Lexie is not a warrior. In fact, Lexie is a painter. Her hands are always covered in paint. Never coming off. Always there. For Lexie, painting is an escape. An escape from her pain. She paints to avoid the darkness that is in her soul. She paints t...
The pack gathers around, taking in the two burning fires.
Jackson and Sara had both been cremated. I watch as Atlas throws their remains into the flames.
Repeating the process all over again.
We stand there, side by side.
Other members of the pack come and go- adding their own objects to the flames.
A rose.
A picture.
Small objects that remind them of their fallen companions.
Atlas looks down.
I softly take his hand, crossing his fingers with my own.
"We did this with Jackie."
"Who?"
I feel stupid for asking the question but I don't know who this female Atlas speaks of is.
"She use to be the pack cook. Before Sandra."
I nod and move closer to Atlas, trying in some small way to comfort him as memories of the past resurface.
"And nov-nov."
"Your grandmother?" I whisper.
Atlas's dark blue eyes land on me with surprise. The flames create an eerie glow in them as they reflect back.
"How did you know that."
I smile and shake my head. He smiles back and sighs, "I bet it was Schulman."
I gasp at his accurate guess.
"I thought it would happen to my father also. When he was sick from being away from Daisy for so long."
I squeeze his hand in comfort.
"Have you forgiven Daisy."
Atlas sighs.
"Yes."
We stand there together, watching the twin flames flicker in and out. I study the colors, taking note of the reds, yellows, and oranges, but also the light tips of blue that can be seen around the edges.
I don't think I've ever painted flames before.
Such a destructive thing.
In this moment though I thought them rather beautiful.
"She saved you when I couldn't. I will forever be grateful to her."
I look up to meet his gaze.
"I think it's time I let go of this hate."
I nod and lean against his frame, letting our warmth combine.
"It's time to let go of this pain," I whisper quietly.
I feel the soft touch of his lips as he kisses the top of my head. The feel of his hand as he strokes my head.
Together we watch the fire flicker within our sight. Letting it burn away, and consume our gaze.
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So. Some of you readers forgot who Jackson was, SO. Being the gracious author that I am I decided to demonstrate my art skills and draw a picture of him to remind you guys.
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HONESTLY.
I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU GUYS FORGOT FREAKING JACKSON!?!? (I mean look how cute he is! Those eyes! That hair! Them abs!)
So I hope this picture has jogged your memory and you now can recall who Jackson is (R.I.P.)
(bet you weren't expecting me to not only be such a talented writer buuuuuttt an amazing artist as well uh?)
