As the Sky Weeps, sueset [best books to read fiction TXT] 📗

What would you say if I told you that everything that you have ever known was a myth? That every memory you hold and everything you believe has occurred over the course of your life never really happened? That each person that you embrace in your heart is false, that their existence in relation to you is all an act. What would you do? How would you react when the solid base of your entire reality is challenged? As you read this the first emotion that submerges with a sweeping rush into your mind would be insecurity. Then the feeling would leave in the same abrupt way that it had entered. You have the consolation that this could never happen. Your life is real and the word woven story appearing before your eyes is just that, only a story. I ask you to stop for a minute and think. How do you know? Now an inkling of that uncertainty will subtlety inch back into your mind. You think that you know the mentality of your own psyche, but it all changes when these thoughts begin to enter. If you are a person of intellectual understanding you will ponder on this for the rest of the day, even if it is only a muted emotion whispering faintly against the edge of your consciousness. Others who may read this will forget about it the second they put it down or not long after. I cannot forget for though it may remain just a story in your own mind it never can for me. My life and entire essence of my character are a hidden message threaded beneath the first words. I know how it would feel and what sensations would be trickling through you because this has all happened to me.

It starts with a simple curiosity and a habit of inquiry. Just a wondering about why people are the way they are and what makes the world work that way. I have always been very inquisitive. In fact, it happens to be one of my defining characteristics; the need to know and understand the world I view around me. Whether or not this is a positive attribute still remains as a topic of much debate but it is plainly the way that I am. Almost every person in this world longs for something; very few people are truly and fully content. For some it is beauty, for others it may be the ability to dance or draw or perhaps wealth. Those who desire something of no character value have a way of becoming greedy or unkind. Always longing for more though it provides no true benefit, this tends to provoke jealousy and contempt for those who do posses the thing they covet. We have all had an experience with jealousy before, that prickly feeling that lodges in the pit of your stomach and brings a green spark to your eye. Even The people who have high morals will still experience jealousy but afterwords often feel apologetic for doing so. Because we all experience these emotions observant people can read them in the expression and movement of others. This was my first clue as to the spidery web of deception woven around me with the sleek silken string of treacherous lies.


Part one: Rain

To me the ability to look at the sky and see water falling was normal. Rain was a part of every day life. I only later found that I was the one calling it. The lively, vibrant sensation that tickled along my arms as cool water droplets coursed over me was a feeling I thought all others had experienced. I never understood why my mother would look at the sky water and pretend discouragement that the sunny day had been disturbed by clouds when I could taste the waves of awe spilling off her. That’s one more thing I forgot to mention, I can taste emotion in the air. I could tell that others did not know of this ability or else I would have felt the mild tingling of caution brushing my tongue long ago during the time when I still believed in trust.

The day in which I lost any security I had once possessed still lingers in my mind with sharp, startling clarity. As I am convinced it will for the rest of my life. Images and events that never seemed to be of great importance before are now burned permanently inside me, scorched with such blackening hurt, that to forget it is a definite impossibility. It is on that day that a tale both begins and ends. One ceasing abruptly as the other is awakened to a new beginning.

I had risen out of deep relaxing sleep to open my eyes just as the sun escalated above the distant mountains. The bed I slept on lay just in sight of the window standing ajar. Sunshine was gushing in through the open space, pouring over the worn carpet and smooth wood like golden liquid, generating dim shadows where its bright rays did not reach. Gentle warmth bathed across the exposed skin of my face, uncovered by the multi colored blanket that had been affectionately quilted for me. I love mornings but I was hesitant to leave the soft comfort and content of my little cocoon. A sleepy glance at the sky flushed with bright colors from rusted gold to flaming red pulled me out from beneath my blanket to take in the full view of the blossoming landscape. The sweet scent of fresh cut grass and morning dew drifted into the room on a gentle breeze. At the time I truly believe that no creature in the world could be happier than I at that moment. The very picture of joy was lavishly set out before me. I stood there for a while just gazing at the world beyond the window pane, wondering what life had in store and what treasures hid veiled in the dawning colors that represented so many hopeful promises for the day ahead and those still to come. A demanding voice penetrated into my formulating day dreams. My mother was calling me down from my room and I complied with her instructions. All the while she berated me for my general laziness and lack of attention indicating to the small gather of dirty dishes I could have done this morning if I had risen earlier. I did my best to stop the smile tugging at the corner of my mouth from spreading across my face. I knew Mom did not mean any of this; she was always a grouch in the mornings. My father stood beside her patiently comforting her with silly parroting of her own lectures.

“Yes dear, both I and Arabella are lazy slobs. No dear it isn’t fair that you should have to do all the work” my fathers deep voice held a tilt of amusement to it for he too found it funny that mother could rant on and on when it was early in the day and completely forget she had said anything at all by the time the sun traveled an eighth of the way across the sky. When she turned her head in the other direction his mysterious dark brown eyes met my sea green ones and we shared a tolerating grin as we smothered our playful laughter. This happened every morning yet it never seemed to get any less comical as time went on.

I soon found myself leaning against the cold school bus stop waiting for the vehicle to arrive. Not long after, the squeal of frayed rubber tires announced its successful journey. This may be an ordinary occurrence for you, but to the passengers of the Orefield Middle School bus it was quite a feat. The bus was badly in need of repair and we all were just waiting for it to break down. The paint was peeling, the brakes were chancey at best, the windows all had cracks, the side was covered with dents, the lights were burned out and the engine made horrible grinding noises that only quieted slightly after entering the rusty metal contraption. Students had taken to calling it bug, because in its current state that is what it looked like, a big screechy bug. I could taste a little bit of worry today as I mounted the soiled metal steps. I took a seat near the front on a ragged leather bench. The trip to school was not a long one, but it was just extensive enough that walking would make me late. Though the bus did not show it, the neighborhood was a neat one. Tidily trimmed lawns and shrubs rushed pass in a blur along with the expanse of budding gardens. The imposing sound of active people and the buzzing bell flooded the bustling halls and classrooms. I listened intently as the teacher began. Unlike others, to me school acted as an opportunity to gain clues pertaining to the infinite puzzles and unknown things of the world. I mentally picked up all of the information presented to me and overturned it in the palm of my mental hand to view all points and try to identify its place in my paradigm. The day continued on like any other, a series of classes and conversation. I still held some of the cheeriness I had felt that morning throughout the rest of the day. And a short while before dismissal rain fell. Not heavy pouring sheets but soft drips lightly brushing over us. The sun still filtered through the thin clouds and the weather remained generally warm. Those around me looked at the sky with amazement and I could feel the tangy sweetness of admiration rolling along my tongue when I sensed it.

Envy, a bitter spicy taste that disrupted the pattern of bewilderment filling my senses. I looked up to meet her eyes. The cold grey eyes of a girl who had just began at the school. Her jealous, hungry gaze was directed at me. The taste became more dominating as I met her firery stare with unflinching stubbornness. I could taste longing, like sweet sugar that melts on your tongue the second it touches it, leaving you wishing for one more sample. The feeling was directed at the rain and the envy at me and I realized that she had some how connected me to the water trickling from the sky. Whatever connection she saw, she wanted it. A small uncertainty stroked my mind and I dismissed it without consideration. Something felt wrong. To this day I still do not know where the sixth sense of forbidding came from, but it was there. This was the seemingly small event that began the unraveling of my own reality. Another girl appeared beside her, they had been introduced as sisters to the class, Jane and Louise. The latter girl gave off a different feeling than her kin. When her gaze settled on me it was with a hint of fear and the rustic taste of strong steely determination. I did not know it then, but she would serve a large part in the alteration of my life. For her unwavering courage to make what she believed to be the right decision I will be forever in her debt.


Part two: Courage of Honesty

Louise approached me after the large body of excited students had exited the building. The school felt empty in the wake of so much action and the impending silence seemed to eco in the halls. I was startled to feel a light hesitant tap on my