Home Again

Afternoon, August 4

The sun was like a sweltering plague, causing stones almost to evaporate. The wind was slithering through closed doors, windy that umbrellas and tents were bent out of shape. I rushed vehmently about the need for new safety measures. It was piping hot. The climate seemed absorbed in the embers of a newly burning fire, broiling gusts of the wind stung my delicate, dull but white visage. My noticeably vivid face bore an annoyed and tired expression, even though, my feet moved like a horse as swift as in a race. I approached the pavement of the bus-stop and there already waited one, without hesitation, I climbed abroad. Inside the bus is still, like the breath has been punched out of it. A woman in a stewed-cherry dress stares at me and I knew why. I find an empty seat at the last on the left, and sat. I pulled out my phone out just to find out hundreds of messages, texts and missed-calls. It reminds me of the innocence I lost. Evesdropping to strangers is a habit that I cannot avoid. People would be arguing over phones saying if to or not to have sex the following weekend. Weird? I know. Some spies were talking about capturing someone in the town. They tended to do it in secrecy and failed to remain secretive thus by my habit of evesdropping. Evesdropping makes me feel like a spy to the entire world. Thus there was no one to evesdrop so I looked out on the streets, the window clearly reflected back myself and I saw the cut, a scar running down my long skinny neck. It's one thing I loath about myself. I close my eyes and listen to the voices, with my head spinning a thousand miles per sec and heart beating faster than the droplets of rain. Shadows were present only in sparse because the bus travelled in the same lane of covering shadows. It stopped in a neighbourhood that was alightened by the sparks of sun, a familiar neighbourhood, one that's full of memories both dark and joyful, my memories. I can almost see my 6 year old self running around with a confidence of millions that I perhaps lack now. I'm really enthralled to hear the neighbourhood's chatter, smell the heavenly incense of spring flowers and see its friendly, intimate and familiar environment. I absolutely admire the composition for its beauty and intricacies. The bus gave a halt sound, breaks emitted a loud squeal and I jump off of it and walk back to home in the sweltering sun. I enter our enormous and colourful home with relief dying of thurst. I quickly run to the kitchen gulping down two pure glasses of cold water. It wasn't long until I saw Mom and Dad sat on the sofa shooketh and surprised. Though, I didn't care any less.. There were times when I'd come through the door exhausted, or laughing or angry or when they didn't see me come through the door, I'd be sobbing outside on the stairs. My turquoise eyes have cried excess tears, my fragile skin have felt the extreme pain, but my heart have expected all of these outcomes because its what brought them to me and these memories are vivid to me as the colour of the sky. Despite all of these hardships, I act stoic. ''Everything okay, Glenda? asks father, confused. ''What on Earth.... Catch your breath, hun! Did you run all the way to here?' mother adds along, lovingly. I lean on my knees and tap my chest as a way to relax that mother had taught. 'Yeah, mom...dad. I'm okay. Did you even go out? It's too fucking hot!'' I holer out to them putting the glass down on its place. ''AHHH, I wonder why something smelt like burning'' dad smirks. To be honest, I don't understand his quite sense of humour, but that 'Smirk' annoys the hell out of me and it's father's failing attempt to joke. I pretend smile tilting my head just to have him believed. ''Ah, um. Guys, was there any new mail for me today?'' I ask, stepping closer to them. Maybe, the mails are what I have ran across the city for. ''When did you start getting so much mails than us? And why all of them have the same initial?" father answers questioningly. I whisper'little brat' to myself, but they seem to have heard it. 'Yea, that...' their faces blank ''Darlin' Is there something you're not telling me... I mean, us.'' I don't answer expecting the answer to my first question. "We left it in your room and no, we didn't read it as always.'' mother clears it out, finally answering. Without any hesitation, I run upstairs with the curiousity what this mail brings. ''If you would, take a shower hun!'' mother calls out from downstairs as I rush upstairs barely hearing. Climbing the stairs footsteps and its creak echoe and sorround the entire hall because of all the rush. I find the letter on the bed as promised and my curiosity turns into anxiety. Is it worth my time? Were they all worth my time? The letters mostly refer to my appearance and call me a little brat. An absurd situation. I get closer to the letter and find 'Little Brat' written at the top with this particular pattern of handwriting that comes in every letter of this person, robot, group or whatnot. Ever since new york, I'd been getting these letters and I feel as though I got to know this person through these letters and have known her/him ever since. I lift the envelope, tearing it, pull out the letter and read ending my curiosity or anxiety. ''Hello, Lil' Brat! You probably have gotten used to this name, Eh?'' I take a brief moment of silence to contemplate this and find it to be the truth. I cannot believe it. It is true. Even if someone would call me that in anger, I'd take it as my own real name. ''Did your sorry ass expect my sudden appearance, today? I guess, not. I mean, who would right?'' the handwriting is so decent and clear. This whoever is capable of sharp discernment. It seems as it's been written in a typewritter rather than a pen, but I know its handwritten as they all were. ''I'll tell you what, your imbecile ass does not even have some dignity over your own people. Who'd do such a thing?'' Which thing is it talking about? ''And never ever reach out to me again. Just keep on living your miserable life and wait for my letters to make you feel as though. Keep Dreaming...'' the end of the letter is followed by tear emojis as always. The number of them keep increasing that were now 'three' and their colours keep getting murky and dark. These tears are another standard, usual and regular thing other than little brat. End of the letters fill me with rage, I crumple the letter and throw it into the dustbin, though I had never tried to report this person because I think I kind of believe the admonition that we should not return hate with hate, but rather with its contrary - love. Cyber bullying does not affect me or anyone. I almost feel tears coming down my eyes, even though, these letters mean nothing to me, but the words, the strong and cruel words that hurt me. Words meant so much to me. Words are something i can feel strong and weak for. My skin feels tan from the long run in the sun, and feel gauzy, dizzy and tired. It is the start of summer anyways. I went to sleep thinking of all the things I'd done, and all the things I'd do. Dreams may come sweetly. When I woke up that day, the other side of the bed was still cold. I was sweating. At first glance, it seemed like nothing had changed, but yeah... nothing actually changed. I was in that same room and in the same sassy-breast body of Glenda Merrit. I see mother standing before my bed in the next second. Small drops of sweat formed on her forehead, she may have ran up the stairs. She rather seemed exhaustd as she's a woman with low stamina. My mother rarely goes out during the day, and at night there's no going out either. I stare at her waiting for any statement, but she spoke none. I raise an eyebrow to aware her of the confusion telling she's awkward. She finally spoke, ''It smells like sweat here, Glenda. I thought I told you to take a shower'' mother was quick to criminate me. She mostly calls me 'honey' or 'hun' but she calls me 'Glenda' in times when she was angry ''Take a shower! Dinner's about to be ready'' mother orders. She left the room as quick as she came. The high stairs visible from my bed as mother climed down from them. Then I realise, I've been sleeping 'till dinner. I have never overslept. Not one time. Not ever. I went over to withdraw money from the bank, and delayed. The bus was about to leave so I ran all the way and pretty much exhausted myself. The gigantic clock of ebony in my room exposed the particular time of her dinner - 8: 35. I entered the house on 1: 45 to be exact. I go back to the bed for a minute and get up quickly. I tiptoe to the bathroom with my long pale black-nailed feet. Before entering the shower, I throw a glance at my peony to it's large round and pink flowers. It's my faviourite one because it's extra long, and soft from all the peonies that have grown from our flower garden. I brought it inside to look after it myself when I was 13. I liked it and he let me keep it undoubtfully. I still seem to fulfill what I had said when at the age of a child. The door of the bathroom was ajar. I push it open and walk into a shuttered light. I hum to myself letting my voice collide into the walls and come back to my ears and become overheard. I love the echoe. It's something i can speak to freely. I unbutton my stripped pair of jeans, undressing completely in front of the mirror. All the sweat on my breasts and neck have soaked and absorbed by the skin. I always look at myself, the scar, in a dazzled bewilderment, my mind still wandering in the other world of beauty; I look back and see my strewn clothes and step inside the shower and I keep watching my exposed body through the mirror to outgrow the confidence I had. Hovering water. Like locusts they came, hung poised, descended all over me on the body, startling me cause of the coldness they carried. I heave a big sigh. And then, I was in bliss all over again. Just like that.