Rays of Dawn Light

V

   Dawn clutched her books to her chest, rushing out to her locker. She'd been given a large amount of homework for that day, plus the extra work from the McKorgans. She had spent all of study hall on her own work, and it wasn't even half done. She was ready to go home, and get down on Griffin's homework.
   After placing some of her books into her locker, she placed her homework into a satchel, and slung it over her shoulder.
   Luckily, her path was clear, and the last half an hour of her school day was blissfully uneventful. The walk home was equally as enjoyable.
   Her father was not in the living room when she entered the house, so she figured, and felt, that he was working in his room. Without another thought, Dawn trudged up the stairs to her own room.
   Carefully, she laid her satchel down onto her desk, then flopped down on her bed, and began to cry into her pillow. Everything that had happened that day, swirled around in her head. It felt like she was in a fenced in yard, trying to get out. Every time she climbed one of the walls, four more came up in front of her, ten times higher, and steeper. The moment she spotted peace, hundreds of barriers sprouted in front of her.
   She thought of all the homework, sitting heavily in her unopened satchel.
   The pillow soaked up the tears, like a warm hug. She just laid there, until she felt stress, oozing through the walls, from her father's room. It felt heavy, and Dawn could almost taste it, like a sulphurous aftertaste on the back of her tongue.
   She sighed, and stood up, flipping the pillow over, and rearranging her sheets, to hide the tear stains.
   With an even bigger release of breath, Dawn heaved herself into her desk chair. Spinning in a slow circle, she let her mind wander. After a few more turns, she laid her hands on the satchel, letting them snake over the cool fabric, and pull on the button, until it opened.
   After pulling out the folder with Griffin's work in it, she also got hers out. She retrieved a pencil, as well.
   Leaning her head in to her hand, she began to work. Nothing made sense. After four problems, her brain hurt. How would she ever get this done?
   Sighing, she got back to her feet, and exited her room, taking care to close the door silently. When caging herself in was not enough, Dawn regularly looked for comfort in the attic. It was a last resort, and she only did it when she had trouble keeping herself centred. It was nice to be free of the feelings of other living beings, and just sit among the old things. Sometimes they murmured too, though it was different. The old objects told her stories.
   She climbed the second flight of stairs, until she reached the top. A small trapezoidal door met her there. She yanked it open—as it often stuck—and walked inside. Dust clouds flew up after her steps. Sitting down on an old box, she released her mind, letting it flow away from her brain. Letting it wander into the unpredictable depths of her thoughts.
   She embraced the whispers. It was quiet. Relieving. Calming.
   Her mind wandered on, until Dawn found a strange stillness. Only one voice remained. muttering its history. Her hand slid into one of the boxes, gripping a book. Cautious not to rip the book, she pulled it from the partially open box, and placed it on her lap.
   It was an old fashioned, leather-bound book, with a ribbon bookmark, sewn into the spine. An aura of frantic energy erupted from it when she touched it. Something was wrong.
   For some reason, Dawn knew she wasn't supposed to have found this.
   Leaning down to catch the rays of dying sunlight coming through the dirty window, she opened it, and tried to read.
   It said:
   Name: Bianca Light
   Profession:...
   But Dawn stopped reading, as her father's voice echoed downstairs.
   She knew this person. This book belonged to her late, maternal grandmother.