World Left Behind

This is the sequel (or companion, rather) to "Forgotten" .

         The suns rays glittered merrily against the calm open sea. At five-thirty in the morning, it was quite a sight to see. The light from the sun reflected in the water, distorting the rays into wavy beams. This early in the morning the sun was a perfect orange circle, so distinct that I wanted to reach out and hold it in the palm of my hand. Yellows, reds, and oranges tinged the bottom of the variety of clouds that lay peacefully in the sky.

         I was standing quietly on the shoreline, watching the sunrise. Usually, I’d be asleep but something had woken me from myself. Almost like magic, I felt a pull to go outside and stand in the cool sand. So, now I was here. Standing on the beach by myself, in the outfit I had worn to bed. Black sweat-pants clung to my legs, and a blank tank-top let me feel the brisk wind against my arms.

         Once the sun was clearly above the line of ocean, I turned around and started back home. It really wasn’t a long walk, just up the earthy slope and into my backyard. Passing by the driveway, I noticed both cars were gone. My parents had left, not even noticing that I wasn’t still asleep in bed. Shrugging the feeling of loneliness off, I stuffed my key in the lock and proceeded inside.

         Ignoring the fact that I could hardly see, despite the sunlight coming from outside, I slowly started climbing up the stairs. The attic had actually been converted into my room, and truthfully I was rather fond of my room. Not only was it private, and cozy, but it had a small window from which I could see the ocean from. After lighting several candles, which were usually my only source of light, I began to get ready for school.

         The only reason I actually went to school was because it was mandatory and I didn’t want to be an idiot all my life. At the age of seventeen, my social life was that of a shrew. At school I didn’t talk to people, but with a logical reason. English wasn’t my first language, French was. I knew enough English to understand what the teachers were saying and to hear the whispers about me. Oh, yes, and to write my poetry. So, the reason I didn’t speak was because I was afraid that I’d botch the English language so horribly that I’d get laughed out of school. Though, nobody really talked to me to give me the chance to disgrace myself.

         Tugging on a black long-sleeved shirt, and a pair of pants, I studied myself in the mirror. To me, I appeared perfect, flawless in comparison to the people around me. The only thing that marked me were the cuts on my hands that I had got from climbing through the forest in the middle of the night. Unfortunately for me, at that time, I had gotten stuck in a briar brush which had scratched my hands up. However, there was one definite shape in the melange of cuts. As my homage to the Goddess, I had carved a five-pointed star into my hand.

         Of course, I heard the rumors about the scrapes on my hands. My peers actually believed that at one time I had tried to kill myself, thus the reason I wore long-sleeve shirts. When really, my choice of clothing was rather explainable. I hated being cold with a passion. So, I covered up as much as I could, and for some reason I never got boiling hot. My body temperature was almost always the same, wearing regular sleeved shirts would change that all.

         As I walked to the bus stop, I couldn’t help but notice how glorious the day was. It was early fall, but the signs of autumn had come early this year. The air was brisk, and smelt of maple and a hint of cinnamon. Crimson and burnt orange leaves hung from the trees, dancing delicately in the wind until it was time for them to fall to the ground. Halloween was fast approaching, and several pumpkins could be seen on the porches of most houses.

         By the time I was done admiring everything, I had reached the bus stop. The bus pulled up shortly after, and I climbed aboard. Taking my regular seat, the very first one behind the driver, I stared at the window. Faintly, I registered the other students chatting and laughing. They paid no attention to me, and I therefor treated them the same way.

         During class, I drew and wrote. Sitting in the back had its quirks, one being the teacher could hardly see me, and I was ignored by most. I was fully aware that every ten minutes the teacher would glance at me, and try to penetrate her gaze through the curtain of my thick hair. I guess you could say that I didn’t pay attention in class. Which was true, since most of the time was devoted to sketching.

         What most people don’t realize is that I do hear the teachers lessons, and I completely understand them. I wouldn’t be able to pull off my grades if I didn’t. The teacher’s voices would reach my ears, sounding like tiny whispers of the air. If I didn’t understand what was being taught at the time, I’d stop what I was doing and casually replay the teachers words. In time, I’d understand and go back to what I had been doing before. My mind was like a tape recorder, during tests and homework I’d replay what I’d learnt and then apply it to my work. For me, it came easily, and was probably the only thing I didn’t have to put forth a lot of effort to do.

         The day rolled slowly by, and I finally found myself back at home. My parents were in the kitchen, fixing dinner for themselves. I bounded upstairs, and locked myself in my room. Settling down by my window, I stared out at the ocean.

         Linda and Jake, were my parents. Well, if you could call them parents. For as long as I could remember I’d be ignored by them. Not even when I was a baby had they shown love for me. The one time I had actually held a decent conversation with them was when I was ten. We had just moved from France to the US, and the whole trip had been a nightmare for me.

         One night they were sitting on the couch, talking to each other in English. At that time, I couldn’t understand what they were saying. But, I went over to them any way. I asked, in French, when I’d be going to school. At first, they had just stared at me, identical expressions of puzzlement on their faces. Finally, they answered me, but through clenched teeth. First, in order to go to school, I’d have to learn English. They made it perfectly clear that they wouldn’t teach me, but I knew that already. In fact, they hadn’t taught me how to read, talk, or write French as it was. As soon as they answered my questions, they started chatting again in the foreign language, and I had walked out of the house.

         I was ten when that happened, and at that age, I was fully capable of supporting myself. Two years earlier when we were still living in France, I came to the decision that my parents were worthless. Thus, with my new found thought, I had gone in search of a place that would help me through my life. Somehow, I had managed to come upon the library. There, I had met my first friend, and mother figure.

         The librarian, who’s name was Jaenice, noticed me the fifth day I had walked into the library. She asked me a few questions, but I didn’t know how to talk so I couldn’t answer. Figuring out I wasn’t a mute, since I had made noises in an attempt to answer her, she began to teach me what my parents should have. I caught on quickly, and in less than six months I was holding intelligent conversations with Jaenice. She taught me to read, and how to write and I was thankful for it every time I saw her. She even acted as my guardian to sign me up for school.

         Then, one day, she disappeared and I never saw her again. I was nine by the time that happened, and I cried over the lose of my friend for a week. However, I never stopped visiting the library. Through books and video tapes, I learned what I had to do to survive in the world. I only had two pairs of clothes, both of which my parents had gotten me one day. Deciding that I wasn’t going to make it in life without certain things, I devised a plan. One a week, I’d steal money from my parents. They never noticed, or if they didn’t they never said anything. With the money, I’d buy clothes and books for myself. Food was no problem. There was plenty of “How To Cook” books in the library, and after my parents went to bed, I’d cook myself dinner using the food in the house.

         When we moved to the USA, things didn’t change. The first thing I did after I found out that I had to learn English, was search for the local library. Being only ten, the new town I was living in frightened me slightly. But, I shook off my fear and finally located the library. By sheer luck, one of the assistants knew how to speak French. I explained my dilemma to her, and she immediately began teaching me how to speak
English.

         Four months later, and I was ready to go back to school. I told my parents so, speaking in English of course, and they just walked away from me. However, they did enroll me in school and I started right away. The library was still my safe haven, but the assistant had gotten a better job and moved. Thus, leaving me with no friends. Again, through books and video’s, I learned how to survive in the USA.

         That was six years ago, and my life hasn't changed much. Although I could have already gotten a job, I had no mode of transportation. I still continued to steal money from my parents to pay for certain necessities.

         I noticed the sun had set, but I continued to stare out the window. That’s when it dawned on me. Staying here with my parents would help my life at all. Some how, I had to get away and find a better place for myself. The only question was, where would I go?

         I remembered reading about a town in Florida called Pensacola. It wasn’t to far away from Texas, were I currently resided. The book I had read showed pictures of beautiful beaches, and a quaint little town. It was a wonderful place to start my new life.

         Standing up, I stretched and then started packing. Creeping downstairs with my valuables in a bag around my shoulder, I stole all of the money from my parents wallets. Adding it together with some left over money, the total came to just under three-hundred. With a smile, I realized that it was enough to buy a bus ticket to Florida.

         Less than an hour later, I was situated on a dark bus. I was sitting in the front, perfectly comfortable and content. Sending a prayer to the Goddess, I asked her to guide me through my journey. Staring at the window, I whispered a small good-bye to the world I had just left behind.