(no subject)
The brisk November wind whipped around her ankles, teasing the bottom of her skirt, causing it to dance aimlessly in the swift breeze. Her shoulder-length blonde hair blew across her face, covering her bright green eyes. The gust pushed for a moment, then died down again, allowing the leaves that covered the ground time to reseat themselves on the pavement. She peeked over the edge of the wood shingled roof, leaning forward just enough to see, and standing up sharply when the wind chilled her again, threating to push her off the edge. The girl pulled her sweater tighter around her shoulders to keep out the cold, hugging herself tightly against the breeze. The leaves rustled, their disjointed mosaic shaken again.
She shut her eyes tight against the world, blocking out the pale pink of the autumn sky. A car rushed past, stirring up the leaves that had seated themselves on the asphalt to watch the girl. When they settled back down in their new seats, she was still perched atop the house. The wind died down, as if to wait and watch the girl as it passed her. Silence gripped the street and the wind, the leaves, and the birds had suddenly held their breath in anticipation. She lifted her left foot and stood, right foot planted on the wooden shingles, left foot hanging precariously over the edge of the gutter, perfectly still for a time. The wind could not hold its breath any longer, and it began to blow softly, shifting the rapt attention of the leaves to matter more pressing. They rustled about, annoyed, and settled back down again, waiting for a finale from the small girl still standing perfectly still, one foot over the edge, eyes shut tight.
It seemed as though hours passed as she stood there on the roof, but she finally pulled her foot away from the edge, opened her eyes, and ducked back through the window. She closed the window against the rapidly chilling wind and removed her sweater. The soft reds in the evening twilight were echoed on the walls of the small room, and the colour from the green leaves that were absent from the trees was soaked deep into the comforter carefully laid across the bed. With the wind and the leaves safely locked outside, she closed the emerald green shades tightly against the ever-growing night.
She walked around the perimeter of the room, tracing the wallpaper border with her fingers as she passed. After three laps around the sides of the room, she flicked on the light and laid on her back, flat against the floor. Eyes staring up at the fan blades spinning lazily, she reached under her bed, lifting the deep green blanket and retrieving a small wooden box. She caressed the carved letters in the lid with her fingers: Kimberly. She stuck her hand back under the bed once more and it returned with a shiny brass key. The top of the box held a lock that matched the key, and she slowly, carefully, opened the lid. Inside were a number of things that she cared a great deal for, but she dug beneath several folded notes from years past and pulled out the small silver orb she had been searching for. She gently replaced the lid, locked it, and returned the box and key to the dark cave under her bed.
Kim sat up slowly, turning the phone over in her hands. It was small, easily lost or broken, but it was familiar. The same scrapes and cracks were still in the same placed as the last time she had held the device. She slowly opened the phone, powering it on and wincing when it chimed to greet her. She stood up again and began to circle the room as the phone received all the messages she had missed. She dismissed them and dialed a number; 7 digits dialed slowly, methodically, carefully. She paused suddenly, and then held the phone to her ear as a shiver ran down her spine. There were three rings, and then a voice.
"Hello?"
She was taken aback for a moment, stricken with silence.
"Hello?" came the voice again.
Kim looked around her room, then began, "My name is Kim. I have green eyes and blonde hair, and I am beautiful. I love you very much, I think." She parted the curtains and peeked out the window into the dark night.
There was silence at the other end of the phone.
"We've been doing this all wrong, I think. We're all afraid of the dark, of heights, of all sorts of things, but we aren't supposed to be. We're not supposed to follow one another around and do the same things."
There was no response.
"I'm going to leave tomorrow, but I can't take you with me. It has, I must admit, been a nice sort-of trip here with you..." She began to walk again, tracing the intricate patterns of the wallpaper as she circled the room. "...But I don't love you in the way that I think I'm supposed to. See, I love you the same as I love everyone because they're real people who deserve to be loved. You're real too, so I love you."
Still, there was silence.
"So it is time to say goodnight. Go on, say it."
Quietly, the voice creaked "Goodnight?"
"That's right. I might see you again someday. Then again, I might not. If you see anybody, tell them I love them too."
She hung up the phone and placed it carefully on the edge of the small wooden desk that sat facing her bed. She stared at it, inquisitively, as though she were waiting for it to perform, but when all it did was vibrate and flash lights at her, she returned to the window. Again, she cracked open the curtains just enough to peek through them. She stared out into the night until the phone stopped vibrating. Then she turned away from the window and began to walk away from the window, leaving the shades tightly drawn. As she stepped slowly, carefully across the room, something came to her mind, and she turned around and carefully, quickly, she rushed back to the window and tore the curtains open. She jumped back, as though she expected something to fly at her, but when nothing did, she pressed her face against the glass, in awe of the night. Her hand fumbled for the light switch, and she flicked it off and stared out into the night. As her eyes adjusted, dim lights appeared on the horizon, outlining the fields to the west.
The dark was not so frightening as it had been.
Two.
The morning sun flitted about the room, bouncing off a hundred shiny things that it had found while streaming in the open window. The light pondered as it danced about, wondering why the window was open, and also why there was nobody about to enjoy its show. Light, though, rarely requires an audience, so the light continued to flutter and skip about the red-walled room. Kim opened her eyes slowly, feeling as though she did not wish to leave her bed. She laid, curled into a ball, sheets and blankets up to her chin to keep out the cool fall air that was lazily blowing in through the window. She had a vague recollection of something, but she knew not what. She lost the fight to open her eyes as she settled back into her pillow, content to sleep some more. The light, which was suddenly excited by the thought that there might be a visitor, was crestfallen and looked around the room instead. On the spotless carpet, there lay clothing. The light paused, as it had never before seen anything laying on the carpet. Everything was always put away.
Kim awoke with a start, wondering how long she had overslept. She sat bolt upright and immediately regretted doing so, as the room began to slowly spin. She sat perfectly still for a moment, allowing the room to settle itself down before she began her morning. She climbed out of bed and shivered, wondering why it was that the window was open. The silver orb was still resting on the edge of the desk, but she paused a moment to speculate why it was there, but then dismissed its presence and walked to the window. She leaned out the window, breathing in the brisk air as she stared out across the field. She leaned further out the window, but recoiled when her stomach touched the cold aluminum frame. Suddenly, the memories of the previous night came flooding back to her as she stood, stunned, wondering why it was that she was not, as far as she could tell, wearing her usual nighttime suit of an old shirt and fleece pants. It took her another reflective moment to realize why she had felt the cold so fiercely across her middle. For a moment, she felt almost like crying. She had been so proud of remembering her boldness the day before that she was terribly frustrated in not knowing why she was not dressed. She sat on her bed, fighting between frustration at the loss of memory and the horror of prancing about nearly naked. She flopped down on her bed, tears in her eyes, and did her best to calm down.
She had calmed herself enough to clear her head when a gust of wind burst through the window, chilling her exposed skin, causing her to remember that she was still very much undressed. Now that she was back in control of herself, she collected last night's clothing from the floor and folded it carefully before laying it in the bin that held the rest of her dirty clothes.
She shut her eyes tight against the world, blocking out the pale pink of the autumn sky. A car rushed past, stirring up the leaves that had seated themselves on the asphalt to watch the girl. When they settled back down in their new seats, she was still perched atop the house. The wind died down, as if to wait and watch the girl as it passed her. Silence gripped the street and the wind, the leaves, and the birds had suddenly held their breath in anticipation. She lifted her left foot and stood, right foot planted on the wooden shingles, left foot hanging precariously over the edge of the gutter, perfectly still for a time. The wind could not hold its breath any longer, and it began to blow softly, shifting the rapt attention of the leaves to matter more pressing. They rustled about, annoyed, and settled back down again, waiting for a finale from the small girl still standing perfectly still, one foot over the edge, eyes shut tight.
It seemed as though hours passed as she stood there on the roof, but she finally pulled her foot away from the edge, opened her eyes, and ducked back through the window. She closed the window against the rapidly chilling wind and removed her sweater. The soft reds in the evening twilight were echoed on the walls of the small room, and the colour from the green leaves that were absent from the trees was soaked deep into the comforter carefully laid across the bed. With the wind and the leaves safely locked outside, she closed the emerald green shades tightly against the ever-growing night.
She walked around the perimeter of the room, tracing the wallpaper border with her fingers as she passed. After three laps around the sides of the room, she flicked on the light and laid on her back, flat against the floor. Eyes staring up at the fan blades spinning lazily, she reached under her bed, lifting the deep green blanket and retrieving a small wooden box. She caressed the carved letters in the lid with her fingers: Kimberly. She stuck her hand back under the bed once more and it returned with a shiny brass key. The top of the box held a lock that matched the key, and she slowly, carefully, opened the lid. Inside were a number of things that she cared a great deal for, but she dug beneath several folded notes from years past and pulled out the small silver orb she had been searching for. She gently replaced the lid, locked it, and returned the box and key to the dark cave under her bed.
Kim sat up slowly, turning the phone over in her hands. It was small, easily lost or broken, but it was familiar. The same scrapes and cracks were still in the same placed as the last time she had held the device. She slowly opened the phone, powering it on and wincing when it chimed to greet her. She stood up again and began to circle the room as the phone received all the messages she had missed. She dismissed them and dialed a number; 7 digits dialed slowly, methodically, carefully. She paused suddenly, and then held the phone to her ear as a shiver ran down her spine. There were three rings, and then a voice.
"Hello?"
She was taken aback for a moment, stricken with silence.
"Hello?" came the voice again.
Kim looked around her room, then began, "My name is Kim. I have green eyes and blonde hair, and I am beautiful. I love you very much, I think." She parted the curtains and peeked out the window into the dark night.
There was silence at the other end of the phone.
"We've been doing this all wrong, I think. We're all afraid of the dark, of heights, of all sorts of things, but we aren't supposed to be. We're not supposed to follow one another around and do the same things."
There was no response.
"I'm going to leave tomorrow, but I can't take you with me. It has, I must admit, been a nice sort-of trip here with you..." She began to walk again, tracing the intricate patterns of the wallpaper as she circled the room. "...But I don't love you in the way that I think I'm supposed to. See, I love you the same as I love everyone because they're real people who deserve to be loved. You're real too, so I love you."
Still, there was silence.
"So it is time to say goodnight. Go on, say it."
Quietly, the voice creaked "Goodnight?"
"That's right. I might see you again someday. Then again, I might not. If you see anybody, tell them I love them too."
She hung up the phone and placed it carefully on the edge of the small wooden desk that sat facing her bed. She stared at it, inquisitively, as though she were waiting for it to perform, but when all it did was vibrate and flash lights at her, she returned to the window. Again, she cracked open the curtains just enough to peek through them. She stared out into the night until the phone stopped vibrating. Then she turned away from the window and began to walk away from the window, leaving the shades tightly drawn. As she stepped slowly, carefully across the room, something came to her mind, and she turned around and carefully, quickly, she rushed back to the window and tore the curtains open. She jumped back, as though she expected something to fly at her, but when nothing did, she pressed her face against the glass, in awe of the night. Her hand fumbled for the light switch, and she flicked it off and stared out into the night. As her eyes adjusted, dim lights appeared on the horizon, outlining the fields to the west.
The dark was not so frightening as it had been.
Two.
The morning sun flitted about the room, bouncing off a hundred shiny things that it had found while streaming in the open window. The light pondered as it danced about, wondering why the window was open, and also why there was nobody about to enjoy its show. Light, though, rarely requires an audience, so the light continued to flutter and skip about the red-walled room. Kim opened her eyes slowly, feeling as though she did not wish to leave her bed. She laid, curled into a ball, sheets and blankets up to her chin to keep out the cool fall air that was lazily blowing in through the window. She had a vague recollection of something, but she knew not what. She lost the fight to open her eyes as she settled back into her pillow, content to sleep some more. The light, which was suddenly excited by the thought that there might be a visitor, was crestfallen and looked around the room instead. On the spotless carpet, there lay clothing. The light paused, as it had never before seen anything laying on the carpet. Everything was always put away.
Kim awoke with a start, wondering how long she had overslept. She sat bolt upright and immediately regretted doing so, as the room began to slowly spin. She sat perfectly still for a moment, allowing the room to settle itself down before she began her morning. She climbed out of bed and shivered, wondering why it was that the window was open. The silver orb was still resting on the edge of the desk, but she paused a moment to speculate why it was there, but then dismissed its presence and walked to the window. She leaned out the window, breathing in the brisk air as she stared out across the field. She leaned further out the window, but recoiled when her stomach touched the cold aluminum frame. Suddenly, the memories of the previous night came flooding back to her as she stood, stunned, wondering why it was that she was not, as far as she could tell, wearing her usual nighttime suit of an old shirt and fleece pants. It took her another reflective moment to realize why she had felt the cold so fiercely across her middle. For a moment, she felt almost like crying. She had been so proud of remembering her boldness the day before that she was terribly frustrated in not knowing why she was not dressed. She sat on her bed, fighting between frustration at the loss of memory and the horror of prancing about nearly naked. She flopped down on her bed, tears in her eyes, and did her best to calm down.
She had calmed herself enough to clear her head when a gust of wind burst through the window, chilling her exposed skin, causing her to remember that she was still very much undressed. Now that she was back in control of herself, she collected last night's clothing from the floor and folded it carefully before laying it in the bin that held the rest of her dirty clothes.