Dusk - A Twilight Reimagining

4 - The Hidden Orchard

The Swan house was a quiet oasis, shielded from the ever-looming apocalypse. Its overgrown garden butted up against the towering trees, a squadron of front-line soldiers staring off their massive enemies. The house inside the siege's center was a citadel, a temple, a fortress. 

An apple orchard grew mortal green souls, with twisted branches infused by the celestial essences of sunlight and moonlight.

The door creaked as Bella Swan returned to her quiet home away from the place she knew by memory but not by heart. Upon her arrival, she called out to her dad but was greeted only with the soft drone of wind against the chimney pipe. It was a hollow noise that trapped her in her bones and caused her to shift from foot to foot. Bella's soul remembered sharp things, quick things, and loud things. This place—this hushed grove—held a serene absurdity that her body refused to accept. From her experiences, nothing could be quiet and peaceful. There was always a jab around the next corner, always someone ready to point a finger her way and toss an insult or two just for good measure. 

She was sure of it.

Mostly.

Bella Swan finally brought herself to hang up her soaked raincoat and slide off her equally wet boots. She cautiously paced into the kitchen, poking her head around each entrance to scout the empty area first. The floorboards whispered to each other as she passed them by. The furniture turned to gawk at her taut form. Even the lights raised brows at the drum of her fingers against the walls.

She was an unknown in this house, and this home was an unknown to her. They were mutually confused in that way—they understood each other within their misunderstanding. 

Bella Swan approached the fridge, where a green sticky note awaited her. She plunked it from the metal like a ripe fruit, her gaze falling to the neatly written letters. Though Bella didn't recognize her dad's handwriting, the note's contents clued her in quickly.

Working late again. Spaghetti is in the fridge, but I'm sure you can whip something up if you don't like it. Friends ok, no boys, and no opening my wine cabinet. 

I love you, kiddo.

~Dad

As gradually as a drip of water eroding a massive cliff face, Bella's shoulders eased from their high guard. Her breath echoed in the house like a heartbeat in the body, and similarly, the fridge opening bounced around the walls. Bella almost jumped when her chilled bowl of spaghetti crashed on the counter, even though she set it down gently. 

Everything was too loud. There was no screaming to drown out the mundane actions of her life or a nagging voice pacing behind her to cast a curse over her own inner demons. Bella's gut writhed as she stood in front of the microwave, her knuckles white from her tight grip on the kitchen counter. Her breathing came in short spasms as her heart thrashed in her chest. It kicked violently at her ribs and tore through her entire body like a frenzied creature attempting escape.

Beep! Beep! Beep!

Bella pulled the microwave's door open and shakily grabbed her spaghetti. She rushed to the couch, throwing on some random drama show and sinking into the soft cushions. Her eyes remained trapped on the ever-changing screen.

By the time she truly felt like herself again, her food had gone cold. A young green apple swayed along a thin branch, tempted by the chaos. The moon was hidden away behind a thick cloud cover. The rain hadn't started yet, but Bella could already smell it creeping in. She tore herself from the couch when a branch thudded against the garden screen door, her heart hammering in her throat. The wind howled outside and repeated its torment on the branch, which this time caused Bella to calm.