October, Elinor Skinner [paper ebook reader txt] 📗

A deep cloak of gray hovered over the city that October morning. The air was thick with rain as it poured in sheets casting a kind of fog. People could hardly see ten feet in front of them apart from the traffic lights, the cars with their high-beams, and hazy almost ominous silhouettes of the office buildings that seemed to climb into the sky itself. Along the downtown streets the stores and restaurants turned on their neon signs; some of them were dimming as others flicked like candles waiting to blown out by the harsh wind. While the tourists and visitors glared above them cursing it under their breath, the locals merely wrapped themselves in their raincoats, and causally strolled down the boulevard; as it wasn't the forceful gust or icy rain that damped people's spirit.

What got to people were the empty buildings with the lights shut off, dark and abandoned, so different than how they remembered them. The uneasiness that went down the spine when seeing the word foreclosure framed in the windows of beloved homes, and the parents watch their restless youth trying desperately to find work to start their own lives. In the meantime, the government makes promises to create jobs while on the other hand cut the budget for the police and fire department. Well, at least the security companies are making money, but it's horrible when no one is there to save the homes and businesses from unforgiving flames. So to that at least the rain was more of a comfort than being dreary.

In one of the university buildings, a math class was in session, and a monotone voice echoed through the room. The students sat behind rows of wooden tables intently scratching quadratics into their notebooks and clicking their mechanical pencils. Some in the back of the class spoke in hush whispers about how everything was breaking down, and that it wasn't their fault really that things aren't working out, after all how many options do we have with are backs against the wall? But the voice could not be ignored much longer, as Mr. Stern caught their attention at the word 'test'. At that there was an unanimous and soft moan and from there the voices fell into silence all except the droning of the step by step process of numbers and variables, and the pitter-patter on the glass panes.

Aside from the thicket of peers, there she sat behind the only desk particularly placed in the back corner of the room next to the window. Her name was Aya, but only adults called her by that name to everyone else she was Ice, because she always seemed cold and distant. She had her hoodie up that obscured her face which was thin and pale as it gave her a haunting look, and her blue eyes though vivid had an emptiness no one could explain, not even Mr. Stern who was rather good at it. To stay awake, concealed underneath her notebook she had carefully tucked some blank paper to sketch on, as it was his flat explanations that more often than not put her to sleep. This fact made Mr. Stern glare into her private corner, but apart from that no one even acknowledged she was there, unless she let down her hair as any light castes a lively shimmer across her golden curls which contrasted her otherwise lifeless appearance. For the most part though she twisted it up and hid it beneath a bandana only leaving her bangs to fall over the sides of her blue rimmed glasses.

*** 

“Skrech, skrech, skrech.” Her pencil glided across the blank page, except it wasn't blank anymore instead there was a sketch of a bare lonely tree, it's roots weaving through her relief of grass and the branches were unnatural as they stuck up from the trunk like thousands of little legs as if several spiders were on it's back at once, only coming from one point. The drawing became a relief of the same haunty image that crossed her mind a million times, she wondered if the tree was ever actually real and if she could find it someday, only to look up and see a criss-cross silhouettes against a blue sky. Only there was no blue sky to be had, she sighed and glanced out the window, just to see the outside was as gray as the lead of her pencil. The rain glided across the pane like tear drops as she scooted to the edge of her chair, putting her elbow on the desk, she leaned forward and bite into her pinky taking no notice that her sharp teeth pierced her skin. Her deep red liquid dripped from the puncture wounds down along the palm branching out on her wrist and finally “Plit, plit.” upon her sketch. The blood mixed with the ink like a tainted stain of sin, and the red glimmered across the room, Mr. Stern went wide-eyed with shock.

“BAM!!” Ice did a jerked twist, than looked up at him with her crystal blues into his chocolate browns. “TAKE That Fin-ger Out Aya!!” She slid her pinky out and placed that hand onto her lap, her eyebrows raised in alarm. The students turned to her direction, as it wasn't the usual wake-up holler that Ice and everyone else had heard all too many times. Mr. Stern gripped his hands on both sides of the desk and lowered his head til they were at eye level with one another, “Why Aya?! Why?” She stared blankly back at him completely unaware of whatever she did wrong and hoped he didn't give her more make-up work as it was his favored way when doling out life lessons. The kind that leads people to think about what they had done for days to come, just as Aya was searching for her own action to reflect in those warm-bark browns, as to Aya biting fingers was normal for her; especially when she was nervous and uncomfortable, and some habits are bound to be hard; to break.”

Than Mr. Stern went to his pocket and set his cloth hanker-chief on top of her notebook. “You better take care of your finger there.” Looking down at her lap, she gasped at the sight of her own blood, and quickly took his offering, gripping it tight around her finger. She returned his continuous gaze and made a small bow of the head to let him know she was grateful for the gesture. It was after her nod that he turned around back to the front of the class and to finish the last of the lecture. As her finger wasn't anything serious, Ice brushed off the stinging sensation, and managed to copy the last of her notes before the bell rang to call the class to a close.

Text: Elinor Skinner
Images: Elinor Skinner
Publication Date: 10-26-2013

All Rights Reserved

Dedication:
To The Writer's Studio- Writing Workshop. I used to only write poems or literture school assignments. However, in the past year since taking the class, I found that I have opened up my imagination. And for all the writers and readers out there, get out of the house! As I discovered the writing workshop as well as some publishers,and authors selling too- at the Festival of Books in my hometown at one of the universities. Search the net and I'm sure you'll find some events near you too!