at it, wondering if Apryl knew it was in the box. I undid the clasp and draped it around my neck. The pendant hung in the hollow of my throat, exactly where I would have worn a choker.
My fingers slid across the rough ivory. Breaking the box didn’t seem so bitter now. I found a hidden treasure. And it matched everything. It wasn’t too dressy or too plain. I could wear it all the time. I fumbled the cold disc in my fingers wondering why it was hidden in the bottom of the box.
I wasn’t tired when I went to bed that night. Sleep was something I no longer needed. I flicked at the frayed edge of my blanket, waiting. Mom had to be asleep. So I waited, twitching my foot restlessly until the sounds of silence echoed through the house. Jerking my body upright, I padded across to my dresser. Looking in the mirror, I ran my slim fingers down my cheeks. I still looked like me, and that purple mark was still there, delicately strewn with lots of swirls. The mark was changing, becoming more elaborate. It changed my life faster and harder than anything I’ve ever encountered.
I wondered if I’d survive it.
Quickly, I slapped on sweats and swept my hair into a tight ponytail. I stabbed it with my silver comb to hide my mark. Then I launched myself out the window, into the night air. My sneakers struck the pavement in quick blows. I wasn’t a runner. I didn’t even walk, if I could avoid it. But that night, I ran faster and longer than ever before. I ran until my lungs burned, starved for air.
I stopped. My church sat bathed in blackness in front of me. I walked through the empty parking lot. The trees’ canopy creaked, as I walked under their enormous branches. Placing the key in the lock, I turned it once, and pushed the door open. My feet made a beeline through darkened halls, going straight to the attic. I found the frame covered in a sheet, as I’d left it earlier.
I grabbed it and began to tug the metal staples out of the wooden frame. I’m destroying fine art. Great. But I had to take it. I had to see what I became and how I became it. The painting had to tell more than it seemed. It was my only link to the person I would become. The person I didn’t want to be. The canvas came loose, and I rolled it up silently. Returning the sheet, I placed the empty frame back into the dusty corner. The painting rolled up to the size of a paper towel tube. I shoved it in my jacket, and got out of the building. No one saw me.
Slipping back into the night, my ponytail swished, as I ran. My lungs burned while my feet pounded the pavement not knowing where I was going. I didn’t care. The frigid night wind whipped my face until my flesh burned. But I couldn’t stop. My worry spilled out of my limbs, and the nervous energy took me further and further from home. As I ran the tall buildings shrunk, and the trees thinned out. Soon only the bare land of sod farms surrounded me.
When I couldn’t force my body to run another step, I abruptly came to a stop. I doubled over, and my face turned sideways gasping for air. A massive dark building stood in the distance. I braced my hands on my knees, painting. My sweat-soaked shirt clung to my body. I straightened, recognizing the silhouette of a church spread out in front of me. The dead lawn crunched under my feet, as I walked toward the decrepit building. The magnificent shambles called to me. It spoke to me in the silence, revealing abandoned hopes and promises.
A steeple stretched into the inky sky, and was anchored by a stone building that was falling into ruin. It looked like it was a chapel-sized version of one of the old European cathedrals. The kind with great arches that stretched into space with stones, locked into place, at angles that defied gravity. The doors were made of solid carved wood with decorative ironwork and door pulls. The building sat alone draped in quietness and shadows. Unease gnawed at me. I looked around, not recognizing where I was. And I was alone, unless
My fingers slid across the rough ivory. Breaking the box didn’t seem so bitter now. I found a hidden treasure. And it matched everything. It wasn’t too dressy or too plain. I could wear it all the time. I fumbled the cold disc in my fingers wondering why it was hidden in the bottom of the box.
I wasn’t tired when I went to bed that night. Sleep was something I no longer needed. I flicked at the frayed edge of my blanket, waiting. Mom had to be asleep. So I waited, twitching my foot restlessly until the sounds of silence echoed through the house. Jerking my body upright, I padded across to my dresser. Looking in the mirror, I ran my slim fingers down my cheeks. I still looked like me, and that purple mark was still there, delicately strewn with lots of swirls. The mark was changing, becoming more elaborate. It changed my life faster and harder than anything I’ve ever encountered.
I wondered if I’d survive it.
Quickly, I slapped on sweats and swept my hair into a tight ponytail. I stabbed it with my silver comb to hide my mark. Then I launched myself out the window, into the night air. My sneakers struck the pavement in quick blows. I wasn’t a runner. I didn’t even walk, if I could avoid it. But that night, I ran faster and longer than ever before. I ran until my lungs burned, starved for air.
I stopped. My church sat bathed in blackness in front of me. I walked through the empty parking lot. The trees’ canopy creaked, as I walked under their enormous branches. Placing the key in the lock, I turned it once, and pushed the door open. My feet made a beeline through darkened halls, going straight to the attic. I found the frame covered in a sheet, as I’d left it earlier.
I grabbed it and began to tug the metal staples out of the wooden frame. I’m destroying fine art. Great. But I had to take it. I had to see what I became and how I became it. The painting had to tell more than it seemed. It was my only link to the person I would become. The person I didn’t want to be. The canvas came loose, and I rolled it up silently. Returning the sheet, I placed the empty frame back into the dusty corner. The painting rolled up to the size of a paper towel tube. I shoved it in my jacket, and got out of the building. No one saw me.
Slipping back into the night, my ponytail swished, as I ran. My lungs burned while my feet pounded the pavement not knowing where I was going. I didn’t care. The frigid night wind whipped my face until my flesh burned. But I couldn’t stop. My worry spilled out of my limbs, and the nervous energy took me further and further from home. As I ran the tall buildings shrunk, and the trees thinned out. Soon only the bare land of sod farms surrounded me.
When I couldn’t force my body to run another step, I abruptly came to a stop. I doubled over, and my face turned sideways gasping for air. A massive dark building stood in the distance. I braced my hands on my knees, painting. My sweat-soaked shirt clung to my body. I straightened, recognizing the silhouette of a church spread out in front of me. The dead lawn crunched under my feet, as I walked toward the decrepit building. The magnificent shambles called to me. It spoke to me in the silence, revealing abandoned hopes and promises.
A steeple stretched into the inky sky, and was anchored by a stone building that was falling into ruin. It looked like it was a chapel-sized version of one of the old European cathedrals. The kind with great arches that stretched into space with stones, locked into place, at angles that defied gravity. The doors were made of solid carved wood with decorative ironwork and door pulls. The building sat alone draped in quietness and shadows. Unease gnawed at me. I looked around, not recognizing where I was. And I was alone, unless
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