Two ruptured spirits, torn by time but destined to find each other, go through the trails in life and in death. Belladonna Grace Sanderson, from the physical world is struggling when her childhood best friend is going through her parent's divorce. S...
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Belladonna Grace Sanderson, September 16th 2024
"Belladonna Sanderson!"
The sound of my name projecting from Mr. Denbrough's mouth had already gotten exhausting. Only a month ago, the last year of the filth covered books, outdated rusty lockers, creaky plastic chairs and exposed-moldy-ceiling tiles began.
There was nothing more than the life presented to me, but it wasn't all that bad. Every morning being the same created consistency, continuity. The damp fog air usually left around 6:25am, making Bucks Hollow look less of a ghost town. There were plenty of Cemetaries, old motels, and waterfront diners full of the finest old people you'll ever meet.
On the weekends, I would often be seen by other students with the rest of the Sandersons, and the Weathers. Our two families were inseparable, never one without the other it seemed. Though the Sandersons were much louder than the Weathers-and larger in quantity. Naturally, Bridget and I were comparable to sisters. Bound by souls and not our blood.
"Bridget Weathers!" Mr. Denbrough vocalized over the crowd of short-attention students once again, calling out the name of my best friend.
"Here Mr. Denbrough," Bridget softly spoke back to her most liked homeroom teacher. Mr. Denbrough was a greatly honored man, with a sweet tall legged wife who visited often bringing in her baked goods. She was the owner, and baker, of the Denbrough's Dough. A name lacking in creativity, but never taste nor generosity. Mrs. Denbrough would often be seen raising money for homeless children, donating it all to keep them fed and blanketed.
As if the God above was blessing us, in the middle of attendance, Mrs. Denbrough walked in unannounced-per usual.
"Sorry to interrupt," she said smiling her perfect pearly teeth, "but I brought some gifts to kick-off your Halloween preparations!" She walked to the front of the classroom, where Mr. Denbrough's dark brown eyes lit up. He pushed back the few gray and black hairs that fell in front of his glasses and stood up from his chair.
"Mrs. Denbrough, how lovely of you to stop by!" He said excitedly, taking the orange and white tin full of what seemed to be pumpkin-chocolate-chip cookies. He set them down on his desk to give his wife a full hug-where some of the students "awed" and some made a disgusted sound. "Oh please," he rolled his eyes and sat back down at his desk, "whoever made that sound will not be getting a cookie, I'll be sure of that." A few students giggled in the back, signaling Bridget and I to smirk at his commentary.
The tall woman, whose hair was brown and tinted red as a fall leaf, and eyes as sharp and cold as the winters in Bucks Hollow, began to make her way quietly out of the room. She moved with elegance as her classic knee-high boots clicked across the plated floor, waving gently at the students and mouthing, "behave yourselves."
The room turned their attention back to Mr. Denbrough, who couldn't help but look flustered as he picked up the attendance sheet-and began naming off the rest of my classmates. And while doing so, Bridget, who was seated right next to me, leaned over and slipped a note into the pocket of my desk. I knew it wasn't anything urgent, most likely something dumb. Bridget had always done this since our first day of kindergarten, and it warmed my heart knowing my best friend was still the same girl she'd always been.
