Perfection

Images flash through my mind of a time when these fields were full of tulips and roses. Of a time when the sky was a crystal blue, and the air smelt of poppies. Of a place where people knew the difference between tulips and roses. Of a place where riding my bike to the creek was normal. Where helping Nana knead dough in her small, cinnamon-scented kitchen was also normal. I used to think life was perfect, but when Nana died I realized life was not perfect, as I thought it had been. I was sent someplace. Someplace where the other girls didn't know the difference between tulips and roses. And I realized I had a lot to learn.

The people where I was send are very homely and plain compared to the beauty that I've grown up with. When I was younger and found out I was going to be living with my Nana I was elated, and dispelled any menacing thoughts of going back to the city to live with my workaholic parents. When Nana died and I got sent back I was twelve. I hated it from the beginning, and as time elapsed the pain became more excruciating. I missed the warm air, smelling of poppies. I missed the nights where me and Nana would walk down the path to the flowing river calmly, while really on the inside we were bouncing up and down with excitement. Plans transpired in my head to flee this hate-ridden city, and escape to my home. My real home. A very subtle plan was thought out, and my thoughts never wavered. I planned to leave one day during school. Nobody would ever realize that I was gone because I had no one that cared. I was walking through the halls of my school, and suddenly walked outside, no one even noticing my absence. I hailed a taxicab, and it brought me to the train station, where I boarded a train and didn't look back. I arrived at the old cottage in the woods that I had grown up in. It didn't look the same. I walk around the old and now rundown cottage to the back, where the fields used to hold all of the tulips and roses. I thought that it was imperative to leave, but as I look around the desolate field, I realize that nothing perfect lasts, especially something you cherish. You will always have to let it go in the end. And finally, I accept it. I drop the rose in my hand, turn around, and walk away. Away from a life that used to be perfect. A life that I wasn't ready to let go of. Until now.

What I didn't expect was what would happen after I escaped my "home".

~

My eyes squint open and I turn my head over towards the light filtering through the torn up blinds. I rub my eyes and roll over. I sigh in relief as I feel the light bump of my scar next to my left eye. I stand up from my mattress on the dirty floor and walk to the window, my feet scratching against the hard wood floor. I pull the blinds back, peeking outside, and look at all the men and women walking through the square.

“Molly!” Mrs. Guanna calls

“Yes?” I call down, hearing my voice for the first time today.

I’m surprised. My voice sounds so croaky and old. My hand flies to my throat as I try to swallow the ball forming in my throat. I tie my brown hair out of my face, and look in the mirror. My green eyes glimmer back at me as my hand lowly rises to my scar. Touching the top of my eyebrow, I lightly drag my fingertips down the scar, feeling the slight bump. I sigh and walk to the door, creaking it open. I walk slowly down the stairs, trailing my hands along the rough wooden banister. I take my hand off and look at it. Small cuts that will slowly turn into scars.

Scars. I guess you can say I have a lot. But I like my scars. They are a part of me and tell my stories since I was little up to now. Like the one on my elbow when my nana and I were cooking in the old kitchen and she dropped the blade. Or the one on my toe when the dog was chasing me. The most important one though, is the one next to my eye.

A scream of terror erupts through the crowd, jolting me awake. I sit up and grab my bag, which was close by me in case I had to make a quick escape. I peak out of the alleyway where I was hiding out. Through the thick and dense crowd I could see them. Specials. I scamper up the alleyway and climb over the fence. I try to jump off but I’m jerked back. My heart skips a beat thinking that they finally caught me, but when I look back I see that it was only my black cloak stuck in one of the wires. My breath gets caught in my throat as I see the tall, powerful figures cutting through the crowd like a knife through bread. My fingers fumble desperately with the cloth, pulling and yanking at it. I look back frantically and finally see them clearly enough to see their sharp and powerful features. High cheekbones, dark eyes, tanned skin, muscular bodies. I’ve always heard things, but I’ve never actually come this close to see them. I’ve always been one step ahead. Not this time. All three of them swiftly walk over, looking exactly the same. Three women. All three have sleek shiny lack hair, pulled away from their sharp faces. I can feel their eyes boring into me like an animal watching its prey. I now frantically pull at my cloak, feeling my heartbeat in my ears as I hear their black cloaks dragging on the wet cobblestone. The middle one puts her hand out, and in it is a sharp knife. She walks slowly towards me, picking me up off the fence with ease and setting me on the ground hard. I struggle under her hand but she has it locked on me.

"Where were you going? Do you really think you’d be able to escape us very long? We’ve had our eyes on you for a very long time.” She grasps my face with her hand and angles me up to look her in the eyes.

I fight as best I can but the other two have me in their grasp and they we’re made to be powerful. I eye the knife, my brain already filtering all the ways I can take it from her. As if reading my mind, she puts the knife out of my reach, and straightens herself. My eyes drop to the ground, desperately hoping for someone to walk by and witness what is happening. The Special grabs the back of my neck and pulls me towards her with an inhumane strength. The other two huddle around greedily, their eyes wide and their lips curled into cruel smiles. I struggle as my feet come off the ground and I see the one holding me hold her knife up. She brings it to my face and slowly drags it down, applying more and more pressure. I scream and screw my eyes shut, feeling the blood stream down my face. She drops me on the ground with a hard thud, and before I could think of running, the other two pounce on me, locking their hands on me to keep me in place.

"Why are you doing this?” I ask, gritting my teeth against the pain.

She crouches down and looks at me, smiling with her face tiled. The knife still in her hand hovering over my thigh.

“You deserve the pain.” She slowly draws the words out, as if giving me time to soak it in. “Do you know how much time and effort it takes to track you down amongst the thousands of people in this city? New York City is a big place.” Without even taking another breath she plunges the knife into my thigh.

I scream in agony, tears streaming down my face as the pain overcomes me. The three ladies just laugh cruelly. I open my eyes, hoping to see something good before they take me away. My eyes land on two boys walking past the entrance to the alleyway. They stop and look at me. Through the tears in my eyes I can make them out to look the same. Brothers. Sandy hair, squared jaw, and what I think, blue eyes. Their cloaks trail behind them like the Specials but after a minute I noticed that they were not fitted to be that way, more like they were to big for the boys. A shot of pain slices through my thoughts and I’m back to reality, realizing that these so-called “protectors” are still in the alleyway torturing me. I pant heavily as I watch the Specials stare coldly at me.

"Stop.” I pleadingly whisper.

She bends down towards my ear, crouching low, and spits “Never” plunging the knife deeper into my leg.

I hear gunshots go off and people screaming. I see the Specials reach for me. Before they can reach for me, someone is pulling me back, lifting me up and backing off out of their reach. My head weakly turn towards the person holding me, and I recognize one of the boys at the alleyway. I realize he’s holding me with one arm, and in his other hand is a gun. He fires it and I hear a loud hiss and scream as it hits one of the women, what I think to be the group leader. My vision starts to go dark around the edges as the boy starts to retreat slowly. He lets off a few more bullets and then takes off running. The last thing I hear are the screams of the Specials. Boy, will I be in trouble when I see them next.