Winged Girl

Chapter 18

   Three dreaded weeks later...

   I sat on the chilly wooden floorboards which was then all that made up the ground, my two pieces of baggage beside me. Mother's footsteps echoed ever so slightly from the stairs, announcing that nothing was left in the house, either packed or thrown away.
   A rumbling sound finally grew louder and louder as the truck that was going to take us away pulled up at the curb. Squeeek! the truck's door squealed at me as it was opened. "Mrs Ainsworth?" the driver called. "We're here!"
   The driver was quit a big man, skin creased, brow furrowed. He called out to my mother with a rich, deep voice, head cocked, peering through the dusty window like a curious child. I sucked the musty smell of my home into my nostrils appreciatively and dejectedly for one last time and picked up one of my luggage in each hand. Mom passed beside as I strained myself to get up onto my feet. Her voice sounded outside the depleted doorway, presumably telling the bulky man what and where the things were.
   It surprised me how fast the furniture and the joyful colours around the house were all packed up into big, brown boxes in a matter of three weeks time. Now only the floorboards and the dull and faded wallpapers remained, half peeling of the yellowing walls. I thought about my bedroom and the picture of my dad smiling delightfully at everyone that walked past it the one that I'd thrown away a day ago, and of the shade of pink on my wallpaper that I'd never liked, the shade that had outlined the furniture that was never removed from the walls for 9 years straight.
   I sighed and dragged myself to the splintered oak door. I nudged the door open with the back my right shoulder and set the trunk on the grey pavement in my right hand down, followed with the other one.
"There you go little girl, s'that all you've got?" He smiled down at me.
"Yeah," I left the luggage on the pavement for the guy to take care of.
Reluctantly, I yanked open the truck door as it make the same irritating squeak. Shut up. Not in the best mood today. I complained in my mind. I climbed in and slumped on the spongy chair and stared out of the windshield. Rained drizzled and blurred the view in front, although it couldn't conceal the depressing grey, dull colour that matched my aura.
Then I did a even more stupid thing. I thought about my friend. My enemies. For my umpteenth time of my life, the bottom lid of my eyes collected warm, salty tears which soon amounted to be too much for them to withhold. And I let them fall, retracing the tracks that so many had before.
The door moaned, as if it was roused rudely by my mother so to make the couch within accessible. She flopped down and dropped her backpack onto her lap which had caressed me with warmth in this house outside the blurred windows when it had carried so much colour and delivered so much joy, love, safety.
Suddenly, it seemed far away. So far away that I wouldn't be able to trace my step and return to touch the red bricks that kept the worst of souls outside again.
"Right, ready to go!" the driver exclaimed excitedly with his not-too-appropriate bubbly tone. A sob escaped and I felt a hot, questioning glance on my chilli neck despite looking away.
He pressed down the brake and finally split the floodgates of my tears wide open, making stream down my cheeks freely like how the Nigeria Falls. I dug my face into my mother's wool dress, feeling particles sting my eyes as I did. I didn't care. I sobbed and sobbed until I could sob no more.
I had cried myself to sleep.