sunshine & rainbows

          Public phones were really annoying -- but she still didn’t have a home phone because she was too lazy to get one. Plus she knew the moment she got one, her grandmother would call her in the middle of the night. Her grandmother believed in yelling loudly into the phone since it was a long distance call. Ami held the phone a few inches from her ear and looked around at everyone with an apologetic look on her face. She knew that other people could hear the voice on the other end of the phone. She closed her eyes and waited for her grandmother to stop speaking before she replied. Ami was trying to end the conversation with the woman as fast as she could. She spoke loudly in quick Mandarin -- because her grandmother could barely hear anymore --, hoping that she didn’t seem too rushed to get going, even though she was. The woman on the other end of the phone spoke for a couple minutes and then said she was getting tired -- thankfully. Ami said goodbye and hung up. “I’m really sorry about that. My grandmother is getting to the point in her life where she has a hard time hearing on the phone,” she explained to the person beside her. 

          Grading papers was the worst part about being a teachers -- especially when the papers were written by students who had no idea what they were talking about. Ami looked at the sentence for ten minutes trying to figure out what the student had been trying to say, but it was still looked like complete gibberish. It was like the student hadn’t even tried; judging by their name, she had a feeling the effort had been minimum. She loved teaching, but she knew it wasn’t what she wanted to do for the rest of her life. After another couple of minutes, Ami took out her pad of paper and started scribbling notes on her paper. She’d been working on the manuscript for what seemed like forever and she was still coming up with ideas. Working on that was at least not as much of a headache as grading papers. Her pen moved furiously across the paper, coming up with different ideas and places to do more research. She had no idea how much time had passed until she looked at her watch and saw that she’d been here for three hours and had only gotten through one paper. “I would love to pay someone else to grade these papers for me,” she said aloud, shaking her head and putting her notebook back in her bag. 

Bad places and bad people he knew too well. His home-town, his father, and all that fell in between. Since then, since their first move, Nate had seen his fair share of crappy neighbourhoods, too. But it always appeared a product of no funding and no care rather than rotten to the core. Good people in bad places, mostly. “ Yeah, how come? ” Maybe he’s prying, though the question slips out faster than he can process it. And thus he begins to speak again. “ Uh, Nathaniel. But not even my mom calls me that, so … I’d probably not respond. Not even hear it, probably. Like it’s on another frequency or something. ” A breathy laugh follows, nervous, almost. He was good with people, though a habit of oversharing often turned everyday conversations into awkward encounters. “ People, yeah … There’s this biker gang that hangs out in a bar, a bit out of town, but unless you’re SERIOUSLY LOST, I wouldn’t worry about it. Guess that kinda ties in with places. You’re not into urban exploring, are you? That’s usually what people come here for, y’know, ghost hunting & catching GHOULS … ” 

Wren liked to walk around town as late as possible. It was so very rarely that the world was as quiet as it was past midnight, where the firmest pillars of suburbia turned off their televisions and porch lights and snuggled under the covers — lonely even if they were sharing a bed. It seemed both useless and monotonous to her, small town life rendered unchanging. And yet; she stayed. Sheffield was home, like it or not. Sometimes cages could be homes. “ What’s he done to you? ” She was on the curb, about ten feet down from him, barely lit against the backdrop of a dark town with the streetlight so far away from her. She preferred the dark anyway — plus, she didn’t want to look like a MURDERER sitting under a streetlight at two thirty in the morning.  Slight figure moved out of a cloak of night and towards him, eyes flickering from the illumination of the stars to the tip of his cigarette. She stood opposite the bench, lingering on the street with arms folded over her chest. “ I’ll forgive you for animal abuse if you let me bum a cig. ”

       She feels as though she’s SUFFOCATING, as though she’s been jolted into the corner of a cave that’s enclosing on her. Anger simmers under the surface of porcelain skin and damp cheeks, willing that no more tears will appear. She doesn’t want to give the impression that she’s sad, she frustrated and miserable and most of all, she feels freedom inching away from her as the young girl stays ROOTED in front of her. Her mind manifests plan upon plan, an exuberant selfishness making no attempt to quell itself. Leave. Kyra could just leave, without so much of a goodbye to this quaint town. She could become a fragment of passerby’s imagination, never here or there for too long, drifting towards the earth like a leaf at the end of fall. Yet, there’s a TENSION that grips at her heart, a warning that if she leaves it won’t be without burden. It would be with everlasting thoughts of how the sister she never knew is, and whether she’s doing alright. Pondering whether her presence and subsequent abandonment left a scar that’ll never quite heal. Kyra knows that if she leaves, the regret will never subside. That’s what makes her ANGRY, a choice in the matter thieved from her by a face that exudes innocence and makes a heart wrenching plea for nothing more than a chance. She doesn’t know how to say no to this. 

     She wishes she could HATE, but she’s never been capable of it. If her heart were so malevolent, she would’ve ripped apart her parents until they allowed her the DIGNITY of being present in her own life. If she had courage, more bravery, more hate, she wouldn’t have just left the day she turned eighteen. The hate would’ve fuelled her to make a better life for her sister, to demand better from her father, to shake her brothers out of passivity. But no, it seemed as though their last name was too much of a feat to live up to. Any spark they once had, had died out, incapable of being re-lit, and doomed to an eternity of fire in their veins and a cold, cold heart. All but her, the girl who dared to stand in front of her and ask. To demand from her a family that she knew she deserved. 

     “ Where are you staying ? Are you in school ? ” She asks, ORDERLY and monotone. Though as soon as the questions fall from her lips, she knows she’s willingly trapped herself. That a connection, however weak, has been tied, and there’d be no unravelling it now. Her mind’s a whirlwind of fear and exasperation and she doesn’t know how to do this, and she’s not going to be good at it and she’s not going to even TRY because of it, and … and … and yet she still hasn’t left. She stays, and she keeps staying and she doesn’t know why.  There’s a question that settles on the tip of her tongue, and her acknowledgement of it calls for ACTION. To bite it back or to fall forward, and she likens it to ripping a band-aid off. “ What’s your name ? ” If under observation, the older blonde would be seen WINCING, as if the very notion of forging a link is painful. Though the she bears the brunt of suffering, hoping that against odds a sliver of silver lining would make itself KNOWN. 

         She felt like a fool for thinking anything different would have happened here. Ambushing someone – even someone blood related – was stupid and idiotic. Of course, anyone that had ever been in a situation similar would react so volatile. Kit couldn’t blame her for that and yet she was. Besides their blood relation, the two of them had something in common, even if neither of them wanted to admit it. Kit wished it had been different. Her whole life was with parents that tried so hard to make her different than the woman standing before her – and in their quest, Kit had become plagued by the same unrest, the want to flee and never stay in one place long enough. But Kit was a girl who so desperately wanted to be loved by someone and share a bond with another person, even if it was solely platonic. Perhaps it was foolish of her to travel all the way across America for a girl she’d never met, for a sister that probably didn’t want her. Because all she’d done these past years was send letters, just to say she was alive, and nothing more. Fantasy was better than reality – in Kit’s mind, this was supposed to go differently. In her mind, she was supposed to be embracing her sister, and promising to get to know her. She didn’t want to be part of the life that she had grown up in. Kit wanted to be loved and cared for. But the world was much different than she expected it to be. Fairytales were just that. Sometimes the princess was just going to have to save herself.

         Neither of them moved, even if Kit just wanted to run back to her room and cry. Instead she stood there like a fool and watched the other blonde. Their similar hairstyles and the same eye color. Their features, which looks so different on Kyra than they did on herself. Kit wondered if she looked like a fool in comparison. She was foolish after all. While she might have been brave, leaving her family behind for a chance to go and see the world, the world was much different than she expected. Probably because she hadn’t expected the world to be as harsh as it was. Finding her sister was a harsh reality that taught her just because people did stuff that might seem like they cared, didn’t mean they actually cared. Kit looked away, unable to face whatever this was between them now.

         The questions seemed… Kit wasn’t sure. Were they concern? Were they something else? She didn’t know. She couldn’t read the tone in them at all and maybe part of that was just that she was normally naïve enough to think everyone was kind and had good intentions. Kit didn’t care if her sister wanted to talk to her, if she never saw the blonde again, somewhere deep in her knew that she’d be heartbroken. They might only share a surname and their looks, but Kit always had a feeling that they’d share more than that. Sisters were supposed to be a built-in best friend. She looked at the blonde, trying to read any emotion in her body language, though unable to pick out any. She was either too stupid or unable to pick up on anything, so she went back to looking away. “I’m… I’m staying at the Sunrise Motel.” With what little money she’d had saved, it was enough to get her cross country and to stay in hotels for a while, but it wasn’t nearly enough money to continue to stay there for a long time. Kit knew that she’d have to figure out something for when the dorms closed. “I’m in school.” She still couldn’t tell if the questions were out of concern or something else. “Don’t… don’t worry about me. I can take care of myself.” If she said it with enough confidence, then after a while people would start to believe her and she’d believe herself. The last thing she wanted was pity from someone she barely even knew.

         She’s a child, that much is sure. It’s seen in her words and the way she flails at Kyra’s HARSHNESS. While Kyra’s own maturity could be debated until the end of time, chosen independence has given her enough outlook to know that is the look of a child who has no plans or future prospects. A girl who is being BLATANTLY let down on the account that she had fallible hopes to begin with. The intensity of the guilt doesn’t wane but it won’t make her take responsibility for a sister she’s never met. The word feels foreign, even to think about. She had known her brothers like the back of her hand, she had known everything about them and she had left them. A stranger wouldn’t pull her back into the world she NEVER wanted to revisit on the account of obligatory sisterhood. No fucking way. If she were to be a VILLAIN in the younger’s story, then it was a consequence she’d have to live with, because her entire soul had been put into crafting a life that hadn’t been hers to begin with but one that she had MADE hers. To be self-made wasn’t about a job, or a place, or the strangers along the way. It was CUT ties and feigned personalities until one fit just right. It was late nights and earlier mornings and endless e x p a n s e of road. It was broken fishnets and petty tears, brusquely wiped away until there was nothing left. To put it simply, it was death before rebirth and killing herself had been the HARDEST part. She takes a measured step forward, calm and calculated in spite of damp cheeks and glazed eyes. “ I don’t hate you. ” She says with every ounce of conviction she can muster. She’s not capable of hate because there’s nothing to hate about a stranger in her path. She fights the curiosity to ask questions, to delve farther into a life she’d MURDERED in cold blood. Silence slows time but she needs to think, she’d been so content with not thinking about anyone but herself, and she aches for that contentment once more. She closes her eyes and focuses on her breaths in attempt that it will clear her mind. Maybe she doesn’t need to think, maybe it’s crystalline. “ I don’t hate you. You’re just part of a life I don’t want ANYTHING to do with. I’m sorry you’re a casualty of that. ” She means it, because looking at her brings everything that she doesn’t want to remember back. The words aren’t intended to be vehement, but she knows they’re not what the younger wanted to hear. She could turn and leave, but she waits to gauge her response. Kyra needs her to KNOW, she needs to see the pain inflicted and more than anything she needs to see her give up on the expectations the younger had so carefully formed of her. It would be sadistic but it brings her no joy. She didn’t use to be this selfish, but she was FORCED to be, done as an act of survival that would let her life. But this was all her, this selfishness was not a byproduct of lack of agency, this was the result of excessive choice. 

@truthindreams ! ( quentin & kit )

September first, nineteen eighty-nine. Early fall has swallowed the small town in Connecticut, draping its area in a mantle of fog and cool air that announces colder months. With anticipation, he’s been waiting for mild temperatures to hit during summer months, mornings like today bare a special kind of mystery because the atmosphere plays along to Sheffield’s history in a beautiful, artistic way. Trees are no longer going to be bright and healthy, instead nature’s kissed by the greying death of time — Soon there’d be no more leaves and with daily walks in the morning, Quentin is going to be a first row witness of that. He’s not an early bird by choice, but he loves his dog for god’s sake and over the years, the bronze haired boy adjusted to getting up early. Walking their usual path, Dexter, a loyal golden Retriever and simultaneously his very best friend, is free of a leash. Though a bark announces that they’re not alone today, a park’s public property and now he’s forced into interaction as he watches the overly excited, golden dog jump a girl he’s never seen before, wagging his tail like there just has to be something about her.  ❛ Sorry! He’s friendly. Doesn’t get to meet a lot of new people, so it’s always . . exciting. ❜

Shifts at work ran late, and it wasn’t unusual for Aspen to leave the station at odd hours of the night. Today, though, was oddly early, at least for her standards. Brunette walks absentmindedly down the street, thoughts on the glass of wine she’ll have upon arriving home, when a dog comes barreling into her. She crouches down, extending her hand for the pup to sniff, then gives it a gentle ruffle on it’s head. ❝ Hey there, little one. What’re you doing, wandering the streets? ❞ Fingers find tag on collar, and she reads the name. Dimya. ❝ Hey Dimya. Where’s your mom or dad? You just talking yourself for a walk? ❞

Petite blonde browses shelves of books, eyes scanning titles for semi-familiar names. She should’ve been looking for books for class, but Heather’s never been one to ignore the opportunity for new reading material ━ reading for pleasure, not knowledge. Fingers brush against spines of books, some worn, some brand new, and she goes to pull a book off the shelf when she hears a loud thump. Head shoots up, and she looks around her for the source of the sound. She hears the apology, and peers over the shelf before her to see a blonde crouching down to pick up the book that was the culprit. ❝ Oh, uh, it’s okay. Are you alright? ❞

Nate was a California kid, no matter how many times they moved ; his heart remained in San Francisco and he doubted it’d return to him any time soon. One day, he’d go back, though. Hopefully with his mother in tow. “ A couple years back … My mom, she – we got a habit of moving around. Looks like this is the last stop, though. For a while at least. ” The older nodded, a gaze shifting through the establishment. It’d be quiet for a while, longer than he’d particularly liked. He preferred the dinner shifts, it was a little more lively ; a lot more to do and with a lot more people. He wasn’t scared of being alone, though it certainly caused its fair share of unease. Eyes snap back to the blonde, another smile grazing tired features. “ Uh, Nate. And don’t mind the wind, Sheffield’s pretty great, actually. Just gotta find your scene. I’m … still working on that. But, it’s nice to meet ya, Kit. That short for something? ” He extends a hand, wondering whether or not it’s too late for the obligatory handshake. 

          He knew he shouldn’t be out this late -- but how else was he going to figure out what kind of shady business was going on around town. It was probably a fool’s dream to find something truly damning, he just hoped that maybe someone would slip up or he’d find something interesting to write about. It wasn’t even that late and it wasn’t like Gleb had anyone at home who was waiting for him besides Dimya and the dog had already been fed. He grabbed his writing pad and got on his bike. Things were just quiet tonight and there was nothing interesting to follow. Leaning his bike up against a light pole, Gleb took a seat on a bench and pulled out a cigarette. He lit it and watched the street for a moment before glancing up to look at the stars. He wondered what his next story was going to be about because he didn’t have any good material yet. A stray black cat walked across the street and Gleb angrily glared at it. “Devil creature.” 

          One of these days Gleb was going to find a different damned habit other than smoking. Holding onto the leash to his dog he walked down the street with a cigarette in his other hand. His week had been alright, considering he hadn’t dealt with too many stupid people. Fifteen years he’d been stuck in this hell hole, but at least it was better than New York because at least here, he was far away from his father’s legacy. Smoke curled around his face as he brought the cigarette to his lips for another drag, not paying attention to his surroundings. Suddenly, the dog pulled on the leash making him drop it and the dog took off. “Dimya, get back here,” he called. but the dog ignored him. “Dammit,” Gleb rolled his eyes and followed the dog, hoping he wasn’t going to get into anything stupid or would get bored with chasing whatever he’d seen. Gleb couldn’t spend all night looking for his dog, he had better things to do. 

      “ Left you ?  I didn’t even know you. ” She seethes, whipping around, the comment enough to STOP her in her tracks. Out of everyone she walked away from, she harbours the least guilt for the girl that stands before her. Yet, with tears that mirror hers, and blonde locks that fall the exact same way she can’t help but feel HORRIBLE. The physical resemblances are part of it, but thoughts manifest flashbacks of adolescence spent in the household, ocean blue eyes left to witness the onslaught of HOSTILITY and overprotectiveness and fake, fake smiles. She’s a mirror of the past and she wants to close her eyes, she wants to pretend that the girl that stands before her isn’t her sister. Was she expected to feign connection off of something so trivial as blood ? She’ll take the burden of guilt and consequences of pushing people away over fostering FALSE connections any day. Yet it was being held against her in the form of pleas that pierce the very depths of her heart. Curiosity gnaws at her like a FERAL beast, wanting to know everything about the people she left, wanting to know everything about everyone apart from her. Though answers hide in plain sight, her BROTHERS never came looking because they cared enough to leave her alone. It seems as if this girl hadn’t gotten the memo, riddled with false expectations and hopes, false, false, false. She wants to know if her parents are still drinking and whether they still go to couples therapy. She wants to know whether they ever took the girl to Disney Land. It’s with the want for clarity that she exhales. That her heart slowly stops racing, it with the desire for knowledge that paced breaths are taken. “You could’ve gone anywhere. You made a MISTAKE coming here. ” She looks around at the nothingness town, with it’s nothing people and nothing stores. In the end, it was another stop along the way to something more, something she hadn’t quite discovered yet. No one chooses Sheffield, and the girl was no exception. But the girl had chosen her. No one chose Kyra and it makes her feel responsible. She doesn’t want to be responsible, she just wanted to be liberated from the ties that held on so tightly that they MARKED her wrists. How could she allow the scars to fade if they kept coming back, if they kept looking her right in the eye ?

He pauses by her booth, dirty plates rested against his forearm and a gaze shifting between an invisible culprit and the blonde. She’s not a LOCAL and it takes him by surprise. By now, he figured just about everyone were. Seemed people never left Sheffield, never entered, either. Either you were born and raised, or you weren’t. Or you were him and you were completely lost in terms of what the fuck’s happening. It’s a constant emotion felt of confusion and the realisation that he’s better off not asking. “ OH … Yeah, that’s cool. I was new once. ” He chimes in, offering a smile as if a friendly face was enough to take her mind off of the disaster of a town which she’d entered. “ Sure. Sure, sure … SURE. The wind pulls all kinds of crazy stunts around here. ” Dishes are relieved onto the next table over, his arm growing tired and a need to converse with just about anyone taking over. “ So … new, huh? That’s gotta suck. People are pretty tight ‘round here. And unless Sheffield’s on your birth certificate … you’re practically an alien. From another freaking planet! – - How long are you staying for? ”

          Almost a month had passed since she’d left home and Kit didn’t feel like she’d learned much in that time. After she finally made it across the country, Kit felt a bit better. Though it had taken a lot to get over here, she was looking forward to starting a life that was hers. She felt in control for once, not privy to her parent’s whims and ridiculous standards. Still, Kit kind of felt lost on her own. The world was a big place that she didn’t quite know how to navigate. She learned somethings new every day. The more she was on her own, the more she wanted to learn more. It was just a slow process. Besides looking for Kyra, Kit had her reasons for coming to Sheffield. Studying at the college was the biggest one. Classes were just around the corner and luckily, Kit had gotten everything sorted before she started her first year. As nervous as she was, she was also excited. The blonde found herself spending more time in town, trying to get a feel for the area before she was swamped with work -- plus there had to be somewhere around here that was hiring. There were a few places she hadn’t been before and wanted to go. Like the bookstore, which is where she currently was. Kit didn’t have much money to spare, though she still had enough. As she slipped a book off the shelf, another one came crashing down, making a loud sound as it hit the ground. “Oops,” she said, scrambling to pick it up. “Sorry, it’s been a long day.”