>•~Falling Upwards~•<

Chapter Thirty Two: Reach Towards The Stars

My hands,
My hands -
Not mine.
They do not belong to me.

They are mine,
Yet they cannot be.
The hands of mine,
Would have never done such a sight.

Perhaps someone,
Had used them.
Had controlled me;
Had used me.

They are longer,
With more wrinkles;
The hands,
Of an experienced woman.

That is who I am,
But I am still so young;
So naive,
So plain.

Am I?
Am I myself?
Am I who I believe myself to be?
Are my hands even my own?

--

(That night...)

~C~

  My eyes drift towards the sky. Once again, I find myself like this. So blank. So plain. So naive. What I do, or what I do not do. Does it ever matter? What impact would I have? I am so little compared to everyone, and everything, around me.

  It is night. Nighttime always comes. Nighttime often confuses me - Especially after what that.. August, as he had been named, had taught me. Rather, he never taught me. No, he shared his tainted knowledge.

  I am not really looking at the sky; at the night sky. I am too scared to. A blank, plain sky, is truly terrifying. It holds no hopes. It has a dark demeanor.

  Pale, navy colors. They would paint the frightful ideas sparked in my mine. Each would wash over the over; similar to small brushes swirled on by a paintbrush. Who would paint such a depressing sight?

  No, it was once beautiful. There were once many little happy stars. They were full of hopes. They were full of joy. Those beings, which seem so small from so far away, gave people hope. Their wishes were painted to life on them, as they took their journeys to soar across the sky.

  I turn my head away from outside. I am scared; I am terrified. Terrified - of something that could not harm me. At least, not physically. It is a battle in my mind that I do not want to face. It happens now, but I hide from it. It is always happening.

  It bounces back and forth. For the embers of fear are always there. One can never close that book. It will always remain open. Always. If I come to peace with this, maybe life would not be so... complicated.

  There will always be a conflict. Peace is a dreary idea, that we can all always have a piece of. Whether it be something small, like an argument over a snack, or something more serious, like the fires that used to rage here. It always stays; like a leech.

  My eyes gaze around the house. I slowly get up. My bones give out a small pop as I release the tension I never knew I held then. The soft scent of... cinnamon drifts towards me. Is someone baking?

  It twirls in the air. What a happy scent. It reminds me of home. Of small feet pattering across a hard wooden floor. With bright, goofy smiles, and wide smiles.

  I get up. My beaten-up feet creak the wood as I walk. Maybe I hear a cricket chirping off by a window. Maybe not. Maybe there is a thick forest there to hug us. Maybe not.

  I sigh. It drifts off and away from me yet again. What a shame. What fun is this; to be robbed from the brink of a memory. Where is the robber, when the robber is just the world. It is just reality. I should just come to face that.

  'Get it together, C!' I say to myself, and repeat what April probably told me once before.

  April... April... April. April is sleeping on the floor. This old, creaky wood is no bed. Even those old couches, back at the old home, were more of a place to rest than this.

  She is barred up around the chipped paint. Slowly it may begin to peal off. A window would be broken beside it. A rancid brown smudge, which had used to be red, is right by the great rims where it had been smashed. That is where we had come through.

  That is basically the whole house. There are a few food rations by  April. Those were from the previous owner. April had known who she was. I, however, do not.

  I feel like I do know, though. This old place brings back the warmth of someone's home. Someone's childhood home. That is where April had come from. Here.

  Now, who had fallen, is gone. I am sitting down again, beside April. My eyes drift towards the sky. I catch my breath in slight fear. August's hazy image floods my mind.

  I can see him. I see him beside me. I see his smile. How he could always make me laugh. He always brightened up my days. Oh, how I miss him. I had pushed him out for so long, only for him to now come back - To what? Haunt me?

  I suppose so. It is what is left of him. I suppose that in some ways, I did love him. Was it true, though? He never saw those stars.

  I see April. She saw the stars. She knew they were true. I scoot a bit closer to her. I miss August; I may always miss August. However, he was never a real person. He was fake, with horrible intentions. I had him and April all mixed up from the start.

I believe I can see the world for how it is now.

--

A/N: banana 🍌