Valentine's

I use to dream about falling down. Nothing detailed, I would be just watching myself fall down an endless hole.

It always started off as if I had just woken up in the middle of the night. I would blink a couple of times, but my vision would only see this shade of black. I’d walk around, struggling to navigate around this dark area. As I continued to walk slowly, on my fifteenth step, the floor would vanish. My body fell but my soul seemed to linger just right behind my body. I would see myself sweating, screaming, reaching out, trying to find something to grab onto. My stomach would be in a flutter and my heart pounding with adrenalin. Normally, right before I wake up, I would feel my body hit something, what I assumed is the floor to this damnable hole. But tonight, I stayed asleep. Instead of waking up, I was staring at myself, lying, breathless on the cold floor. There was a woman standing above my body’s left hand, smoking a cigarette. Her skin was pale, and her eyes were lifeless. Her nails were black and her lips bright red. Her black hair was complimented by her eye shadow. She looked down on me and shook her head. She took her eyes off me and looked at where I fell from. She whispered I love you, and my dream ended more mysteriously than it had ever before.

-

“Edgar! You’re going to be late!”

“I know, grandpa, I know!” Edgar rushed out his front door, speeding past his neighbour, who was struggling to open her front door.

“Late again, mister?” He didn’t bother turning around at the sound of the lovely voice that had spoken random words towards him.

“I know, I know!” She sighed at her failed attempt to get him to notice her. She sighed, and opened the door easily.

-

“You’re not our real daughter, you can never be her!” The abuse in Anastasia’s foster home was getting more severe than anyone knows. She’s never been physically abused but the words that came out of their mouths were too much for her fragile self to bear. She’s grown to accept the fact that she’s always second place to her late step-sister, and though she tries to best her, her efforts seem futile. She’s learned to cope with this domestic problem with the help of cancer sticks. After the daily lecture of how she’s not her step-sister, she goes outside and shortens her lifespan. As she took her jacket, she noticed that she only had one left. She took her wallet today, deciding to go to the convenience store to buy some. She slammed the door shut to notify her drunken foster parents that she had left the house. Placing her headphones, she tuned out the world around her. She didn’t notice the boy next door, curiously staring at her, as she walked away from their front porch.

-

Edgar’s coping mechanism is completely different from his neighbour. He releases it in more productive ways, like writing or the remedial, primal screams that he does, when words can’t express what he’s feeling. Today was Valentine’s Day. The worst holiday to be ever invented, Edgar thought. He would always keep to himself on this day, even though he’s been asked by friends to come out to watch the latest love-themed movie. Today, writing out his thoughts was near impossible, as his page had been blank for over two hours. He grabs his coat and quietly walks out. He closes the door behind him, closes his eyes, takes a few step forward, and let out a primal scream that, hopefully, no one heard. This was his most effective way of coping with the troubles of life.

“So, you’re the one making the screaming sound I hear at this time.” To Edgar’s surprise, someone had heard him today. And it was none other than his neighbour. Edgar looked down, embarrassed at his behaviour.

“Sorry,” he muttered. She laughed and he looked up at her. Her black hair played with the chilly winds. She was holding a cigarette close to her mouth. The weather made her skin seem pale, although her lips were bright red. She took a puff from her cancer giving remedy, and exhaled it. She seemed different, compared to when she had tried to start conversation with him before. She seemed...colder, less friendly.

“No need to apologize. That’s one mystery solved. Here’s another mystery, what’s your name?” Edgar introduced himself and walked up to her for a handshake. She was confused by the gesture, but extended her arms slowly, cautiously. As they shook hands, Edgar winced at the coldness of her skin. He got a closer look of her. She was wearing black eye shadow, with black nail polish. Her lips were red from what Edgar assumed was lipstick.

“I’m Anastasia. You can call me Ana though.” The two had talked until the sun had begun to rise.

“Well, Ana,” Edgar seemed more comfortable with her now, “I’m going back inside.”

“Sure, sure,” she replied. Her eyes seemed to have had more life after talking to him.

Edgar got up and turned away from Ana. As he began walking away, he paused, “You shouldn’t smoke by the way. It hinders your beauty.”

Ana looked at her cigarette and realized that the fire had gone out a long time ago. She replaced her coping mechanism with talking to the boy she’s been trying to get to know ever since she was placed here eleven years ago. She didn’t even crave the habit anymore. Edgar was looking away, so he did not notice Ana throw away the pack of smokes. He also didn’t see the woman with skin as pale as the moon, nails as black as blood, eyes shadowed with dark mascara, lips red like cherries whisper I love you.