editing

171 11 2
                                    

IT IS  OCTOBER

My mom used to tell me stories about the beauty of silence.

Now I think she was just trying to scare me into shutting up. The story she would tell me at night a few times a week was about the sprites that live in the ground only in forests. We conveniently had a large woodland right behind our apartment building at the time, and my bedroom had an amazing view of the top of the trees. We lived there with her boyfriend at the time.

The sprites would only come out at night. They are miniature, with sharp teeth and no irises, and faces so ugly that they were fascinating to look at. They cannot walk, for their limbs are too slender to hold their body weight, so instead they crawl. They make their way through miles of forest and dirt, scraping their knees and getting twigs on their wings and waiting. Slowly, the sun is appearing and that's when it happens. They open their small mouths, revealing their terrifying teeth, and let out a shriek that can break all ears, that can create wind, that wakes up the entire community of animals who hibernate in the winter, and who can scare kids into silence. Complete, utter silence.

There is a beauty in silence, I think too, but I haven't understood it yet. Instead I feel like my chest is tightening every day and when I wake up two hours before I should because I can hear the sprites yelling my name, that shrill high sound  creates a cold sweat at the back of my neck and gives me goosebumps that never leave.  This beauty has kept me up in the backyard of my newfound home, about five months after my previous house, my first real home, caught on fire.

I sit in the chilly morning, on the concrete sidewalk running along the house, in front of the winsome garden Beth tends to every afternoon. I pull at the daisies and petunia, counting the tiny petals, counting the seconds. Soon enough, I'm joined by Biel, who stands at the screen door of the large suburban household, in expensive flannel pajamas and bedhead.

'Couldn't sleep again?' He asks, leaning in the doorway. Standing, I'm taller than Biel by a good head, but I'm criss-crossed on the floor looking up at him, like a little child staring innocently into the eyes of her mother. My hair is tangled and has grown longer than I've ever let it be, falling on my thighs, so black, it makes my pale skin seem even whiter. Mom would hate it. She hates brushing long, unruly hair.

I get dressed for school, wearing a sundress, the only thing in my wardrobe. While I'm eating breakfast with Biel, Beth comes downstairs, fully dressed for work with Cooper, who is also ready for work. They looked like a power couple, coming down and ready to conquer whatever the real world has to throw at them. Being my sister, Beth looks nothing like me. She looks like Mom, who she hasn't seen since she was five. I look like our dad, who I have never met. But I researched about him a lot before they moved me here. Stanley Keegan, owned a small hardware store. He has my eyes, a picture showed me.

She sees me and gives me the brightest smile, one way too bright for a morning like this. The weather was shit. I stare out the window instead of returning the smile. I can practically hear her face fall.

'Good morning!' she chirps, pouring herself and her husband a cup of coffee. 'How are you doing this morning, Biel?'

His mouth is full of his usual breakfast egg sandwich when he nodded. He gave me a funny look and I couldn't help but snicker a bit. When Beth caught my eye, I look straight the other way. 'And you, Riley?'

You've reached the end of published parts.

⏰ Last updated: Jan 26, 2015 ⏰

Add this story to your Library to get notified about new parts!

The Invincible Ones (editing)Where stories live. Discover now