The Book Of Anna & English

1 - Summer Breeze

Hello Loves, thank you for making it past the introduction. 

Please note throughout the story if something is written in italic, it's thoughts. Some of these are going to be important for the story, just a heads up.

You can listen to the songs whenever unless I specify...

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Hi Harry,

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A little light-a-shinin' through the window

Lets me know everything's all right

The old record player, which is placed carefully on a stack of even older books, plays soft melodies in the background. Stevie croons about ocean tides, and I can't help but move my body along with the beat. My dad bought it for me from one of his business trips, it's old, barely able to keep together, but it's a treasure.

It's the first day of summer, and the darkness is still looming outside my semi-drawn window, slivers of light peeking through. The sky pitch black, except for a couple of stars splattered against the heavens. The shadows dance among the room, playing hide and seek with the glow of my bedside lamp.

I push the drawer close with my hip and pull the shirt over my shoulders, securing the buttons quickly as I twist my bare feet around the room. My hair goes in a bun on top of my head, the tangled mane not to be bothered with right now. The atmosphere around me is vibrant even though I'm alone, something you become accustomed to after a while...Loneliness. Because when I stand, I stand alone. You got to make your own magic.

There's a mysterious shift, that one timeless moment when night technically moves into the day; the moon, tired of working, allows the sun to dance. It's always felt like the town knows when it's about to be the first day of summer, and I can't help but wonder, what now? What is next?

Watercolor loves adventure. Kids on bikes with ice cream dripping from their palms. New lovers and summer fling, kissing behind abandoned storage units and big, thousand-year-old rocks on the beach.

Lost shoes after midnight benders and candy flipping, Innocence washed away with the waves, never to be retrieved again. The list can go on for days, seventy-seven days to be exact.

I climb through my window, sitting on the little ledge, mostly hidden by the peak of the roof, balancing myself on my hunches as I lift the little pot where my succulent lives. "Hey there, Keeper." I greet the little plant, the one I whisper all my moral dilemmas to. The fairy lights twinkle softly at me, making me smile.

It's a miracle it's still alive from all the toxic energy I expel out here. Wondering fingers manage to grasp the packet of cigarettes and pull it out like a prized possession at a carnival. A loose tendril falls into my eyes, and I push it back with my fingers, my eyes catching the chipped manicure that's desperate for a repair.

The first pull does the opposite of what it's supposed to. They say smoke restricts your air intake; to me, it feels like I can breathe again. I look down at the vast yard. The grimace is an instant reaction, not something I can stop: perfectly manicured lawn, symmetrical gardens. The sparse light allows me to see the budding flowers and blooming roses. There's so much life down there, yet it feels lifeless.

I want to do more than just survive. I don't want to be one of the people who think the end came too soon.

My eyes drift upwards, to the sky again, where I always find myself. The air swirls around me, encasing me in a familiar feeling, one of reflection. The wonder of life is wedged silent in my heart. The year that has passed did a number on me for sure.