diamond deaths

Honestly?

“I wouldn’t know. I never been to New York.” Alley ran a hand through his hair. “This is my first time in this country. Well, my first time in this continent, actually. Why, though. have you been to France?”

A soft laugh in the summer light. “I wish, I hear it’s very extravagant in France, fancy. New York is all just concrete and car horns. But still, a very beautiful place once you get to fully see the life of it.” When she finishes talking she stops walking. Looking down at the ground with furrowed browns. Pretty confused. “I was taking you to the music room, right?”

I don’t think I’d have the patience for it. I don’t seem to have patience for a lot of things and making flower crowns is one of them.

As long as you’re making art in my art class, then I’m fine.

“Uh.. Maybe?” He says, tilting his head to the side.

“Here’s an easier question, do you know how to use a hot gluegun?”

That explains it. You could at least make us do something that will entertain all of your students.  

“This would be easier for me if you told me what you all find entertaining”

“No. It’s not. If I can ask a question after you tell me about your past, which happens to be a story, then it is still too vague.” He pauses, gathering his thoughts. “Why grow tired of your family?”

An airy chuckle before the net inhale. On the exhale the thoughts fill, it’s been a while since she’s fully opened up. Split their chest open and watch what falls out, usually most want that. And most consumers want what they believe they can never have. Though, a consumer is a cruel term. Curiosity though, that seems to be the one that fills the mind. Carelessly curios. Poisonous at heart. “I grew up in New York, in a mansion. My family was taken in by some little rich girl. I got tired of my family because it was all too colorful. Nothing was real, all the smiles, all the laughter, all the colors. It was all so fucking fake. It disgusted me, even when I was that young. So I left when I was around five. I lived on the streets then, the whole homeless thing for a while. I hung with a bad crowd and now I want the past back. I want that happiness I used to have before I ran away back then. Like I said before though, Love is a wicked sister, who consumed my happiness until she tricked me into into being disgusted with what I had” Another inhale, and an exhale as she stubs the cigarette and flick what’s left to the ground. “That is my story.  I believe it should have been vivid enough for you”. Turn to take your leave, curtains can only close so quickly.

“I should teach the kids how to make flower crowns soon”

Why?

“Because flowers are a part of their self expression, and because I can”

“I should teach the kids how to make flower crowns soon”

Yes because thats an import part of our education. 

“It’s vague. Terrible vague. Like most stories.” He paused, standing up from the floor, all for a better view of the girl. “Why New York? Why run away?”

At this point in time he could say many things, many words, and he can even think of many things. But yet he keeps his eyes on the new girl presented to him and raises a brow. “This is starting to sound like story.” 

She inhales again with a shrug and exhales with a smile. “Our parents were the stories, we’re all just part two’s. Now, how is it like a story?”

If you told me about yours.

Pulling a cigarette out of her pocket and a lighter out of her purse, her breath swirls into warm spring air that signifies the ending of winter. “I was born in New York, and I ran away from home”. Quick fingers light the rolled up tube before she inhales. Exhales. 

I didn’t ask for an age. And I didn’t ask for a story.

Well you have my age, and I offered my story. Will you tell me about your past?

As you wish, highness.

[smiles] Y’know, I really like that title. More people should call me that, I mean I am the King Bee in this joint.

You don’t understand sarcasm do you?

“I should teach the kids how to make flower crowns soon”

“Can I be of assistance?”

Do you know how to make flower crowns?

“Do you believe in love?”

Nope.

Do you believe in hate?

I have somethings to hide then.

How disappointing.

I’m 21. I’ve learned by now not to tell my past to strangers. But I do tell my story.