102 Floors Down

Untitled Part 1

102 floors down

"5.."

"4.."

"3.."

"2.."

"1.."

The ball dropped, the timer hit zero, and the sound of New York City's voices seemed to echo across the world. I turned my face into the wind and snow just as the fireworks lit up the Manhattan skyline.

"One more year gone." I muttered to myself. "One more year that I didn't tell them." I tried to push that thought from my mind. "Don't think about that, thinking about it won't bring her back." I forced myself away from the icy cold railing surrounding the edge of the concrete platform.

A hand rested on my shoulder, Stella's kind face hovered next to my own.

"What was that? You ok?"

"Fine." I said, Shrugging her off. That was always my response to that question. No matter if I was okay or not. "You sure?" I rolled my eyes. "'Course I'm sure." Stella looked like she wanted to press the matter, but to my relief, she didn't. We were standing at the top of the Empire State Building, looking down at the crowded square of people still cheering and yelling. They all looked ridiculous in the bright purple hats with the gold numbers "2118!" printed across the brim. Many of them had face paint that declared the same thing.

I could have stared down at all those people below me for hours, but Stella managed to pry me away. "Come on." She started tugging me toward the roof door. "Let's go get some food." Her voice was almost lost in the howling wind. We reached the door and wound our way down the twisting staircase. Stella and I emerged from the trap door in the ceiling and speed walking, went across the the great entry hall to the kitchen. A couple walked past us. "You look wonderful tonight, Ruby." The man nodded his head to me. "Thank you." I responded politely. My voice sounds strained. "Stop it." I scolded myself. That wasn't fair. These random people had no idea how much I hated it when people complimented me. Stella said it was perfectly natural, and that I was going to have to deal with it for the rest of my life. Easy for her to say. She hasn't been told countless times that she's "So pretty," and "amazing looking," and the ever-popular, "wow you're so beautiful." I am so sick of it. Sometimes, I just want to yell at people to leave me alone, but I can't. No matter how much I want to. If I'm going to have the future I want, then I can't do anything like that. Stella takes my hand and squeezes it. "Just ignore them." She whispers. I nod stiffly. I think that she's the only one who truly understands how much I hate all this. Stella gently leads me toward the table piled high with just about every kind of food you can imagine: fruit, and meat and cheese/crackers and salad, and everything in between. I grabbed one of those small annoying plates that you can't seem to fit anything on, and after standing there for about three minutes, I decided I wasn't hungry and put the perfectly white plate back on its stack of identical twins.

We walked through the packed hallways, talking in small sentences to anyone who thought that it was necessary to compliment on our dresses or hair. I'm starting to wonder how these people can't see the snarl on my face. Clueless New Yorker's. Well, actually, I take that back. Not all of New York's population is dumb. Stella's not. And neither are my parents.

I wasn't born in North America, My parents met in London, then got married and after a few years had me, (or so I thought) so technically, I'm British. Though I don't sound British whatsoever. My mom promised to take me to London someday, when I'm around 18. Four (Almost three) years to go.

It was about 12:30 at night, and, knowing my parents, the party will go on for at least two and half more hours. Don't get me wrong, New York's great, but with all the late parties and stuff, it can be just a little overwhelming at times.