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A problematic teenage girl is hurled into a world that no average human is aware of. |
| It was a cold fall morning. I exhaled and watched as the slight breeze carried my visible breath away. Finishing my cigarette, I flicked the butt somewhere off to the side and gazed out over the town in the dim light of the dreary day. My fingers fiddled slightly with the chain that was attached to the side of my pants. At that point in time I thought to myself about how I was getting slightly bored. I jumped from my seat that was a good few feet above the ground, and landed gracefully. I turned and bowed slightly to my perch, which just so happened to be a mausoleum in the middle of the vastly large cemetery. Finding the faded footpath to walk on was not difficult for I had traveled it many times before. The cemetery was a sort of elysium to me, it was quite deserted and quiet, a place where I could go and think, to be on my own. Now you might be thinking to yourself ‘what kind of freak likes to hang out in a cemetery?’ Well that I will explain. The name’s Angel. I am of average height for a 16-year-old girl. I have long blonde hair for the most part, with streaks of black and deep red and my eyes are slate gray. Some may classify me as Goth but I don’t classify myself at all, it’s very poseur. I have become accustomed to the darker side of life, wearing dark clothing and acting generally dark, which in turn is where the word ‘freak’ comes into play. I made my way into the small town I live in. It, to the unknowing, could look like a sort of Pleasantville, but for those who know better, knew that it is far from. Pulling out another cigarette from my pocket, I placed it to my lips and looked down at a small child passing by me. The look of pure paralysis of fear lost it’s humor long ago, now, it was just something I have gotten used to. I lit the cigarette and took a long drag, then turned down a long empty road. The small structure came into view of a place that I was summoned to by a friend. The figure of a short blonde woman was leaning against a post facing away from me. I approached her quickly dropping the cigarette butt on the ground and dove on her, wrapping an arm around her neck and the other hand held to her mouth. She turned pale white and jumped urgently. Whipping around, the fragile girl screamed out. “Damn it you loser! Why do you always have to do that!?” I chuckled and jumped up to sit on a railing. My reply was a shrug. This girl, I called her Punk, she was about 14 and a good few inches shorter than I. Her eyes interested me though, they were an ice blue color, crystal clear, and stood out like I so rarely see. She thought just as much as I that it was pointless to define yourself by a group, but was just as attracted to the dark scene. I met her quite a few years back at this very same place. I usually went here to think, and on one occasion, she was apparently doing the same. We conversed a bit about our lives and planned for our futures, talked about our problems and laughed about life’s oddities. This was how we spent our days. In a break in the conversation Punk spoke. “Hey, my sister is having her Halloween party tonight.” She had told me that it would be held later that night, granted it wasn’t Halloween yet, but she imposed an invitation to me. The invitation however, was not for the party, but to keep her sane as her sister’s friends piled into their basement for a good few hours. I gladly accepted, for it would have kept me out of my cramped house for just that very reason. At that moment her cell phone rang it’s off season Christmas tune, she answered it. Her mother stated that she would be there in a few minutes to pick her up to go get ready. We finished up our random but amusing conversation and I bid her fare well. She got in her mother’s car, and they drove away, as I glanced at the back window, Punk was humorously waving to me. A few minutes had passed and I just sat there on the railing, tuning out the world and deep inside of my own mind. I pulled another cigarette out of the half full box and lit it. Taking a long drag, I expelled the smoke from my lungs in the shape of tiny rings to amuse myself and pass the time. Before I knew it, I was staring down the fuming cylinder jutting out from my lips, watching as the brand name was enveloped by ember, and turned to ash. I put it out on the bottom of my boot and dispensed of the butt, watching as it smoldered on the cold ground. My mind had been over encumbered by the feeling that tonight, something strange was going to happen. |
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