The Meeting

Hi. This is post #2. I'd written this a while ago and forgotten I'd had it. Do you think it's worth doing something with?

A single iridescent raindrop ran along the window’s outer surface, stretched thin and long from the tug of the wind against the movement of the bus. I watched as it passed by, my brow furrowed. It seemed all too soon when it passed from my field of sight onto the window of the seat behind me.

The bus jolted, shaking me from my thoughts. I gripped the straps of my scarlet backpack and sighed.

I had slept poorly the night before. During my brief rest, I was haunted by dark dreams that chased me through the depths of the unconscious mind, a grim, gloomy sea that I had yet to cross and conquer. I saw, or thought I saw, faces that were vaguely familiar to me, and upon seeing them a strange yearning stirred within me. But they were chased away by shadows, and I did not see them again.

Such dreams filled my sleep for so long that I had come to dread the night.

When I had looked in the mirror that morning I did not recognize myself. My complexion was paler than moonlight, my eyes hooded by the darkness that circled them. Parted slightly, my lips let through the heavy breaths that accustom those with too much sleep, or lack thereof. For weeks I had deprived myself of slumber because I had come to fear it, and in doing so had come to resemble the night-ghasts that I was attempting to flee.

I felt a pair of eyes watching me, brimming with haughty condescension and distrust. Turning my head, I stared fixedly at the girl sitting in the seat across from mine. She flinched and averted her gaze, muttering some inaudible words under her breath that I could tell were ill favored towards me.

I did not cease staring, waiting for her to look again. My grey eyes had narrowed to serpentine slits, watching mercilessly in a manner that made me feel more like a predator than a peer. Long had I been the subject of discussion for my fellow students, and I had come to passionately hate the undivided attention that I received everywhere I went.

At last she returned my gaze. Her emerald eyes were timid and embarrassed, hidden by a fan of eyelashes that were darkened by a layer of mascara. My stony gaze stripped her of any confidence she may have possessed.

Her words tumbled out of her lips weakly, her eyes breaking from my adamant stare and focusing instead on my cream sweater. “You’re that girl, aren’t you? You’re the one who . . .” said she softly, and then her voice receded.

“Yes,” I said bluntly, my mouth twisted in a displeased scowl.

“What was it like?” Curiosity had overcome fear, and her voice grew stronger.

“It’s impossible to describe.” I replied. It was the same answer I had given the others who asked me that very question. A slight lie, but it was a tale I would not retell to the callous stranger.

Dissatisfied, she turned away. Still I watched her.

Her near-flawless face served as a mask for her indecision and fear. Fear of pain, fear of suffering, fear of losing what little she had. She hid her hurting with a forced smile and a flippant laugh, all while she was screaming inside, crying for the help that would never come.

“I learned from the experience,” I murmured softly.

She shifted. To any other, it would seem as though she did not hear, or had no desire to, but I knew that she hung on every word. Slowly, I continued.

“It’s not as dark as it seems.”

She looked to me, her bright green eyes opening up like a blossom to sunlight. For an instant, her emotion overwhelmed me, and I found myself unable to speak.

A voice from the front of the bus called her name, and it was as if a door standing between us had shut. She diverted her attention from me, and I from her, and our conversation ended.

The bus came at last to the school parking lot, and braked with a loud screech into its usual spot. I shouldered my backpack, just as I shouldered the thought of what was to come.

It was the start of another long day.