Rory Daniels has never done anything particularly spectacular.
She's lived comfortably in the same old town in Illinois for all 17 years of her life, until her parents sit her down one Tuesday afternoon and give her the news that no teenage girl ev...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
00 PREFACE
"Rory, where're you going?" My mom's voice calls out as I slump down onto the floor by the unfamiliar front door, my hands working to tie the laces of my white converse.
"Out." I mumble, grabbing my phone and shoving it into the back pocket of my jeans.
"Out where? Honey, I don't feel comfortable with you walking around a town you don't know late at night,"
"Then maybe you shouldn't have moved us across the country." I retort before closing the front door behind me.
I hesitate for a moment before heading left down the street, making my way down off of my street, the rows of suburban housing foreign to me as they pass by, my gaze sweeping across the almost empty street.
My eyes linger on a pair of girls on the front porch of one of the many large white houses, their small legs working to kick the soccer ball between the two of them under the weak lights of the veranda.
The winter air seems warm to me, as two days ago I was ankle deep in snow and today my pale shoulders are at a high risk of staining red if I dare to walk around outside for too long.
The night air is slightly cooler (and offers my fragile skin an escape from the sun), but my shirt still clings to me uncomfortably as I stare down at my phone, willing it to magically transport me to the beach.
When I finally smell the familiar scent of smoke and salt I tuck my phone into my back pocket, my eyes focusing on the orange glow that flickers down on the sand.
Three figures are huddled around a blazing campfire, drinks in their hands and their laughter echoing across the empty shore towards me, doing nothing to curb the loneliness that's eating away inside me.
A week ago I was sat in the same Illinois home with the same plastic Christmas tree as I did for the first 17 years of my life.
But today?
Today, my sneaker-clad feet softly hit to sidewalk as I inch closer to the strangers and their campfire, my body drawn to the heat of their fire and the warmth of their laughter. My unfamiliar surroundings only intensify the chills inside of me and I find my feet slowing to a halt as I realise, belatedly, that I must look like some creepy axe murderer lurking in the shadows.
So with one last look over my shoulder, my eyes dancing across the three faces lit with the orange glow of the fire-light, I turn and make my way back into the darkness - interrupted only by the soft yellow glow of the street lights - with only one thought running through my mind.
The lights are white back home.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
a small 400 word preface for this story. it's 2am and I just thought of this, so here you go.
