The Story of Us

It was a bright and sunny day that seemed only grey to her hardened eyes. Through times and tragedy she had come to seemingly desensitize herself to the colors that consumed her. As she trailed in unnoticed through the prison-orange doors, focusing on her feet, but still seeing the faces of everyone she’s passed. God forbid she brush against someone’s shoulder, or, in worst case scenario, be pulled into actual conversation. She had made it past the cackling girls wearing Bass Pro Shop T-Shirts who all had their hair styled the same way and were waiting to join each other in Intensive Reading class. You know the ones, who wake up at five o’clock every morning to shower, put on just enough makeup to seem like they're not wearing any, and has about half a bottle of sprunch spray in their barely towel dried hair. Most of these girls lost their innocence years ago, but made a pretty face in church, giving them some sort of unearned entitlement. It was these girls that bothered her the most. She felt it very appropriate they chose to hover so close to those same entry way doors, casting a hideous orange reflection back at them. If they knew that she knew the them they’d long forgotten, they’d have probably noticed her more, so it’s for the best really that they were all somewhat afraid of her for no real apparent reason. Passing a crowd of faces, she could only manage to connect to broken bits of trauma through a series of unavoidable energy transfers. Her ears are soon soothed by the familiar buzz of clean energy flowing in glittering swirls surrounding what is seen as the darkest corner of the campus.

This was home to her, amongst the kids that had seen too many things, and knew firsthand the effects of far too many drugs for their age. The boys all wore black jeans and t-shirts from bands with names like Dying Fetus and Cannibal Corpse. The girls were an odd sort of mix between good girls who liked bad boys, or bad girls who liked good drugs. She supposed she floated somewhere in between, which suited her need to buzz quietly back and forth between the subdivided groups of people, feeding off the fresh energy of a new day, and an unforgettable nightmare. Today seemed somehow different, as she began her usual routine of starting against the front stairs to then slowly make her way through to the back wall where those she might actually call “friends” awaited her. Today though, for some compelling reason she could not explain, she felt pulled around the corner, and lured to look up. Unsure of what she might see, she hesitated. She had never felt this kind of pull from inside herself before, and she was worried it may mean something very bad. She slowly lifted her eyes, peeking through bits of straightened black bangs to see only a boy standing with one booted foot on a bench, dripping in encapsulated diamonds of a light so bright it’d begun to make her dizzy. The boy himself, and a large radius around him, was painted with bright and vivid colors she had all but forgotten the name of. She pulled away hoping to ease the nausea now sweeping over her in waves. Her chest had begun to contract in an odd sort of beating motion, whereas before it lie still. Falling backward, her back hit the cold brick wall and yet she still felt as if her skin had been set afire. She had only glanced at his face briefly, but every detail seemed to be burned into her brain. A boy she’d known well by this moment showed concern for her, but the only words she could manage to dribble off of her pathetic tongue was:

“Who.. is.. he...”

Apparently he had done something dangerous enough for this boy to send her running in the other direction, but something silently urged her that his direction was the only direction she wanted to go in. So she pressed, discovering a distortion of what had been disguised as friendship, with another girl she happened to faultily trust. The other girl was delicate and fragile, but like a cockroach, could survive after having her head cut off. The girl's ice blue eyes reflected coldly when she mentioned the boy by the bench, going unnoticed by distracted thoughts. It was the first time she could recall being fully aware of the irregular skip in her beating heart, as it was pounding steadily, and she could feel it in the tips of her fingers. Reality seemed to be edged out in a fade of black, like the romantic scenes in a family movie. Only he stood, illuminated in the casted pink and golden shadows of his ever present aura, ebbing and flowing at the edges of his toned figure, concentrated at the palms of his scarred and calloused hands. It is true what they say, in that the day before your life changes completely, it goes unnoticed, as it is disguised as just another passing series of seconds.