Beautiful Tragedies

Nine + The Home That Isn't

Nine + The Home That Isn't.

The cab stops and starts beneath me, and a sense of uneasiness slides through my veins. It's as if I'm joined with the vehicle, but really I know I'm just being hyper aware. I feel every vibration, every movement. I hear every hum and squeak, and I even begin to believe that I can feel the glass rattle from where it's held between the ribs of the windows.

This time, it's not a sense of insanity that runs my mind, but a recollection of fresh memories; memories of my head colliding with a windscreen, with my flesh snagging on glass and my ribs nestling into a dashboard. A lot happens in twenty four hours.

I've decided I'm no longer a fan of transport.

When I told the taxi driver the destination in mind he simply looked me in he eyes and told me, "That part of town is very dangerous, it is no place for a young lady like yourself." If only he knew.

My journey is short, the cityscape rushing by in a blur of colour and lights. The night has now fully descended and the storm continues to proceed, a mess of dark clouds and heavy droplets.  For just a moment, as we pull up alongside my destination, I don't want to leave the warm haven of the cab. Just for a moment, I am warm and I feel safe; safe from the raging storm, and from the terrors and tragedies of the world.

    As I build up the bravery to leave the cab and step outside into that awaiting storm, the drivers hand snakes out and grabs mine against the door handle. I pull back in a vicious manner.

"Ma'am, the fair?" He says with soft, apologetic eyes.

   "Oh," with parted lips and sudden a crease between my brow, I glance to the meter that flashes with the fair I have no money to pay. Normally I would just run. "I-I... oh gosh, I can't pay. I have no -no mon-"

   "It's okay. Forget about it, for you, it is free." The driver interrupts, and I don't know whether it's because he sees the fear in my eyes or hears the broken sincerity in my voice. My eyes flutter with relief. "Just... go home girl, okay?"

   "Okay, thank you. Thank you." I nod graciously and exit the cab. Immediately the rain pelts down against my body and the cold seeps back in under my skin.

I sprint across the road to take shelter under the awning of a nearby apartment block. I crane my neck to the sky as the building looms over my head, almost as if it ascends into the low hanging clouds and just keeps going. Rusted black and red ladders adorn the building, ones that I doubt would be the safest option if a fire were ever tear through here. A thin layer of grim colours the stairs as I tread them slowly under foot.

   With my hand slowly turning the worn brass nob on the door before me, I hear the cab drift away from the curve behind me. Just for a second, my heart beats a skip warmer and somehow I just know that the driver was seeing me safely inside. For the first time today, a tiny almost minute, smile sparks across my lips. Someone cares.

    I enter the building with water dripping from my clothes and a million blurry thoughts cascading through my mind. The interior of the building is slightly warmer, although the air is stale and smells damp with mould. There's two stairwells in the foyer, one that accents upwards, to the many, many floors above, and one that descends down to my left. I take the descending left stairwell, my eager feet racing them two at a time.

    'WELCOME TO HELL!' Is penciled in dripping letters across the surrounding walls. I smile tightly. I forgot about that.

    Finally, I reach the bottom of the stairs and stand before door BA6; Basement Apartment 6. I don't even attempt to knock, I just bounce the handle and shoulder the door, a trick shared for when we were to lazy to dig out the key. The door shutters and then swings inwards, a groan released form the hinges.

"Welcome home, Felicity." I whisper to myself as I cross the threshold and eye the minimally bare apartment. There's two mattresses on the floor situated around a small radio that buzzes with static. A thin window that sits on the highest point of the end wall is the only source of street light. Off to the side there's a bathroom with leaking taps, and a broken shower curtain. The fridge smells and barley keeps things below warm, and the microwave hums in a strange electrical way that it shouldn't.

     It was the only thing we could afford. It's mine and Blaze's home, and she's not here. I thought she would be.

   +

     My childhood home was my mother's pride and joy. I can almost remember everything it was filled with, but the standouts were the pale blue china, dark wooden dressers, four poster beds and the lace curtains, oh my, how my mother adored those white lace curtains.

The house itself carried a certain smell, it was a one-storey suburban with blue shutters and a white awning, that smelt of herbs and rain. Our house was warm and cozy. In the winters a fire would burn lowly in the room by the study, and in the summer both the front and back doors would be left open to create a summers draft.

But our house wasn't just a small suburban that carried soft scents and an array of beautiful decor, it was a home. You could feel the energy as soon as you stepped inside. The walls breathed as though they were living, and the house hummed with noise. The house was filled with love, and light. Love that rebounded off of the walls and light that filled the voids and sought out shadows.

Our home was alive and beautiful. Everything was.

Until the very day those lace curtains came crashing down, and with them my castle.

+

    I wash quickly in the room with leaking taps and a broken shower curtain. I scrub my skin almost bare with thoughts of blood and grim flashing through my mind. Where I saw blood in my pale blond hair now only clean black strand run between my fingers. Where I felt blood, grim and glass against my unwashed skin, there is nothing. Nothing. I still don't understand.

     And when I leave the shower, a tower clinging to my body, it is, once more, the mirror before me that stops me from going any further. My hand reaches out cautiously and wipes the condensation from that frosted glass leaving dew against my finger tips.

    It's then that I clearly see myself. Not Felicity Webb, but who Felicity Webb has become. A reincarnation. The girl I see stands tall with her shoulders back, spine straight. There are little marks on her skin, they are not like freckles but a thousand small stars. Her hair is shiny, healthy. And her skin is warm and dark. But, it is her eyes that scare me the most. A haunting brown that catches like they shine.

    This girl has lights in her eyes. Signs of life. And I haven't seen that in a very long time.

+

A/n
Hi, firstly- I'm so sorry for this being so short and un-edited, and, oh god, you've waited so long. Like sooooo long. And it's probably terrible but I've had huge writers block and just had to get something out there. So, this is it. I really hope I pick up my game now that I've worked past ... whatever this is..

Secondly- thank you to any reader that has stuck with me. You are amazing and you honestly have no idea what you mean to me!

This is only draft one and that's the great thing about it, it's just shovelling sand in buckets to make sand castles in the future, so stick with me because I hope this will, one day, be a really grand sandcastle!

Really hope to see you all soon, Love Lilly. Xx