When Clyde Parker, the wayward son and the rotten-apple of the Parker family-tree, storms his way back into Avery Fields, he sets out a flurry of butterfly effect in Dawn Marshal's life.
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WHEN DAWN BROKE, SHE gazed at the east-sky in reverie. The sky was a blend of yellow and orange and the dark ocean of night below had begun to evaporate. The misty sky became brighter and the roofs, trees and powerlines were shadows against the tri-colored rainbow sky.
"It's happening!" she whispered in awe. His hand found hers through the tangle of their limbs and he squeezed. A broad grin tugged at the corners of her lips, her eyes not leaving the bright sky.
The sun peeked over the mountains faraway, scorching like a torch. The sky was now a sea of pink cotton candy with the light of the sun tainting its pinkish hue. As the sun slowly ascended the light reached further out warning the roosters it was high time to wake the world.
His blue eyes molded into her, basking in the sunlight his pale face shimmered. "Pretty as a midsummer's morn, they called her Dawn," he chanted something he had read somewhere and two specks of light flickered in his eyes but it was gone as quick as it came. He thought she was just like ...dawn and he knew he couldn't have put it any better.
She dropped her gaze to her dirty sneakers and bit her lips, her cheeks flaring a bright scarlet.
"Thanks...for everything" she rose from her place and took off his hoodie.
"Keep it, the cold is not helping," A subtle breeze drifted past them when he draped the hoodie on her shoulders. She clutched it and began to walk away.
"Wait!" he called out fiddling with the black rubber band around his wrist. "...thanks for staying when the whole world chose to walk out."
°•°•°
The town was awake and the cacophony had started. The cackling of the rooster, the soft giggles of kids frolicking in the empty roads, the rustle of the curtains being drawn, the smell of coffee at Becky's and the impending queue of caffeine-addicts, the screeching of the engine perking up, and the raucous honking of cars in the traffic of office-goers.
By the time she reached home, the sky had become a pale yellow mixed with blue and soft cottony clouds floated bouncing off about each other. She slid the spare key from under the doormat and deftly opened the door which creaked slightly; muttering profanities under her breath she tiptoed inside.
The running tap of the kitchen sink and the cluttering of the crockery were the first things she heard. The sunlight penetrated through the open windows and fell on her mother's questioning face, A half-empty cup of tea sat on the marble counter, the tea bags lying idly by the saucer and Mrs. Marshal's had purple bags beneath her eyes.
Her mother hadn't slept all night.
Mrs. Marshal stood in the foyer, with her hands on her hips, her face twisted in a frown and the infamous disapproving glare in her eyes, the very glare she gave Ethan when she discovered the house in shambles from his party. Shortly, he was grounded for almost two months.
