A Touch of Heaven

Chapter 2

𝖍𝖊𝖆𝖛𝖊𝖓

I like to think of days in shades of color.

When I look back on my memories, I tend to focus more on the shade the sky was that day, rather than the important details, like who I had spoken to, or what exactly they had said.

Like the day that my world fell apart.

The sky was a deep shade of navy blue that night, accented by smatterings of stars strung throughout the atmosphere in glittering constellations, relieving the world below of the overwhelming darkness.

I suppose I faintly recall the ringing in my ears, or the shards of shattered glass strewn on the pavement beneath where I laid, pressing harshly into my back. I dully remember the pain, the sharpness of it as it traveled up my legs, my back, my head.

And how could I forget the sirens, who's screams drowned out the faint whimpering of my mother, and distracted me from the fact that my father still laid soundless on the pavement beside me.

But even the sirens, with their deafening sounds and blinding flashes of blue and red light couldn't draw my attention from the sky. I laid helpless, unable to face away from the freckled stars twinkling down, mocking me as I laid in the remnants of a car torn to pieces.

The memories are faint now, dulled by the passing of time.

But not the sky's color. The nearly-black inkiness of that night had etched itself into my memories. The clearness of the sky had haunted me, the harshness of the moon's light as it reflected on the scene beneath it, continuing to shine like everything was normal; like my whole world hadn't just shattered.

Maybe that's why I've come to love storms; the rolling grey skies always manage to block out the stars and moon that try so hard to remind me of that night.

Perhaps I'm forever doomed to live my life in shades of grey.

✧ ✧ ✧

The sky is dark this morning.

The sun hid beneath a thin layer of grayish-black, it's warmth and light dulled by the low-hanging clouds that seeped to the ground in the form of fog, weaving it's way through the trees guarding my house.

I sat up stiffly in my bed, rolling my shoulders and neck to help soothe the effects of sleeping on the uncomfortable mattress.

Glancing out my window as I rubbed my eyes, I noticed sprinkles of rain beginning to cascade down the glass. I sat for a little bit, mesmerized by the rain droplets racing down the window, and my eyes unfocused slightly as I listened to the light pattering of the water falling onto my roof.

The sound of my phone vibrating pulled me from my dazed state, bringing me back from the drizzling weather outside.

I grabbed it from my nightstand, and read the caller's name.

Sighing, I answered the call.

"Hey Malia," I tried to muster enthusiasm, but my voice was still raspy and tired with sleep.

"Heaven!" she screamed excitedly into the phone, making me cringe away from the phone momentarily. "I was just calling too see if you had any plans tonight."

I groaned internally at her question. I didn't have any plans, as usual, but I surely didn't want to go with her.

It's not that I didn't like Malia. If I had a best friend, I suppose I would say it was her. It's just that I'm not exactly the most sociable person, and Malia seems determined to change that by dragging me to all her social outings.

But in the end, I had admittedly noticed that I often cancel on her and the others in my 'friend group', deciding instead to remain at home alone. "No," I resigned, "I don't have any plans for later. What did you have in mind?"

"Well," she babbled, "The rest of the group and I were thinking about going camping tonight. Do you think you wanna come?"

"That sounds like fun," I lied.

"Great! We'll pick you up at 6!" She yelled, before hanging up.

Sucking in a deep breath, I sat my phone back down on the nightstand.

I attempt to convince myself that the camping trip wouldn't be so bad, and that it may even be good for me to get out of this depressing house.

But truly, what person wants to spend their time with a group of people they can barely call their friends?

Its not that I think that the group of people that Malia and I often hang out with were bad people, but it just seems like I'm always the outsider, residing to sit on the outside of their tight-knit circle, spending the time that I'm with them feeling isolated and uncomfortable.

When I'm around them, I always feel like I have to act the part of a normal fun-loving teenager, forcing myself to hide all of my problems so that they don't see me any differently.

And I'm just too tired to play the part today.

I groan as I pull myself from my uncomfortably hard mattress, my feet meeting the worn out hardwood floor.

Stretching my arms above my head as I continue to try and wake up, my large black t-shirt rides slightly up my stomach.

After a long stretch, I make my way over to my nearly-bare closet.

I grab random clothing items and stuff them into an old backpack, not entirely sure what I should pack.

Once my bag for the camping trip is packed, I slip on a pair of ripped black jean shorts, a white spaghetti-strap crop top, and an oversized flannel that swallows my small frame whole.

Then, I assess my features in the mirror, and decided that there's nothing to be done with my tired eyes and pale complexion.

I combed through my ebony hair, attempting to remove the tangles and smoothen it out, with little success.

Finishing with my look, I step back to fully view myself in the mirror. I rotate once, and give myself a nod of approval, accepting that this was as good as it was going to get.

After finishing getting ready, I spend the rest of my day how I normally do:

Sitting on the porch in the rickety wicker chair, watching the rain.