Matchsticks
MEMORIES
Millie Andrews walked into the room. Shaking her head, she made her way across the junk strewn floor, occasionally stopping to pick up a piece of clothing or undergarment. Reaching the table, she dumped the collection of clothing on the chair and proceeded to straighten up the table.
Endless amounts of books were piled up in one corner of the room. A full ashtray lay beside the mattress on the floor, which had books thrown all over it. Matchstick boxes were scattered throughout the room, their used innards spread out all over the floor. One could see them everywhere. On the floor, tables, shelves, atop the wardrobe, even a few hidden in the lights.
Millie tried her best to make the room look presentable. Her niece was definitely not the tidiest person alive.
“Aunt Millie? You don’t have to tidy up my room. The mess will be back. It’s not worth the effort,” came a voice from the bedroom door.
Millie turned around to face her niece. At almost eighteen, Nicole was the very image of her mother. Long wavy fire-gold hair framed an elfin face. A pair of large startling emerald green eyes lay atop a button nose. She was beautiful, if a bit disheveled looking.
“You know and I know that if I don’t come in to clean up, your room will soon become a junk yard of books, cigarettes and matchsticks,” replied Millie.
Nicole said nothing. She slowly walked over to her bed, lay down and started to read one of the books that were lying on the bed.
“Nikki, why aren’t you out like the other kids are? You’re always skulking around your room while others are out enjoying themselves.”
“I happen to enjoy skulking. There’s nothing better than enjoying a good book in the comfort of a junkyard,” was Nicole’s reply. “Besides, kids my age enjoy themselves by copulating with everyone they see. Would you rather I be doing that?”
Millie winced. Her son Todd was only a year older than Nicole was and he was the type that did what everyone else was doing. Perhaps it was time to have a talk with him.
Seeing the look on her aunt’s face, Nicole chuckled.
“Relax Aunt Millie. Todd’s not the kind who just sleeps around. You raised a good son. Don’t worry about it.”
“I’ll never stop worrying,” Millie said, shaking her head. She picked up the pile of clothes she left on the chair and walked out the room.
Nicole watched her aunt leave. She smiled at her aunt’s caring. Millie had been taking care of her since she was six, after her parents died. Her parents had left behind a legacy, one that she could claim when she turned eighteen.
Nicole stared at a calendar. In nine days, she would turn eighteen, and whatever her parents left behind, would finally be made available to her. Eighteen was the age her parent’s lawyers had set for her. She was curious to find out what it was they left behind, that couldn’t be immediately given to her upon their death.
Nicole never cried. As a baby, she was told, she rarely cried. Usually making loud sounds of indignation whenever she wanted something. When her parents passed, she didn’t cry. She just stared. Her face screwed up in what seemed like a mix of sadness and anger. No tears came out. Not even a drop. She just knelt there, and stared.
Nicole put down her book. What was the point of crying? Tears were not going to make life any easier. Tears were not going to bring her parents back. Tears were only going to make people pity her. She could do without pity.
Looking out the window, she saw that the sky was clear and it looked like a really great day. The weather this time of year was usually cool. Nicole decided that maybe she should get out for a while. So she grabbed her jacket, and strolled out her room.
As she reached to open the main door, it flew open and standing there was her cousin Lisa.
“Cousin Nikki? Where ya headed?” she asked in her soft, childish voice.
“Out. You wanna come along?”
“But I just got home from school! Gimme a moment to put my stuff down and straighten up?”
Nicole nodded and watched as Lisa ran towards the room she shared with her mother and brother. At fifteen, Lisa was petite, with her mother’s light brown hair and the same elfin features as she did. In fact, save for the hair color, Nicole and Lisa looked like sisters. Which seemed right because Millie was her mother’s sister.
Nicole leaned against the wall and waited. Lisa liked to look good. No matter where she went, Lisa would always make sure she looked good. She waited ten minutes before Lisa walked out, wearing a new set of clothes. A pink baby T-shirt that showed her navel coupled with a knee-length wraparound skirt. In her hand she held a denim jacket. Her hair had been pulled back into a ponytail and her ears dripped a pair of gothic earrings. Nicole looked down at herself and shook her head.
She was wearing a plain black tee, with her usual pair of worn jeans that had holes on her butt from sitting around too much. Her hair was messy and she had no make-up on. Compared to her pretty, young cousin, she looked like crap. Self-consciously, she ran her hand through her hair, and tried to bring it to some semblance of neatness.
“You look fine, cousin Nikki,” chuckled Lisa. “You always look good whether you want to or not.”
Nicole frowned. Whether she wanted to or not? What was that supposed to mean? Turning, she reached out and opened the door.
The two of them stepped out into the cool air and Nicole sighed. The weather was great. Perfect for a nice short walk. She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out her cigarettes and a box of matches. Lighting up, she saw Lisa staring at her.
“I know it’s unhealthy, but we all die sooner or later you know, and I don’t think sooner is anytime soon. So yeah, I’ve got a few more years before I start worrying,” she said, smoke billowing out of her mouth.
Lisa shook her head. Then continued staring at the smoke spouting from Nicole’s mouth. The two of them continued walking in silence.
Nicole looked around. The street was bustling with vendors selling food and people going about their daily lives. Kids ran along the street chasing balls or stray cats. Dogs barking, cars honking, adults swearing. The usual hustle and bustle of life, and Nicole took it all in.
Taking a puff, she noticed someone staring at them. As she walked past, she saw that it was one of the creepy boys from school. The kind that loitered along the streets resembling dogs in heat trying to find someone to fuck with.
“Hey Smith! Who’s the hottie with you?”
“None of your business Logan!”
The boy rushed forward to block their path. Nicole immediately shoved her cousin behind her.
“C’mon! You’ve rejected me and now you won’t let me know your hot friend?”
“Piss off Logan! Don’t even think of coming close to my cousin.” Lisa was clutching tightly to Nicole’s hand.
“Cousin? Looks just like you, now that you mention it.”
“Just leave us alone.”
“Fine, fine. Take care, beautiful,” said Logan, winking.
Nicole walked off, holding Lisa’s hand in case the fool made a move. About fifty meters away, she let go.
“Thanks Cousin Nikki. He was creepy.”
“Should never trust guys like that Lis. Remember that.”
Lisa nodded. Nicole looked at her cousin once more. She had matured fast. Her assets were rather formidable, and she had an innocence about her that always made people look twice. Nicole lacked that young, innocent look. She never had it. She credited that to the loss of her parents. They may look like sisters, but that was pretty much all they had in common. Nicole’s assets weren’t as formidable as Lisa’s, but they were incredible enough, much to her dismay. She never liked her boobs. It made boys stare.
Their minds and character were different. Lisa was sunshine while Nicole was moonlight. Lisa enjoyed going out, hanging around, socializing with people. That innocence of hers made the people around her feel the need to protect her. To shield her eyes and her mind from any thing that might steal that innocence away. Nicole lost that innocence when she saw her parents die. Growing up, she had steeled herself against all hardships. Her view on the world had been different from every other child. She had grown up knowing that bad things were out there and bad things could happen anytime. She made herself ready for it.
She had grown up when she was six.
Nicole smiled. She mused on what her parent’s reaction would be if they saw her now. Plainly dressed, rather unkempt. Cigarette hanging from her lip. Was this what they expected their little girl to be?
Fiddling with the matchstick box in her pocket, she mused on. Her parents being gone meant that she could grow up the way she wanted to. Do the things she wanted to do. There would be no one to tell her what was right or wrong. She learnt that herself. It was hard sometimes, but she felt that learning that way was the better way. She turned out pretty ok, didn’t she? Sure she was a mean bitch sometimes, but only to the people that deserve it.
She pulled out the matchstick box and struck a match, lighting a cigarette with it. She let the match burn until it was almost burning her fingers before putting it out. It was a habit of hers. People always wondered why she did that. It was none of their business.
“C’mon Lis, let’s head back. It’s getting late.”
* * *
The cool, morning air always invigorated Nicole. There was something about walking along the street in the early morning with a cigarette in hand that made Nicole feel content with life. It was the little things, always the little things.
So she walked, the sound of Evanescence blasting in her ears. She took that long, leisurely stroll to school. She had a driver’s license, and her aunt usually allowed her to take the car, but she always walked. She never wanted to miss out on her small pleasure in life, as well as seeing life unfold around her. How the streets went from empty to being filled with people on their way to school or work. She called it “the beginning”. Where everyday a person begins his or her life, with the chance to change or do things differently. To so-called “begin” all over again. It sounded silly, but she believed in it. She made it a point to alter her life as much as possible. So that nothing stayed the same. So that she could slowly evolve from “Nicole-who-lost-her-parents”, to Nicole Imoen Smith.
A tap on her shoulder brought her out of her revelry. She turned around to see her friend Jessica standing behind her, a bright radiant smile on her face. Nicole smiled back, and reached to remove her earphones.
“There’s something different about you today,” remarked Jessica, looking Nicole up and down.
Nicole blushed. She had taken the time to dress up this morning. Replacing her usual T-shirt and jeans was a simple tank top, a long bohemian skirt, Lisa’s denim jacket and a pair of low heels. Her hair had been brushed and tied loosely at the end.
“Nicole Imoen Smith? Blushing? That’s new. Are we trying to attract someone today?” teased Jessica.
Nicole snorted in indignation. That was probably one of the last things she wanted to do. If she wanted to attract boys, she could do that in her usual clothes. All she had to do was smile a shy smile, wave and a whole drove of them would come crawling over, the horny little things.
This was one of her little changes in life, one of her “beginnings”. To pay more attention to her appearance. She didn’t want to dress up all the time, but she could at least look more presentable.
“It’s just one of my little things, Jess. You know me,” she replied.
“Yeah I know you. Usually you adhere to your little changes. But this one, I have my doubts,” said Jessica. “I’d give you a week or so before you’re back to the Nikki I know.”
“A week? I’m insulted,” said Nicole, sticking her tongue out at Jessica. “So what’s the wager?”
“If you win, I buy you that book you’ve been eyeing. If I win, you accompany me to Diane’s party. You game?” challenged Jessica.
Nicole winced. She hated parties. Jessica was always trying to drag her down to one of them. But she really wanted that book, and she was pretty confident that she could carry on with this.
“You’re on, you crafty bitch,” she replied, placing the earphones back into her ears. Jessica smiled and the two of them continued walking. They entered the school campus, a marketplace of students chatting, idling and fooling around. A few boys made wolf-whistles as the two of them walked past, whom Nicole pointedly ignored while Jessica chuckled silently to herself. Nicole had always attracted boys, whether or not she dressed up. There had been something about her unkempt, disheveled look that drew them. Now, it looked as though she had slathered honey all over herself, and the boys were going to enjoy competing to see who could lick it all up. And one of them was walking over with a hungry look on his face.
“Hello gorgeous. You’re looking mighty fine today,” he said, eyes travelling up and down Nicole’s body.
“Can’t say the same about you, John. You mind stepping out of the way? Good dogs don’t block people’s paths,” Nicole replied callously. Jessica stifled a laugh.
John’s face turned black. Most people couldn’t stomach Nicole’s acid tongue. He turned away stiffly and walked off. Nicole waved sarcastically, and then went back to singing softly to herself.
“She breaking their hearts as usual?” asked a voice from behind them. Jessica turned to see her boyfriend, Ethan standing there. She walked towards him, and planted a kiss on his cheek.
“Every chance she gets,” she answered. “Why, it’s a daily routine!”
Ethan smiled, and Jessica saw the boy she fell in love with two years ago. He was a rogue, with a mischievous grin, sparkling blue eyes and an irresistible charm. He put an arm around her and they walked towards the waiting Nicole, who smiled and winked at Ethan.
“Flirting with my boyfriend again, Nikki?” asked Jessica with mock annoyance.
“It’s sad to see one of the few guys I can stand with a bitch like you,” replied Nicole. She started fluttering her eyes at Ethan, which elicited a laugh from him.
“If you continue to look like that Nikki, I might just leave Jess for you,” he said, a lascivious look on his face. Jessica gasped in mock surprise and started pummeling Ethan, while Nicole blushed.
“Look! She blushes! I’ve never seen that before!” exclaimed Ethan.
“Been there, done that. Leave me eh?” replied Jessica. Ethan smiled down at her and shrugged his shoulders. He looked at Nicole and started laughing. Nicole blushed even more.
“Stop that, you’re making her uncomfortable,” scolded Jessica. “Oh my, she looks like a tomato.”
“I call these people my friends,” said Nicole, looking skyward. “I have morons for friends.”
“God isn’t going to save you from us, Nikki. You’re stuck with us. Possibly for a really long time,” replied Jessica. “C’mon, let’s get our asses to class.”
* * *
Nicole stepped out of the building. Sun was setting. Dusk had arrived. She pulled her jacket tighter around her, and started to walk. It was getting cold. She lit a cigarette, tossing the empty packet into a nearby bin. Reaching into her bag, she pulled out her I-Pod, turned it on, and stuck the earphones in her ears. Imaginary by Evanescence started playing in her ears. She sang along under her breath.
She thought about how wonderful it would be to live in an imaginary world. Where everything was the way she wanted it to be. Where she could go to escape the perils of reality. A place she could relax and be herself without any worries or woe. Where she didn’t have to act anymore.
She imagined beautiful purple haze skies. Her standing on a plain of green grass. Where the wind blew through her hair, humming a nameless tune in her ear. She was at peace, within and without. No worries, no pain, no anger, no fear, no hate, no suffering. Just a calming void. Where the darkness was not frightening, but soothing.
Then it was gone, jolted out of her head by something tugging at her coat. She cursed inwardly at the loss of her imaginary world and turned around to find the source of the tugging. She found a little girl, of probably seven or eight standing there, looking up at her with huge brown eyes.
“Lady, you wanna buy some matchsticks?” she asked in a voice tinged with sadness.
“How much for the entire basket?” Nicole asked with a smile. The girl’s face immediately lit up at the prospect of being able to sell all her matchsticks. She indicated five with her hand. Nicole pulled out her purse from her bag, and removed a ten-dollar note from it.
“Here’s ten bucks. Keep the change,” she said, handing the note to the girl. Then, she reached forward and ruffled the girl’s hair. The girl smiled and hugged her, before handing the basket to Nicole.
“Thanks lady!” she said, before running off merrily.
Nicole stared at the matchsticks. Memories whirled through her head like a typhoon, threatening to whisk her away into the depths of them. She shook her head to clear her mind of them. They did not relent. She was sucked in. Unwillingly.
She was a child again. Three years old? She had ambled her way into her parent’s room, and found a box lying under her father’s desk. She opened the box and giggled in delight. Within the box lay colourful boxes of different sizes. She pulled them out one by one and started constructing a castle with them. She piled them up higher and higher until the castle crumbled and the boxes fell, some spilling the contents within. She paused in puzzlement and stared at the little sticks that fell out. What were these? She asked herself. What were these strange little sticks that looked so interesting? It was then her father found her.
“Dear! Nikki got into my matchstick collection!” he shouted, pulling her from under his desk. She squealed in delight as he placed her on his shoulders. “You’re a naughty little girl aren’t you, making a mess of daddy’s matchstick collection.
“Matchstick!” she shouted, intrigues by the new word. It was then her obsession with matchsticks began. Every chance she had, she would steal into her parent’s room and play with her father’s collection. He dismayed at ever getting her to stop, so he gave her a few out of his collection. She’d been collecting them ever since.
The memory came to an end the moment she reached the stairway to the flat. She opened the main door and walked into her room. Dropping her bag and the matchsticks to the floor, she slumped onto her bed. Staring at the ceiling, her mind was a total blank. No memories or imaginations. Just nothingness. It scared her.
She started counting. With each number followed a deep breath, in a bid to calm herself. She closed her eyes. The darkness scared her. She opened her eyes. She looked out the window. The darkness scared her. She looked away. She looked around the room to see if there was anything to calm her. Her eyes fixed on a picture of her parents. The memory scared her. She panicked. Overwhelmed.
She screamed.
There were no tears. She did not cry. Sweat made a path down her cheek. She did not cry. Nothing would make her cry. Not even this. She didn’t cry when her parents died. Why should she cry now? This wasn’t worth it. She did not cry.
She stopped screaming.
She sat there, panting and shivering. She looked around the room, trying to find something, anything that could distract her from her memories, her pain and the looming darkness. She found nothing.
“Why?” she whispered.
Nobody answered. There was nobody around. Nobody else could ever answer.
She pushed herself off of her bed. Stripping off her clothes, she walked towards the bathroom. Her naked skin felt sticky and uncomfortable. She closed the bathroom door and stripped off her undergarments, tossing them into the laundry basket at the corner of the bathroom. She stepped into the shower and turned it on. Water flowed from the showerhead, and she closed her eyes, letting the water wash over her. It calmed her. Brought a semblance of peace to her mind. She sighed.
“I’ll find the answer one day,” she murmured to herself.
* * *
The night was quiet, unusual for a Friday night. Missing was the familiar raucous noise of revelers on their way to clubs or parties. People walked along in frozen silence. It was deafening. It was as though they had heard her scream and were mourning her pain.
She trudged along, one hand in the pocket of her coat, the other holding a newly lit cigarette, its burning embers a beacon of shining light. She took a puff, and the embers burned brighter, smoke billowing out of her mouth like a rising cloud, slowly dissipating in the air.
She stopped at the doorway to her usual pub. Flicking the cigarette to the ground, she stomped on it viciously. The embers no longer shone and there was no more smoke. The cigarette was dead.
“Just like that. How simple,” she whispered to herself.
She entered the pub and was greeted by loud, rock music. Just the kind that she liked. She walked on in, nodding a greeting to the bartender and found herself a booth. She took off her coat and sat down, placing her coat down next to her.
She was dressed in a plain T-shirt that fit snugly and a knee-length skirt. A pair of worn-out Converse hi-cut sneakers finished the ensemble. Looking down at herself, she almost regretted wearing the T-shirt. It fit almost too snugly. She was going to be drawing stares. She cursed her unbalanced body. Her breasts did not complement her small frame. Just her luck.
A waitress came to take her order. She ordered a pint of Heineken and a basket of Nachos with salsa on the side. Then, she sat back and enjoyed the music. It was strange to her how rock music was said to be loud and unnerving. She happened to find it soothing. The kind of music that calmed her down and made her feel better. Rock was her classical music. Sure, she enjoyed other genres of music as well, but at the end of the day, whenever she wanted to relax, she would pull out her collection of rock music, lie herself on the bed, close her eyes, and drown herself within the music. Sheer indulgence. Her strawberries and cream.
She pulled out a cigarette and placed it in her mouth. Drawing out her matchstick box, her eyes flickered in fright for a mere second. She struck the match and lit the cigarette, allowing the match to burn once more. Burning, burning, burning till the end, then snuffed it out. Her fingers were unscathed. She took a long drag of the cigarette, and slowly blew it out, lips pursed, eyes following the path the smoke made in the air. Enchanting.
The waitress arrived with her beer and her nachos. She nodded her thanks to the waitress and downed a large gulp of the beer. Setting it down with a satisfied sigh, she grabbed a nacho and dunked it in the salsa, placing it delicately in her mouth to avoid any mess.
The minutes went by, and soon the basket was empty and Nicole was ordering another beer. When the waitress arrived with it, Nicole picked it up, and walked over to the bar.
“Hey Nikki. Been awhile since I last saw you,” greeted Hunter, the bartender.
“Yeah, been busy with school,” replied Nicole, shoving another cigarette in her mouth. Hunter nodded in understanding, then returned to quietly cleaning his glasses. Nicole turned around and leaned on the bar top, observing the surroundings.
It was a small pub, consisting of a bar, and a few booths. In one corner was where the DJ played the music. Sometimes they would move the console and bring in live acts to perform. Nicole loved it when they had live bands performing. She would make it a point to come down whether or not she was busy. The atmosphere would be wild, and the music near perfection. Sadly tonight wasn’t one of those nights.
Sitting in one of the booths were a few girls from Nicole’s school. They were drinking vodka from a bottle and giggling wildly at each other’s words. One of them was in one of Nicole’s class and seeing Nicole standing there, waved at her. Nicole waved back and gave a small smile. The girl got up. Nicole swore. Now was not the time for conversation.
“Nicole! What are you doing here?” the girl called loudly in a half-drunk voice.
“Hello Shauna. Just having a drink by myself. Surprised to see you here. Doesn’t seem like your sorta place,” replied Nicole nonchalantly. Shauna frowned. She was one of those girls, blonde and pretty, who enjoyed boys, clubbing and drinking, in that order. She would be the girl you’d find on the dance floor of a club getting down and dirty with some guy.
“Just getting a drink before we hit Apex, my dear. The drinks here are rather cheap,” said Shauna, tugging at her very, very short dress. Apex was one of the hottest clubs at the moment. The queue usually spanned the entire street, and gaining entry was pretty difficult as well. Girls with a short hemline or spilling cleavage would probably gain entrance easily. Shauna wasn’t well endowed, so she probably opted for the short hemline option.
“Yeah they are,” replied Nicole, taking a long sip of her beer. “You should probably drink more before you head down. You don’t look the least high.”
“Really?” slurred Shauna. “We’ve already finished two bottles of Vodka.”
“Maybe another one will do the trick,” Nicole said, smoke coming out of her mouth, drifting slowly into Shauna’s face. Shauna looked ponderous then nodded to herself before asking for another bottle of Vodka from Hunter. Hunter shot a poisonous look at Nicole who smiled sweetly at him.
“You want to join us?” asked Shauna.
“No thanks. I’m fine with my beer,” answered Nicole. Just go away was what she really wanted to say.
“Alright! See you at school on Monday then,” replied Shauna, slowly walking back to her booth. Nicole watched her stagger back, then started staring at her beer. Little bubbles. Pop.
“She isn’t going to survive the night y’know? None of them are. And you’re still encouraging them to drink?” questioned Hunter. Nicole turned around to face him.
“Hunter dear, their mission in life is to make out and have sex. I’m just giving them a push in the right direction. Making babies helps population growth,” replied Nicole sweetly.
“You’re incorrigible,” scolded Hunter. But Nicole could see from the corners of his mouth that he wanted to smile. He went back to cleaning his glasses, and Nicole went back to staring at her beer. More bubbles.
Pop.
Nicole was five again. Her parents had brought her to the park and were blowing bubbles for her to chase. Giggling and squealing in delight, she ran around on her unsteady little legs, trying to catch or burst the bubbles. Each burst bubble brought a loud laugh of glee. One by one Nicole hunted down as many bubbles as she could and burst them.
Then she fell.
Her knees and hands were scraped. Thin lines of blood could be seen. Her parents rushed over to her, holding her in her arms, her mother comforted her, telling her not to cry and that it was ok.
She wasn’t crying.
She looked up at her mother with her huge green eyes and said, “I’m not crying.” Her mother looked down at her and smiled.
“My Nikki’s a brave girl. She doesn’t cry,” comforted her mother, using a tissue to wipe off the blood. Nicole watched. It hurt a bit. Her mother then carried her up.
“Let’s get you home and clean you up baby,” her mother and the three of them walked off.
Nicole returned to reality. She was shaking. She quickly set her mug on the bar before she dropped it. Her hands reached into her pocket and she pulled out a cigarette. Her shaking hands made it difficult to strike a match. On the fourth try the match lit, and she quickly lit the cigarette. She let it burn, watching the shaking match burn and at the last minute blew it out. She took a long drag of the cigarette, willing it to calm her down. Her hands still shook. She took another long drag.
“Fuck,” she swore softly. “Why do they keep coming back?”
She downed her beer, placed the empty mug and a twenty-dollar bill on the bar top, and walked over to the booth that she occupied and picked up her coat. Wearing it, she walked quickly out of the pub. Her hands were still shaking. Her entire body was shaking. She would not scream again.
Gingerly, she lit another cigarette and started walking home. Step by step she took, trying her best to keep her mind on her surroundings. Trying her best not to remember. She looked up at the sky and stared at the stars. They were beautiful. Bright, shining beacons of light in darkness. She remembered once more.
Her father was sitting on her bed, coaxing her to go to sleep. Her mother stood leaning on the doorframe, a smile upon her face as she listened to the conversation between her husband and her child.
“Its really late Nikki. You really should be sleeping. I’ll tell you another story tomorrow okay?” he said gently, adjusting her blanket.
“Daddy, where do stars come from?” she asked, pointing out the window. Her father shot a look at her mother, who smirked quietly and leaned her head against the doorframe.
“Well there are many theories about where they come from, or from what they are made of,” replied her father whilst she looked at him in confusion. “But I believe the story your grandfather told me.”
“It was long believed, by a certain group of people that when a person passed away, their souls would soar through the air, into the vast sky above. There, the souls would transform into ether, and become stars. These people believed that there, their ancestors were, watching over them and protecting them from harm.”
“I believe your grandparents are somewhere up there now, looking down upon us. If ever you miss them, just look up into the night sky.”
Nicole’s gaze shifted between her father and the sky. So that’s where her grandparents went. She never really knew them. Her grandmother had passed away before she was born, and her grandfather when she was four. Her only memory of her grandfather was when he stood over her and made funny faces at her.
“I also believe they think you should be going to sleep right now,” said her mother from the doorway. She walked over and kissed Nicole on the forehead. “Go to sleep baby girl.”
Her father arranged her blanket nicely around her, and then kissed her as well. The two of them walked out the door, her father flipping the switch to turn off the lights.
Nicole looked out the window once more.
“G’night Grandpa. G’night Grandma,” she whispered to the sky.
Nicole looked away from the sky. It scared her how these memories seemed to keep coming back. She didn’t want to remember. Not when remembering frightened her. Not when remembering made her scream. Not when remembering made her shudder. Maybe one day she could look back upon all these memories and smile, but that time wasn’t now.
She awkwardly peered up at the sky again. If that story was true, her parents were up there somewhere, looking down upon her. Did they miss her? Did they like what they saw? Were they proud of her? Were they protecting her?
A shooting star suddenly appeared, streaking downward, as though it would fall onto Earth. Nicole watched in wonder. Suddenly a question hit her.
“If stars are the souls of people who passed on, what then does a falling star mean?” she whispered.
* * *
Nicole woke up. Peering through weary eyes, she pushed herself upright. The past night’s events ran through her head. She had made her way home, feeling uneasy and tired. She had tried to read, but could not concentrate. Her sleep had been restless, resulting in her current state. She did not dream, which she was grateful, for if yesterday’s events were any proof, her memories would be her dreams.
She heard her aunt call her name. She pulled off the blanket and planted her feet on the ground. She walked unsteadily out her room and into the tiny dining area.
“Good morning Nikki,” greeted her cousin, Todd, looking up from his breakfast. Lisa smiled a greeting at her.
“Come have your breakfast Nikki,” beckoned her aunt. Nicole walked over to the table, and dropped into the chair.
“Bad night?” asked Todd. Nicole nodded sleepily. She reached for the mug of hot coffee her aunt had poured for her and inhaled deeply. The fragrant aroma wafted into her nostrils, going straight to her head. It invigorated her. She felt a little more awake. She took a sip of the coffee, and then set the mug down.
“What are your plans for the day, Nikki?” inquired her aunt, settling down to her own breakfast. Nicole shrugged, still not wanting to talk. She picked up a slice of bacon and began to nibble at it.
“No plans eh? You wanna join me and my friends at the mall?” asked Todd, his mouth a mess of eggs and bacon. Nicole shook her head and took another sip of her coffee. Todd shrugged and went back to concentrating on his breakfast. Nicole looked around and found Lisa staring at her. She raised an inquisitive brow.
“You’re not talking,” Lisa pointed out, confusion in her eyes. “Is there something wrong Cousin Nikki?”
“Nothing’s wrong Lisa. I just didn’t have a good sleep, that’s all,” she replied, shoving a forkful of eggs into her mouth.
“Have a good rest at home then, Nikki,” Aunt Millie said. Nicole nodded. She finished up her breakfast then returned to her room. Flopping onto her bed, she picked up her hi-fi remote and turned her hi-fi on. 3 Libras by A Perfect Circle blasted its way out from the speakers, almost rocking the books that were on the shelf off. Nicole snagged a book and began to read. This was her paradise. Nothing compared to her imaginary world, but the best she could do in reality. Now all she needed was a cigarette. She placed the book carefully on the bed, and picked up her pack of cigarettes and looked around for an unused match. Spying the basket of matches she had bought the previous evening, she used her feet to hook the handle of the basket. Striking a match, she lit her cigarette and exhaled with a loud sigh. This was the life.
Making little circles of smoke, she picked up her book and continued reading, left hand hanging over the floor, flicking ash into the ashtray below, right hand flipping the pages of the book.
Flick, flip, flick, flip, flick, flip.
It was a continual process. Like a well-choreographed dance, where the flicking and flipping kept in time to the music playing. She did not want to stop. She needed this to keep the memories away. They seemed to plague her these days. No more. She did not want anymore.
Her mind begged to differ.
She was whirled off again, to the distant land of her past youth. There she stood, a little girl of six, dressed in a pretty pink dress, hair tied up like a little doll. She was staring in awe at the huge shelf in front of her. It was gargantuan, at least to a short six-year old. Huge and intimidating, further enhanced by the rows upon rows of books that lined its shelves.
Sure, she had books then. But hers were tiny, pieces of paper compared to these manuscripts of times long past. Spot the Dog was no match for the likes of Shakespeare and Charles Dickens. Not that she knew that then, but she learned, and was fascinated by it.
She was in a library, where the shelves reached from the floor to touch the ceiling. There was a certain antiquity to everything there. The smell of musty old books permeated the entire place. The place was old and a little stinky.
The six-year old her loved it.
She ran back and forth, up and down through the maze of shelves, giggling to her little self, yet trying to act grown up and adhere to the “silence in the library” rule. She stopped occasionally, pulling a large book off one of the few shelves she could reach, and sat there and pretended to read. She would mimic her father’s serious expression, his eyebrows furrowed, right index finger placed on his upper lip. Her mother, who was following her, would smile widely at the sight of her daughter sitting on the ground, frowning at the large book in her lap.
She would catch sight of her mother smiling lovingly down at her, and she would carefully place the book back in its place, and run off again. The librarian, Ms. Adams, never scolded her. In fact, she loved having her running up and down the place.
“I’m sorry if my daughter is being a bother,” her father apologised to Ms. Adams the first time they brought her to the library.
“It’s no bother, Mr. Smith. Your little Nikki is welcome here anytime,” Ms. Adams said, smiling fondly at her. Nicole smiled back shyly and buried her head in her father’s shoulder.
And thus began their weekly ritual of heading to the library every Saturday afternoon, where her father would pick out books that he wanted to read, whilst her mother ran up and down with her, trying to catch her little whirlwind of a daughter.
It was a short-lived ritual.
When she was ten, Nicole would travel alone to the library. The library her parents used to bring her. She would step in, nose inhaling the musty scent of old books, eyes taking in the sight of shelves and shelves of books, fingers running across the spines of books, feeling their smoothness.
The first time she visited the library after her parent’s death, the number of books that she found herself wanting to read astounded her. There were so many of them. She reluctantly pulled only three of them from their shelves and walked over to the counter.
Four years hadn’t changed Ms. Adams one bit. She still looked the same with her mousy brown hair framing a small face that was dominated by a huge pair of spectacles. But would she recognise Nicole?
“Your library card?” Ms. Adams asked, and Nicole dutifully handed it over. Ms. Adams stared at the card, then stared at Nicole. Up and down she looked, from card to face, face to card.
“Nicole Smith? Daughter of Thomas and Regina Smith?” she asked, and Nicole nodded sadly. Ms. Adams’ face lit up in recognition, and she smiled fondly at Nicole. “It’s been years since I last saw you. You’ve grown quite a bit, haven’t you?”
The librarian piled her with questions and gave her condolences. Nicole answered them all and thanked her for her concern. It was nice to know that after so long, the person who ran this grand place still remembered her. Nicole left the library feeling happier than she had ever felt back then.
She had not felt any happier since.
She was back in her room now, staring at the pages of her book. She stubbed out her cigarette with a savage stab, and flipped onto her back. She stared at the ceiling, silently cursing herself for the memory. With each memory brought a stab to her heart, re-opening the old wounds that had been left there twelve years ago. Twelve years of healing were now being rendered useless.
Had those wounds ever been healed in the first place?
She thought they had been. She thought that she had left those memories aside and started anew. She thought that she had undertaken the “great beginning”, a grand plastic surgery of her life, where everything had been given a facelift, the ultimate makeover, the magnificent restructuring. She thought she was almost close to becoming Nicole Imoen Smith.
But they were still co-habitant. The Nicole that was, and the Nicole that had yet to be. In her confused mind, that made for pretty dangerous living conditions.
She did not want that. Everything to her was black or white. There was no grey area. It was either this way or that way. There was never an in between. This co-habitation was confusing her; pretty much like how every time having a middle ground confused everyone. It could only be one way or the other.
How? Why?
She did not know. She would never know if she traveled the middle ground. Confusion would only swarm her head, attack it and leave it unable to function. She had to decide now.
For what had yet to be.
She would relive her past. Remember everything. Then she would mourn each and every one of those memories. Mourn them, and then lay them to rest in whatever Valhalla memories went to after they died.
“I remember now,” she muttered softly under her breath.
One by one, she relived her past. Those six years before her parents died. Those were the six happiest years of her life, and she sifted through all of them. A flood of emotion beset her. Joy, sorrow, anger, trepidation, surprise, woe, disappointment. The memories whizzed by, yet each of them was clearly distinguished. She knew which was which and why. Everything was crystal clear. Black or white. There was no confusion at all.
Then it made its grand entrance, clear as glass, ushered in by a volley of fanfare. The one memory she dreaded. The one she had locked up in the deepest recesses of her mind, guarded tightly by the power of her will. Now it was free, and it sought to pay her back for locking it up.
She gasped softly as the images slowly unfolded in her mind. The sky was dark. A storm was coming. They had just left the library and were making their way home. Nicole and her mother had crossed the street to buy something from the grocery store. Her father was standing across the street, buying a magazine from the newsvendor. A group of teens were walking in the direction of her father, and one by one they jostled him, knocking the books in his possession on the ground. He shouted in annoyance, causing them to turn back. They walked slowly towards him, screaming vulgarities at the top of their lungs. Surrounding her father, they started pushing and shoving him around. Her father never wavered. He did not cower. He shouted back at them, and pretty soon things got out of hand.
One of them threw a punch.
Her father gave as good as he got, but it was apparent that there was strength in numbers. He collapsed to the ground, but the teens did not back down. Arms were flying, legs were swinging. Passer-byes just stood and watched.
Nicole screamed.
Her mother came running out of the shop, asking Nicole what was wrong. Nicole pointed across the street.
“Daddy!”
Nicole’s mother looked at where she was pointing, and got the shock of her life. There her husband lay in a crumpled heap, his life beaten out of him. She started to dash across the road, but never got to her destination.
A speeding car zoomed right in front of Nicole.
There was a loud bang, and she heard her mother scream. She looked across to where her father was, and saw him trying to get up. He couldn’t. Slowly, he crawled bit by bit, trying to get to his wife. He never reached her. Halfway there, he stopped. Turning his head towards Nicole, he mouthed the words “I love you”, and then he turned his head back to his wife. He gently rested his head on the ground and closed his eyes.
Nicole looked to where her mother’s limp body lay. Her arms and legs were splayed out in unnatural positions. Her hair was beautifully fanned out above her head, fire-red turning crimson blood red. Her eyes were still open, the shock and horror still apparent, the life gone.
People were beginning to gather. A small group around her mother, another group around her father. Traffic had stopped. Nicole walked slowly across the street, to where books were strewn all over the ground. One by one she picked them up and carried them over to her father’s body. Squeezing through the throng surrounding him, she gently placed the books on the ground, and then knelt on the ground, eyes fixed intently on her loving father, who lay there, breathing weakly, almost lost to her.
The gravity of the situation was not apparent to her then. She did not understand nor comprehend the wave of emotions that hit her. She just stared. Her face screwed up in what seemed like a mix of sadness and anger. No tears came out. Not even a drop. She just knelt there, and stared.
The police came, as well as paramedics. Her mother was pronounced dead by the paramedics, her father in critical condition. The driver of the car was questioned by the police, as well as random people who might have seen the incident. There was a buzz of activity in the area.
Nicole? She just continued staring, a police officer by her side, watching her, making sure she didn’t run off or do anything stupid. But she wasn’t going to do that. She wasn’t going to run off or do anything stupid. She just wanted her parents, but it seemed pretty apparent that it wasn’t possible anymore.
The memories whizzed by once more. She was at the police station, and her Aunt Millie was here to take her home. She was sitting in a room, with Aunt Millie, who was trying to get her to eat. She was staring out the window, looking at the stars. She was going to school. She was seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, and seventeen. She was alone, all those years alone.
The memories stopped.
Sweat drizzled down her face, her back, her arms and legs. She was breathing heavily. She was disorientated, as though she had traveled through time and her mind didn’t know where she was. She looked around the room, trying to familiarise herself, get her bearings. She stood up. Her legs were weak. She picked up her pillow, pushed it against her face, and screamed.
When she stopped screaming, she threw the pillow aside and dropped to her knees. She closed her eyes.
And started laughing.
“It’s over,” she told herself. “I have mourned you, laid you to rest and gave you a decent burial. Now will you leave me alone?”
Only silence answered her. But this was a silence that was soothing and calming. It was a silence that told her yes.
She picked up a match, struck it, and watched as it slowly burned, all the way to her fingertips, before blowing it out.
Every life, just like a match, should be allowed to live for as long as possible before being blown out.
* * *
Millie Andrews walked into the room. Shaking her head, she made her way across the junk strewn floor, occasionally stopping to pick up a piece of clothing or undergarment. Reaching the table, she dumped the collection of clothing on the chair and proceeded to straighten up the table.
Endless amounts of books were piled up in one corner of the room. A full ashtray lay beside the mattress on the floor, which had books thrown all over it. Matchstick boxes were scattered throughout the room, their used innards spread out all over the floor. One could see them everywhere. On the floor, tables, shelves, atop the wardrobe, even a few hidden in the lights.
Millie tried her best to make the room look presentable. Her niece was definitely not the tidiest person alive.
“Aunt Millie? You don’t have to tidy up my room. The mess will be back. It’s not worth the effort,” came a voice from the bedroom door.
Millie turned around to face her niece. At almost eighteen, Nicole was the very image of her mother. Long wavy fire-gold hair framed an elfin face. A pair of large startling emerald green eyes lay atop a button nose. She was beautiful, if a bit disheveled looking.
“You know and I know that if I don’t come in to clean up, your room will soon become a junk yard of books, cigarettes and matchsticks,” replied Millie.
Nicole said nothing. She slowly walked over to her bed, lay down and started to read one of the books that were lying on the bed.
“Nikki, why aren’t you out like the other kids are? You’re always skulking around your room while others are out enjoying themselves.”
“I happen to enjoy skulking. There’s nothing better than enjoying a good book in the comfort of a junkyard,” was Nicole’s reply. “Besides, kids my age enjoy themselves by copulating with everyone they see. Would you rather I be doing that?”
Millie winced. Her son Todd was only a year older than Nicole was and he was the type that did what everyone else was doing. Perhaps it was time to have a talk with him.
Seeing the look on her aunt’s face, Nicole chuckled.
“Relax Aunt Millie. Todd’s not the kind who just sleeps around. You raised a good son. Don’t worry about it.”
“I’ll never stop worrying,” Millie said, shaking her head. She picked up the pile of clothes she left on the chair and walked out the room.
Nicole watched her aunt leave. She smiled at her aunt’s caring. Millie had been taking care of her since she was six, after her parents died. Her parents had left behind a legacy, one that she could claim when she turned eighteen.
Nicole stared at a calendar. In nine days, she would turn eighteen, and whatever her parents left behind, would finally be made available to her. Eighteen was the age her parent’s lawyers had set for her. She was curious to find out what it was they left behind, that couldn’t be immediately given to her upon their death.
Nicole never cried. As a baby, she was told, she rarely cried. Usually making loud sounds of indignation whenever she wanted something. When her parents passed, she didn’t cry. She just stared. Her face screwed up in what seemed like a mix of sadness and anger. No tears came out. Not even a drop. She just knelt there, and stared.
Nicole put down her book. What was the point of crying? Tears were not going to make life any easier. Tears were not going to bring her parents back. Tears were only going to make people pity her. She could do without pity.
Looking out the window, she saw that the sky was clear and it looked like a really great day. The weather this time of year was usually cool. Nicole decided that maybe she should get out for a while. So she grabbed her jacket, and strolled out her room.
As she reached to open the main door, it flew open and standing there was her cousin Lisa.
“Cousin Nikki? Where ya headed?” she asked in her soft, childish voice.
“Out. You wanna come along?”
“But I just got home from school! Gimme a moment to put my stuff down and straighten up?”
Nicole nodded and watched as Lisa ran towards the room she shared with her mother and brother. At fifteen, Lisa was petite, with her mother’s light brown hair and the same elfin features as she did. In fact, save for the hair color, Nicole and Lisa looked like sisters. Which seemed right because Millie was her mother’s sister.
Nicole leaned against the wall and waited. Lisa liked to look good. No matter where she went, Lisa would always make sure she looked good. She waited ten minutes before Lisa walked out, wearing a new set of clothes. A pink baby T-shirt that showed her navel coupled with a knee-length wraparound skirt. In her hand she held a denim jacket. Her hair had been pulled back into a ponytail and her ears dripped a pair of gothic earrings. Nicole looked down at herself and shook her head.
She was wearing a plain black tee, with her usual pair of worn jeans that had holes on her butt from sitting around too much. Her hair was messy and she had no make-up on. Compared to her pretty, young cousin, she looked like crap. Self-consciously, she ran her hand through her hair, and tried to bring it to some semblance of neatness.
“You look fine, cousin Nikki,” chuckled Lisa. “You always look good whether you want to or not.”
Nicole frowned. Whether she wanted to or not? What was that supposed to mean? Turning, she reached out and opened the door.
The two of them stepped out into the cool air and Nicole sighed. The weather was great. Perfect for a nice short walk. She reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out her cigarettes and a box of matches. Lighting up, she saw Lisa staring at her.
“I know it’s unhealthy, but we all die sooner or later you know, and I don’t think sooner is anytime soon. So yeah, I’ve got a few more years before I start worrying,” she said, smoke billowing out of her mouth.
Lisa shook her head. Then continued staring at the smoke spouting from Nicole’s mouth. The two of them continued walking in silence.
Nicole looked around. The street was bustling with vendors selling food and people going about their daily lives. Kids ran along the street chasing balls or stray cats. Dogs barking, cars honking, adults swearing. The usual hustle and bustle of life, and Nicole took it all in.
Taking a puff, she noticed someone staring at them. As she walked past, she saw that it was one of the creepy boys from school. The kind that loitered along the streets resembling dogs in heat trying to find someone to fuck with.
“Hey Smith! Who’s the hottie with you?”
“None of your business Logan!”
The boy rushed forward to block their path. Nicole immediately shoved her cousin behind her.
“C’mon! You’ve rejected me and now you won’t let me know your hot friend?”
“Piss off Logan! Don’t even think of coming close to my cousin.” Lisa was clutching tightly to Nicole’s hand.
“Cousin? Looks just like you, now that you mention it.”
“Just leave us alone.”
“Fine, fine. Take care, beautiful,” said Logan, winking.
Nicole walked off, holding Lisa’s hand in case the fool made a move. About fifty meters away, she let go.
“Thanks Cousin Nikki. He was creepy.”
“Should never trust guys like that Lis. Remember that.”
Lisa nodded. Nicole looked at her cousin once more. She had matured fast. Her assets were rather formidable, and she had an innocence about her that always made people look twice. Nicole lacked that young, innocent look. She never had it. She credited that to the loss of her parents. They may look like sisters, but that was pretty much all they had in common. Nicole’s assets weren’t as formidable as Lisa’s, but they were incredible enough, much to her dismay. She never liked her boobs. It made boys stare.
Their minds and character were different. Lisa was sunshine while Nicole was moonlight. Lisa enjoyed going out, hanging around, socializing with people. That innocence of hers made the people around her feel the need to protect her. To shield her eyes and her mind from any thing that might steal that innocence away. Nicole lost that innocence when she saw her parents die. Growing up, she had steeled herself against all hardships. Her view on the world had been different from every other child. She had grown up knowing that bad things were out there and bad things could happen anytime. She made herself ready for it.
She had grown up when she was six.
Nicole smiled. She mused on what her parent’s reaction would be if they saw her now. Plainly dressed, rather unkempt. Cigarette hanging from her lip. Was this what they expected their little girl to be?
Fiddling with the matchstick box in her pocket, she mused on. Her parents being gone meant that she could grow up the way she wanted to. Do the things she wanted to do. There would be no one to tell her what was right or wrong. She learnt that herself. It was hard sometimes, but she felt that learning that way was the better way. She turned out pretty ok, didn’t she? Sure she was a mean bitch sometimes, but only to the people that deserve it.
She pulled out the matchstick box and struck a match, lighting a cigarette with it. She let the match burn until it was almost burning her fingers before putting it out. It was a habit of hers. People always wondered why she did that. It was none of their business.
“C’mon Lis, let’s head back. It’s getting late.”
* * *
The cool, morning air always invigorated Nicole. There was something about walking along the street in the early morning with a cigarette in hand that made Nicole feel content with life. It was the little things, always the little things.
So she walked, the sound of Evanescence blasting in her ears. She took that long, leisurely stroll to school. She had a driver’s license, and her aunt usually allowed her to take the car, but she always walked. She never wanted to miss out on her small pleasure in life, as well as seeing life unfold around her. How the streets went from empty to being filled with people on their way to school or work. She called it “the beginning”. Where everyday a person begins his or her life, with the chance to change or do things differently. To so-called “begin” all over again. It sounded silly, but she believed in it. She made it a point to alter her life as much as possible. So that nothing stayed the same. So that she could slowly evolve from “Nicole-who-lost-her-parents”, to Nicole Imoen Smith.
A tap on her shoulder brought her out of her revelry. She turned around to see her friend Jessica standing behind her, a bright radiant smile on her face. Nicole smiled back, and reached to remove her earphones.
“There’s something different about you today,” remarked Jessica, looking Nicole up and down.
Nicole blushed. She had taken the time to dress up this morning. Replacing her usual T-shirt and jeans was a simple tank top, a long bohemian skirt, Lisa’s denim jacket and a pair of low heels. Her hair had been brushed and tied loosely at the end.
“Nicole Imoen Smith? Blushing? That’s new. Are we trying to attract someone today?” teased Jessica.
Nicole snorted in indignation. That was probably one of the last things she wanted to do. If she wanted to attract boys, she could do that in her usual clothes. All she had to do was smile a shy smile, wave and a whole drove of them would come crawling over, the horny little things.
This was one of her little changes in life, one of her “beginnings”. To pay more attention to her appearance. She didn’t want to dress up all the time, but she could at least look more presentable.
“It’s just one of my little things, Jess. You know me,” she replied.
“Yeah I know you. Usually you adhere to your little changes. But this one, I have my doubts,” said Jessica. “I’d give you a week or so before you’re back to the Nikki I know.”
“A week? I’m insulted,” said Nicole, sticking her tongue out at Jessica. “So what’s the wager?”
“If you win, I buy you that book you’ve been eyeing. If I win, you accompany me to Diane’s party. You game?” challenged Jessica.
Nicole winced. She hated parties. Jessica was always trying to drag her down to one of them. But she really wanted that book, and she was pretty confident that she could carry on with this.
“You’re on, you crafty bitch,” she replied, placing the earphones back into her ears. Jessica smiled and the two of them continued walking. They entered the school campus, a marketplace of students chatting, idling and fooling around. A few boys made wolf-whistles as the two of them walked past, whom Nicole pointedly ignored while Jessica chuckled silently to herself. Nicole had always attracted boys, whether or not she dressed up. There had been something about her unkempt, disheveled look that drew them. Now, it looked as though she had slathered honey all over herself, and the boys were going to enjoy competing to see who could lick it all up. And one of them was walking over with a hungry look on his face.
“Hello gorgeous. You’re looking mighty fine today,” he said, eyes travelling up and down Nicole’s body.
“Can’t say the same about you, John. You mind stepping out of the way? Good dogs don’t block people’s paths,” Nicole replied callously. Jessica stifled a laugh.
John’s face turned black. Most people couldn’t stomach Nicole’s acid tongue. He turned away stiffly and walked off. Nicole waved sarcastically, and then went back to singing softly to herself.
“She breaking their hearts as usual?” asked a voice from behind them. Jessica turned to see her boyfriend, Ethan standing there. She walked towards him, and planted a kiss on his cheek.
“Every chance she gets,” she answered. “Why, it’s a daily routine!”
Ethan smiled, and Jessica saw the boy she fell in love with two years ago. He was a rogue, with a mischievous grin, sparkling blue eyes and an irresistible charm. He put an arm around her and they walked towards the waiting Nicole, who smiled and winked at Ethan.
“Flirting with my boyfriend again, Nikki?” asked Jessica with mock annoyance.
“It’s sad to see one of the few guys I can stand with a bitch like you,” replied Nicole. She started fluttering her eyes at Ethan, which elicited a laugh from him.
“If you continue to look like that Nikki, I might just leave Jess for you,” he said, a lascivious look on his face. Jessica gasped in mock surprise and started pummeling Ethan, while Nicole blushed.
“Look! She blushes! I’ve never seen that before!” exclaimed Ethan.
“Been there, done that. Leave me eh?” replied Jessica. Ethan smiled down at her and shrugged his shoulders. He looked at Nicole and started laughing. Nicole blushed even more.
“Stop that, you’re making her uncomfortable,” scolded Jessica. “Oh my, she looks like a tomato.”
“I call these people my friends,” said Nicole, looking skyward. “I have morons for friends.”
“God isn’t going to save you from us, Nikki. You’re stuck with us. Possibly for a really long time,” replied Jessica. “C’mon, let’s get our asses to class.”
* * *
Nicole stepped out of the building. Sun was setting. Dusk had arrived. She pulled her jacket tighter around her, and started to walk. It was getting cold. She lit a cigarette, tossing the empty packet into a nearby bin. Reaching into her bag, she pulled out her I-Pod, turned it on, and stuck the earphones in her ears. Imaginary by Evanescence started playing in her ears. She sang along under her breath.
She thought about how wonderful it would be to live in an imaginary world. Where everything was the way she wanted it to be. Where she could go to escape the perils of reality. A place she could relax and be herself without any worries or woe. Where she didn’t have to act anymore.
She imagined beautiful purple haze skies. Her standing on a plain of green grass. Where the wind blew through her hair, humming a nameless tune in her ear. She was at peace, within and without. No worries, no pain, no anger, no fear, no hate, no suffering. Just a calming void. Where the darkness was not frightening, but soothing.
Then it was gone, jolted out of her head by something tugging at her coat. She cursed inwardly at the loss of her imaginary world and turned around to find the source of the tugging. She found a little girl, of probably seven or eight standing there, looking up at her with huge brown eyes.
“Lady, you wanna buy some matchsticks?” she asked in a voice tinged with sadness.
“How much for the entire basket?” Nicole asked with a smile. The girl’s face immediately lit up at the prospect of being able to sell all her matchsticks. She indicated five with her hand. Nicole pulled out her purse from her bag, and removed a ten-dollar note from it.
“Here’s ten bucks. Keep the change,” she said, handing the note to the girl. Then, she reached forward and ruffled the girl’s hair. The girl smiled and hugged her, before handing the basket to Nicole.
“Thanks lady!” she said, before running off merrily.
Nicole stared at the matchsticks. Memories whirled through her head like a typhoon, threatening to whisk her away into the depths of them. She shook her head to clear her mind of them. They did not relent. She was sucked in. Unwillingly.
She was a child again. Three years old? She had ambled her way into her parent’s room, and found a box lying under her father’s desk. She opened the box and giggled in delight. Within the box lay colourful boxes of different sizes. She pulled them out one by one and started constructing a castle with them. She piled them up higher and higher until the castle crumbled and the boxes fell, some spilling the contents within. She paused in puzzlement and stared at the little sticks that fell out. What were these? She asked herself. What were these strange little sticks that looked so interesting? It was then her father found her.
“Dear! Nikki got into my matchstick collection!” he shouted, pulling her from under his desk. She squealed in delight as he placed her on his shoulders. “You’re a naughty little girl aren’t you, making a mess of daddy’s matchstick collection.
“Matchstick!” she shouted, intrigues by the new word. It was then her obsession with matchsticks began. Every chance she had, she would steal into her parent’s room and play with her father’s collection. He dismayed at ever getting her to stop, so he gave her a few out of his collection. She’d been collecting them ever since.
The memory came to an end the moment she reached the stairway to the flat. She opened the main door and walked into her room. Dropping her bag and the matchsticks to the floor, she slumped onto her bed. Staring at the ceiling, her mind was a total blank. No memories or imaginations. Just nothingness. It scared her.
She started counting. With each number followed a deep breath, in a bid to calm herself. She closed her eyes. The darkness scared her. She opened her eyes. She looked out the window. The darkness scared her. She looked away. She looked around the room to see if there was anything to calm her. Her eyes fixed on a picture of her parents. The memory scared her. She panicked. Overwhelmed.
She screamed.
There were no tears. She did not cry. Sweat made a path down her cheek. She did not cry. Nothing would make her cry. Not even this. She didn’t cry when her parents died. Why should she cry now? This wasn’t worth it. She did not cry.
She stopped screaming.
She sat there, panting and shivering. She looked around the room, trying to find something, anything that could distract her from her memories, her pain and the looming darkness. She found nothing.
“Why?” she whispered.
Nobody answered. There was nobody around. Nobody else could ever answer.
She pushed herself off of her bed. Stripping off her clothes, she walked towards the bathroom. Her naked skin felt sticky and uncomfortable. She closed the bathroom door and stripped off her undergarments, tossing them into the laundry basket at the corner of the bathroom. She stepped into the shower and turned it on. Water flowed from the showerhead, and she closed her eyes, letting the water wash over her. It calmed her. Brought a semblance of peace to her mind. She sighed.
“I’ll find the answer one day,” she murmured to herself.
* * *
The night was quiet, unusual for a Friday night. Missing was the familiar raucous noise of revelers on their way to clubs or parties. People walked along in frozen silence. It was deafening. It was as though they had heard her scream and were mourning her pain.
She trudged along, one hand in the pocket of her coat, the other holding a newly lit cigarette, its burning embers a beacon of shining light. She took a puff, and the embers burned brighter, smoke billowing out of her mouth like a rising cloud, slowly dissipating in the air.
She stopped at the doorway to her usual pub. Flicking the cigarette to the ground, she stomped on it viciously. The embers no longer shone and there was no more smoke. The cigarette was dead.
“Just like that. How simple,” she whispered to herself.
She entered the pub and was greeted by loud, rock music. Just the kind that she liked. She walked on in, nodding a greeting to the bartender and found herself a booth. She took off her coat and sat down, placing her coat down next to her.
She was dressed in a plain T-shirt that fit snugly and a knee-length skirt. A pair of worn-out Converse hi-cut sneakers finished the ensemble. Looking down at herself, she almost regretted wearing the T-shirt. It fit almost too snugly. She was going to be drawing stares. She cursed her unbalanced body. Her breasts did not complement her small frame. Just her luck.
A waitress came to take her order. She ordered a pint of Heineken and a basket of Nachos with salsa on the side. Then, she sat back and enjoyed the music. It was strange to her how rock music was said to be loud and unnerving. She happened to find it soothing. The kind of music that calmed her down and made her feel better. Rock was her classical music. Sure, she enjoyed other genres of music as well, but at the end of the day, whenever she wanted to relax, she would pull out her collection of rock music, lie herself on the bed, close her eyes, and drown herself within the music. Sheer indulgence. Her strawberries and cream.
She pulled out a cigarette and placed it in her mouth. Drawing out her matchstick box, her eyes flickered in fright for a mere second. She struck the match and lit the cigarette, allowing the match to burn once more. Burning, burning, burning till the end, then snuffed it out. Her fingers were unscathed. She took a long drag of the cigarette, and slowly blew it out, lips pursed, eyes following the path the smoke made in the air. Enchanting.
The waitress arrived with her beer and her nachos. She nodded her thanks to the waitress and downed a large gulp of the beer. Setting it down with a satisfied sigh, she grabbed a nacho and dunked it in the salsa, placing it delicately in her mouth to avoid any mess.
The minutes went by, and soon the basket was empty and Nicole was ordering another beer. When the waitress arrived with it, Nicole picked it up, and walked over to the bar.
“Hey Nikki. Been awhile since I last saw you,” greeted Hunter, the bartender.
“Yeah, been busy with school,” replied Nicole, shoving another cigarette in her mouth. Hunter nodded in understanding, then returned to quietly cleaning his glasses. Nicole turned around and leaned on the bar top, observing the surroundings.
It was a small pub, consisting of a bar, and a few booths. In one corner was where the DJ played the music. Sometimes they would move the console and bring in live acts to perform. Nicole loved it when they had live bands performing. She would make it a point to come down whether or not she was busy. The atmosphere would be wild, and the music near perfection. Sadly tonight wasn’t one of those nights.
Sitting in one of the booths were a few girls from Nicole’s school. They were drinking vodka from a bottle and giggling wildly at each other’s words. One of them was in one of Nicole’s class and seeing Nicole standing there, waved at her. Nicole waved back and gave a small smile. The girl got up. Nicole swore. Now was not the time for conversation.
“Nicole! What are you doing here?” the girl called loudly in a half-drunk voice.
“Hello Shauna. Just having a drink by myself. Surprised to see you here. Doesn’t seem like your sorta place,” replied Nicole nonchalantly. Shauna frowned. She was one of those girls, blonde and pretty, who enjoyed boys, clubbing and drinking, in that order. She would be the girl you’d find on the dance floor of a club getting down and dirty with some guy.
“Just getting a drink before we hit Apex, my dear. The drinks here are rather cheap,” said Shauna, tugging at her very, very short dress. Apex was one of the hottest clubs at the moment. The queue usually spanned the entire street, and gaining entry was pretty difficult as well. Girls with a short hemline or spilling cleavage would probably gain entrance easily. Shauna wasn’t well endowed, so she probably opted for the short hemline option.
“Yeah they are,” replied Nicole, taking a long sip of her beer. “You should probably drink more before you head down. You don’t look the least high.”
“Really?” slurred Shauna. “We’ve already finished two bottles of Vodka.”
“Maybe another one will do the trick,” Nicole said, smoke coming out of her mouth, drifting slowly into Shauna’s face. Shauna looked ponderous then nodded to herself before asking for another bottle of Vodka from Hunter. Hunter shot a poisonous look at Nicole who smiled sweetly at him.
“You want to join us?” asked Shauna.
“No thanks. I’m fine with my beer,” answered Nicole. Just go away was what she really wanted to say.
“Alright! See you at school on Monday then,” replied Shauna, slowly walking back to her booth. Nicole watched her stagger back, then started staring at her beer. Little bubbles. Pop.
“She isn’t going to survive the night y’know? None of them are. And you’re still encouraging them to drink?” questioned Hunter. Nicole turned around to face him.
“Hunter dear, their mission in life is to make out and have sex. I’m just giving them a push in the right direction. Making babies helps population growth,” replied Nicole sweetly.
“You’re incorrigible,” scolded Hunter. But Nicole could see from the corners of his mouth that he wanted to smile. He went back to cleaning his glasses, and Nicole went back to staring at her beer. More bubbles.
Pop.
Nicole was five again. Her parents had brought her to the park and were blowing bubbles for her to chase. Giggling and squealing in delight, she ran around on her unsteady little legs, trying to catch or burst the bubbles. Each burst bubble brought a loud laugh of glee. One by one Nicole hunted down as many bubbles as she could and burst them.
Then she fell.
Her knees and hands were scraped. Thin lines of blood could be seen. Her parents rushed over to her, holding her in her arms, her mother comforted her, telling her not to cry and that it was ok.
She wasn’t crying.
She looked up at her mother with her huge green eyes and said, “I’m not crying.” Her mother looked down at her and smiled.
“My Nikki’s a brave girl. She doesn’t cry,” comforted her mother, using a tissue to wipe off the blood. Nicole watched. It hurt a bit. Her mother then carried her up.
“Let’s get you home and clean you up baby,” her mother and the three of them walked off.
Nicole returned to reality. She was shaking. She quickly set her mug on the bar before she dropped it. Her hands reached into her pocket and she pulled out a cigarette. Her shaking hands made it difficult to strike a match. On the fourth try the match lit, and she quickly lit the cigarette. She let it burn, watching the shaking match burn and at the last minute blew it out. She took a long drag of the cigarette, willing it to calm her down. Her hands still shook. She took another long drag.
“Fuck,” she swore softly. “Why do they keep coming back?”
She downed her beer, placed the empty mug and a twenty-dollar bill on the bar top, and walked over to the booth that she occupied and picked up her coat. Wearing it, she walked quickly out of the pub. Her hands were still shaking. Her entire body was shaking. She would not scream again.
Gingerly, she lit another cigarette and started walking home. Step by step she took, trying her best to keep her mind on her surroundings. Trying her best not to remember. She looked up at the sky and stared at the stars. They were beautiful. Bright, shining beacons of light in darkness. She remembered once more.
Her father was sitting on her bed, coaxing her to go to sleep. Her mother stood leaning on the doorframe, a smile upon her face as she listened to the conversation between her husband and her child.
“Its really late Nikki. You really should be sleeping. I’ll tell you another story tomorrow okay?” he said gently, adjusting her blanket.
“Daddy, where do stars come from?” she asked, pointing out the window. Her father shot a look at her mother, who smirked quietly and leaned her head against the doorframe.
“Well there are many theories about where they come from, or from what they are made of,” replied her father whilst she looked at him in confusion. “But I believe the story your grandfather told me.”
“It was long believed, by a certain group of people that when a person passed away, their souls would soar through the air, into the vast sky above. There, the souls would transform into ether, and become stars. These people believed that there, their ancestors were, watching over them and protecting them from harm.”
“I believe your grandparents are somewhere up there now, looking down upon us. If ever you miss them, just look up into the night sky.”
Nicole’s gaze shifted between her father and the sky. So that’s where her grandparents went. She never really knew them. Her grandmother had passed away before she was born, and her grandfather when she was four. Her only memory of her grandfather was when he stood over her and made funny faces at her.
“I also believe they think you should be going to sleep right now,” said her mother from the doorway. She walked over and kissed Nicole on the forehead. “Go to sleep baby girl.”
Her father arranged her blanket nicely around her, and then kissed her as well. The two of them walked out the door, her father flipping the switch to turn off the lights.
Nicole looked out the window once more.
“G’night Grandpa. G’night Grandma,” she whispered to the sky.
Nicole looked away from the sky. It scared her how these memories seemed to keep coming back. She didn’t want to remember. Not when remembering frightened her. Not when remembering made her scream. Not when remembering made her shudder. Maybe one day she could look back upon all these memories and smile, but that time wasn’t now.
She awkwardly peered up at the sky again. If that story was true, her parents were up there somewhere, looking down upon her. Did they miss her? Did they like what they saw? Were they proud of her? Were they protecting her?
A shooting star suddenly appeared, streaking downward, as though it would fall onto Earth. Nicole watched in wonder. Suddenly a question hit her.
“If stars are the souls of people who passed on, what then does a falling star mean?” she whispered.
* * *
Nicole woke up. Peering through weary eyes, she pushed herself upright. The past night’s events ran through her head. She had made her way home, feeling uneasy and tired. She had tried to read, but could not concentrate. Her sleep had been restless, resulting in her current state. She did not dream, which she was grateful, for if yesterday’s events were any proof, her memories would be her dreams.
She heard her aunt call her name. She pulled off the blanket and planted her feet on the ground. She walked unsteadily out her room and into the tiny dining area.
“Good morning Nikki,” greeted her cousin, Todd, looking up from his breakfast. Lisa smiled a greeting at her.
“Come have your breakfast Nikki,” beckoned her aunt. Nicole walked over to the table, and dropped into the chair.
“Bad night?” asked Todd. Nicole nodded sleepily. She reached for the mug of hot coffee her aunt had poured for her and inhaled deeply. The fragrant aroma wafted into her nostrils, going straight to her head. It invigorated her. She felt a little more awake. She took a sip of the coffee, and then set the mug down.
“What are your plans for the day, Nikki?” inquired her aunt, settling down to her own breakfast. Nicole shrugged, still not wanting to talk. She picked up a slice of bacon and began to nibble at it.
“No plans eh? You wanna join me and my friends at the mall?” asked Todd, his mouth a mess of eggs and bacon. Nicole shook her head and took another sip of her coffee. Todd shrugged and went back to concentrating on his breakfast. Nicole looked around and found Lisa staring at her. She raised an inquisitive brow.
“You’re not talking,” Lisa pointed out, confusion in her eyes. “Is there something wrong Cousin Nikki?”
“Nothing’s wrong Lisa. I just didn’t have a good sleep, that’s all,” she replied, shoving a forkful of eggs into her mouth.
“Have a good rest at home then, Nikki,” Aunt Millie said. Nicole nodded. She finished up her breakfast then returned to her room. Flopping onto her bed, she picked up her hi-fi remote and turned her hi-fi on. 3 Libras by A Perfect Circle blasted its way out from the speakers, almost rocking the books that were on the shelf off. Nicole snagged a book and began to read. This was her paradise. Nothing compared to her imaginary world, but the best she could do in reality. Now all she needed was a cigarette. She placed the book carefully on the bed, and picked up her pack of cigarettes and looked around for an unused match. Spying the basket of matches she had bought the previous evening, she used her feet to hook the handle of the basket. Striking a match, she lit her cigarette and exhaled with a loud sigh. This was the life.
Making little circles of smoke, she picked up her book and continued reading, left hand hanging over the floor, flicking ash into the ashtray below, right hand flipping the pages of the book.
Flick, flip, flick, flip, flick, flip.
It was a continual process. Like a well-choreographed dance, where the flicking and flipping kept in time to the music playing. She did not want to stop. She needed this to keep the memories away. They seemed to plague her these days. No more. She did not want anymore.
Her mind begged to differ.
She was whirled off again, to the distant land of her past youth. There she stood, a little girl of six, dressed in a pretty pink dress, hair tied up like a little doll. She was staring in awe at the huge shelf in front of her. It was gargantuan, at least to a short six-year old. Huge and intimidating, further enhanced by the rows upon rows of books that lined its shelves.
Sure, she had books then. But hers were tiny, pieces of paper compared to these manuscripts of times long past. Spot the Dog was no match for the likes of Shakespeare and Charles Dickens. Not that she knew that then, but she learned, and was fascinated by it.
She was in a library, where the shelves reached from the floor to touch the ceiling. There was a certain antiquity to everything there. The smell of musty old books permeated the entire place. The place was old and a little stinky.
The six-year old her loved it.
She ran back and forth, up and down through the maze of shelves, giggling to her little self, yet trying to act grown up and adhere to the “silence in the library” rule. She stopped occasionally, pulling a large book off one of the few shelves she could reach, and sat there and pretended to read. She would mimic her father’s serious expression, his eyebrows furrowed, right index finger placed on his upper lip. Her mother, who was following her, would smile widely at the sight of her daughter sitting on the ground, frowning at the large book in her lap.
She would catch sight of her mother smiling lovingly down at her, and she would carefully place the book back in its place, and run off again. The librarian, Ms. Adams, never scolded her. In fact, she loved having her running up and down the place.
“I’m sorry if my daughter is being a bother,” her father apologised to Ms. Adams the first time they brought her to the library.
“It’s no bother, Mr. Smith. Your little Nikki is welcome here anytime,” Ms. Adams said, smiling fondly at her. Nicole smiled back shyly and buried her head in her father’s shoulder.
And thus began their weekly ritual of heading to the library every Saturday afternoon, where her father would pick out books that he wanted to read, whilst her mother ran up and down with her, trying to catch her little whirlwind of a daughter.
It was a short-lived ritual.
When she was ten, Nicole would travel alone to the library. The library her parents used to bring her. She would step in, nose inhaling the musty scent of old books, eyes taking in the sight of shelves and shelves of books, fingers running across the spines of books, feeling their smoothness.
The first time she visited the library after her parent’s death, the number of books that she found herself wanting to read astounded her. There were so many of them. She reluctantly pulled only three of them from their shelves and walked over to the counter.
Four years hadn’t changed Ms. Adams one bit. She still looked the same with her mousy brown hair framing a small face that was dominated by a huge pair of spectacles. But would she recognise Nicole?
“Your library card?” Ms. Adams asked, and Nicole dutifully handed it over. Ms. Adams stared at the card, then stared at Nicole. Up and down she looked, from card to face, face to card.
“Nicole Smith? Daughter of Thomas and Regina Smith?” she asked, and Nicole nodded sadly. Ms. Adams’ face lit up in recognition, and she smiled fondly at Nicole. “It’s been years since I last saw you. You’ve grown quite a bit, haven’t you?”
The librarian piled her with questions and gave her condolences. Nicole answered them all and thanked her for her concern. It was nice to know that after so long, the person who ran this grand place still remembered her. Nicole left the library feeling happier than she had ever felt back then.
She had not felt any happier since.
She was back in her room now, staring at the pages of her book. She stubbed out her cigarette with a savage stab, and flipped onto her back. She stared at the ceiling, silently cursing herself for the memory. With each memory brought a stab to her heart, re-opening the old wounds that had been left there twelve years ago. Twelve years of healing were now being rendered useless.
Had those wounds ever been healed in the first place?
She thought they had been. She thought that she had left those memories aside and started anew. She thought that she had undertaken the “great beginning”, a grand plastic surgery of her life, where everything had been given a facelift, the ultimate makeover, the magnificent restructuring. She thought she was almost close to becoming Nicole Imoen Smith.
But they were still co-habitant. The Nicole that was, and the Nicole that had yet to be. In her confused mind, that made for pretty dangerous living conditions.
She did not want that. Everything to her was black or white. There was no grey area. It was either this way or that way. There was never an in between. This co-habitation was confusing her; pretty much like how every time having a middle ground confused everyone. It could only be one way or the other.
How? Why?
She did not know. She would never know if she traveled the middle ground. Confusion would only swarm her head, attack it and leave it unable to function. She had to decide now.
For what had yet to be.
She would relive her past. Remember everything. Then she would mourn each and every one of those memories. Mourn them, and then lay them to rest in whatever Valhalla memories went to after they died.
“I remember now,” she muttered softly under her breath.
One by one, she relived her past. Those six years before her parents died. Those were the six happiest years of her life, and she sifted through all of them. A flood of emotion beset her. Joy, sorrow, anger, trepidation, surprise, woe, disappointment. The memories whizzed by, yet each of them was clearly distinguished. She knew which was which and why. Everything was crystal clear. Black or white. There was no confusion at all.
Then it made its grand entrance, clear as glass, ushered in by a volley of fanfare. The one memory she dreaded. The one she had locked up in the deepest recesses of her mind, guarded tightly by the power of her will. Now it was free, and it sought to pay her back for locking it up.
She gasped softly as the images slowly unfolded in her mind. The sky was dark. A storm was coming. They had just left the library and were making their way home. Nicole and her mother had crossed the street to buy something from the grocery store. Her father was standing across the street, buying a magazine from the newsvendor. A group of teens were walking in the direction of her father, and one by one they jostled him, knocking the books in his possession on the ground. He shouted in annoyance, causing them to turn back. They walked slowly towards him, screaming vulgarities at the top of their lungs. Surrounding her father, they started pushing and shoving him around. Her father never wavered. He did not cower. He shouted back at them, and pretty soon things got out of hand.
One of them threw a punch.
Her father gave as good as he got, but it was apparent that there was strength in numbers. He collapsed to the ground, but the teens did not back down. Arms were flying, legs were swinging. Passer-byes just stood and watched.
Nicole screamed.
Her mother came running out of the shop, asking Nicole what was wrong. Nicole pointed across the street.
“Daddy!”
Nicole’s mother looked at where she was pointing, and got the shock of her life. There her husband lay in a crumpled heap, his life beaten out of him. She started to dash across the road, but never got to her destination.
A speeding car zoomed right in front of Nicole.
There was a loud bang, and she heard her mother scream. She looked across to where her father was, and saw him trying to get up. He couldn’t. Slowly, he crawled bit by bit, trying to get to his wife. He never reached her. Halfway there, he stopped. Turning his head towards Nicole, he mouthed the words “I love you”, and then he turned his head back to his wife. He gently rested his head on the ground and closed his eyes.
Nicole looked to where her mother’s limp body lay. Her arms and legs were splayed out in unnatural positions. Her hair was beautifully fanned out above her head, fire-red turning crimson blood red. Her eyes were still open, the shock and horror still apparent, the life gone.
People were beginning to gather. A small group around her mother, another group around her father. Traffic had stopped. Nicole walked slowly across the street, to where books were strewn all over the ground. One by one she picked them up and carried them over to her father’s body. Squeezing through the throng surrounding him, she gently placed the books on the ground, and then knelt on the ground, eyes fixed intently on her loving father, who lay there, breathing weakly, almost lost to her.
The gravity of the situation was not apparent to her then. She did not understand nor comprehend the wave of emotions that hit her. She just stared. Her face screwed up in what seemed like a mix of sadness and anger. No tears came out. Not even a drop. She just knelt there, and stared.
The police came, as well as paramedics. Her mother was pronounced dead by the paramedics, her father in critical condition. The driver of the car was questioned by the police, as well as random people who might have seen the incident. There was a buzz of activity in the area.
Nicole? She just continued staring, a police officer by her side, watching her, making sure she didn’t run off or do anything stupid. But she wasn’t going to do that. She wasn’t going to run off or do anything stupid. She just wanted her parents, but it seemed pretty apparent that it wasn’t possible anymore.
The memories whizzed by once more. She was at the police station, and her Aunt Millie was here to take her home. She was sitting in a room, with Aunt Millie, who was trying to get her to eat. She was staring out the window, looking at the stars. She was going to school. She was seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, and seventeen. She was alone, all those years alone.
The memories stopped.
Sweat drizzled down her face, her back, her arms and legs. She was breathing heavily. She was disorientated, as though she had traveled through time and her mind didn’t know where she was. She looked around the room, trying to familiarise herself, get her bearings. She stood up. Her legs were weak. She picked up her pillow, pushed it against her face, and screamed.
When she stopped screaming, she threw the pillow aside and dropped to her knees. She closed her eyes.
And started laughing.
“It’s over,” she told herself. “I have mourned you, laid you to rest and gave you a decent burial. Now will you leave me alone?”
Only silence answered her. But this was a silence that was soothing and calming. It was a silence that told her yes.
She picked up a match, struck it, and watched as it slowly burned, all the way to her fingertips, before blowing it out.
Every life, just like a match, should be allowed to live for as long as possible before being blown out.
* * *
posted by Kevin @ 7:39 PM
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