.

To my ultimate joy- and note the sarcasm, she lifts her head before I make my way out of the salon.

What I see is pure grotesque.

I wasn't wrong about the foundation, it seemed like she soaked her face in it, to cover the acne, I guess, her teeth are yellow too, and crooked. Her wrinkled and bitten- to-the-point- of - permanent damage lips are covered in cheap lipstick that is, well supposed to be red but, it turned orange.

Please don't ask me how.

Yet the most vexing thing is her green eye shadow- allow me to repeat it again, in case you didn't get the picture.

It. Is.Green.

A perplexed reaction is the only expression I make in this state I am in, which I'd like to call, 'Meeting the Orange'

And she sure is very similar to an orange hanging on a yellow twig. One very plump orange.

"Hello dear." She says with a rather normal voice, to be honest, I expected a squeaky tone.

" Oh, hi." I respond like a retard.

"Okay, so what do you want?" She asks slowly, probably believing that I am, at least, mentally unstable.

"I'd like you to cut my hair, please." I answer, this time, in a slightly reasonable manner.

"Sure, but how short? do you wanted layered, or one of those pixie cuts, or- I don't know, maybe a blue dip dye. In short girl, be specific." She spits. I guess she's in a very bad mood today. But who could blame her? The sun is bright, the weather is amazing, happiness is floating like a contagious disease through the air. I mean, who could resist depression is such days?

"Okay, fine. I want you to cut it all the way up to my shoulders, I don't want it layered, and I will appreciate it if you don't insert any sort of dyes." I respond like some tight ass bitch. She's not the only one with the talent.

"Sit." She commands, and I do as she said, although it terrifies me, the fact that my hair is between the hands of a person who was barley able to take care of her own. Venice seats herself on a chair too. She opens some episodes of Adventure Time on my phone and watches silently.

And the Orange chops till she drops. I only sit there, experiencing a mini heart attack. I don't dare to look at that damned mirror. Few minutes later, (or that's how I feel) she's all done with that hair dryer she that she was playing with, burning my scalp every now and then.

I must say that I am rather aggressive today.

"Lift you're head up and look at that mirror, you can't ignore it forever." She scolds. It seems that this salon carries toxic air, filled with bitterness, as I assume.

I slowly lift my head up, and let me tell you one thing. My love to people who resemble tropical fruits and wear gruesome makeup has increased by great means.