A/N Sorry, we maliciously left you guys on a cliffie two or so weeks ago, whoops :P
ENJOY-O!
Ty holds out his fist, a metallic glimmer visible between his fingers.
"I believe this is yours?"
He places the pocket watch in my palm, closing my fingers around it.
"Yeah!" I admire the shining antique, feeling the smooth metal. "Where did you find it?"
"Uh, yeah..." Ty drops into the beanbag chair, sinking all the way to the floor. "I found it at Claire's house..."
"Claire's?" I lower myself down beside him, tucking the watch into my jacket pocket.
"Yeah. I asked her about it and she told me it was yours." He reaches up to fix his blond quiff. "So I kinda stole it..."
"KINDA stole it?" I chuckle, the first raindrop hitting the roof, followed by many tiny taps. The humidity makes earthy smells waft off of the newly placed cedar planks.
"Totally stole it." Ty grins, bumping me with his elbow. "I stole it back"
"Thanks." I beam, climbing to my feet and heading to the ladder. "We really should get back, it's getting dark and the rain is starting to pick up." He nods, and follows me out of the treehouse.
We race up the front steps, tracking mud into the front entrance.
"Hey, guys." My father calls from his spot on the couch.
"Papa!" I kick off my dirty shoes and curl up beside him on the chesterfield. "Have you seen my treehouse?!"
"Didn't Ty do an amazing job?" Pa smiles as I rest my head against his shoulder.
"Yeah..." I murmur, my eyelids sliding shut. My father strokes my hair, and Tyler flicks on the television to see what's on.
We watch TV for a little while before Leon clicks the remote and the room slips into darkness.
"Well," Leon hauls himself up from his seat on the sunken couch. "We have a big day tomorrow! You're moving back home!"
"Yay..." I mutter, my eyes weighed closed as Papa gets up and moves to his own sofa. The only permanent resident of the small house laughs, and begins brushing his teeth.
I fall asleep immediately, dreaming of walking through the forest, climbing into my new fort and hiding in there, staying there forever.
After breakfast the next morning, we grab our bags and furniture we salvaged from the wreck lying under a tarp in the front yard and manage to cram it all into the back of Mr. Koppinger's vehicle.
After a whole morning of lifting heavy objects into our polished house, the final decoration is set in place and we're ready to move back into our home.
"I think I'm going to go try and finish the final repairs on the marina." Papa wipes the sweat from his forehead, a hand on his sore back. "Thanks so much for your help, everyone." He gives a lame round of applause for our moving crew. I giggle, looking around me to see the Koppingers, Redmans and O' Keefes doing the same.
"No problem." Leon taps my father's shoulder. "We're happy to help."
"Come on, I want to get home now." Ty groans, tugging on his sneakers.
"Bye!" Leon calls as we wave from the window before they disappear down the winding path into the forest. The rest of the crew leave shortly afterwards.
Papa hugs me goodbye and heads down to the marina, leaving me alone in the house.
It feel so good to be back, lying on my own bed, sitting in my own kitchen.
Eventually the excitement from being home wears off and is replaced with boredom. I hadn't been this alone for a while.
I stick my feet into my blue flipflops and make my way to the beach.
There's visitors everywhere, tourists from all over the world here to see the ocean.
I make my way to a deserted patch of beach, dropping down into the warm sand.
I prop the battered sketchbook open in my lap, running the charcoal in fine lines across the unmarked page. The pure sand scorches the bottom of my bare legs and the blazing sun pounds on the back of my neck as I squint at the yellowed page. With an exasperated sigh, I tear the page from the booklet and crush it in my palm.
"Birdie!" Papa gestures from down the beach, waving me over. I push myself up from the ground and shove my feet into my sandals, tucking my sketchbook into my bag as I hop across the burning sand.
"Hey, Birdie. I'm gonna need some help down at the marina."
"Okay." I brush my hair out of my eyes and follow Pa towards the docks.
Kittie doesn't look at me when we arrive, but I can practically feel her hate for me radiating off of her.
"Kittie-" I start, trailing off as she shoots me a glare.
"Just shut up and please don't accuse me of anything." She growls, jabbing a thin finger in my direction.
I nod, shuffling after my father. Usually I wouldn't take that kind of rudeness from her, but I already feet massively guilty and, well, at least she said please.
Papa's afternoon of sweaty, physical labour looked tiring, but despite my insistence, he still was convinced that I wasn't healthy or fit enough to do much work. Not that I was complaining, I was very happy with sorting out the bills and insurance fees from the storm, sitting in the shade punching numbers into an overly-large calculator.
"Thanks so much, Birdie. We're closing up for the day now."
I finally look up, the sky beginning to darken and the humid air cooling. By the time Papa and I get home, it's clouded over and a few round raindrops splash onto the fixed rooftop.
"You did a good job, Papa." I pat him on the back as he watches his food spin around in the shiny new carousel microwave.
"Thanks, little bird." He grins, kissing the top of my head. "Remember how the water used to drip there?"
"Yeah." The scratchy outline of the bottom of a big metal bucket is still visible on the wooden floor, even though it's been such a long time since it sat there.
I shudder. "We were kinda living in a dump."
Pa laughs playfully. "We're still living in a dump, Birdie. Just one with a nice roof."
It's nice to finally spend time with my father again, something I hadn't gotten to do much for the past little while.
He tucks me in tightly under the covers that night, regardless of my protestations.
"What?" He chuckles, fluffing my pillow and slipping it beneath my head. "You're too cool to have your old Papa say goodnight to you? Has Tyler changed my little girl?"
A giggle escapes my lips at the preposterous thought that I might consider myself 'cool'.
"Well, goodnight, little Miss popular." My father teases, closing the door behind him.
"Goodnight." I call, rolling over and drifting off seconds later.
A blaring siren wakes me from my peaceful slumber.
"What the-" I question, tugging on my threadbare slippers and bathrobe. The noise wanes a bit, but is still loud enough to keep me on my toes. When I pass Papa's room, I peek inside, confirming he's still asleep. Sure enough, my father is lying halfway off of the mattress, his tongue lolling out of his mouth. I snort, trying to contain a laugh. Papa can sleep through anything. My feet pad to the door, and I step out onto the ancient, creaky porch.
The first thing that catches my eye is orange-tinged light leaking through the highest branches of the slight woods behind my house. I rub my eyes, trying to figure out what is creating the pulsating glow.
"Oh my god" I tear back through the front door, and stop beside where my father sleeps. "Papa" I whisper, nudging him fully onto his bed. "Papa!" He startles awake, snatching my wrist.
"Birdie" He moans, rubbing sleep from the corners of his eyes. "What's wrong?"
"F-follow me" I stutter. He slouches behind me when I lead Pa outside, and point to the sky.
"What is it?"
"Seriously?"
"Birdie, I don't have my glasses with me. What are you pointing to?"
"There's a fire" I pause, making sure he's still listening. "I was woken up by sirens. We need to help"
"O-okay" Papa turns towards me. "But, Birdie, it's dangerous. I don't want you to leave the beach"
"But Papa"
"No is no"
"What if you get hurt?"
"I promise I won't" He kisses my forehead, and reaches inside the house before pulling a jacket over his nightclothes. "I love you"
"You too" I wave goodbye. "Be safe" Pa gives me a reassuring grin, and runs off into the night. A small sigh escapes my mouth, and I pull up a few flimsy plastic chairs to rest on, knowing that it would be useless trying to fall back asleep. I try to rest on the seats, feet thrown onto the speckled white table, but it's too uncomfortable. In the far corner underneath the deck, I reach into a monstrous chest to find a stack of folded up afghans.
I wrap a blanket around my shoulders and curl up in a ball to watch the smoke rise above the trees. When I turn in the direction of the ocean, however, I am blown away. Fog covers horizon, making the ocean unintelligible from the expanse of sand before it. The only thing I point out in the hazy white mist is the roof of the new shack peeking out.
Curious, I decide to pack up my things and go for a walk. My backpack is already sitting by the front door, so I sling it over my shoulder and trek down the short, muddy sidewalk from my house to the beach. The horizon line begins to form when I step onto the sandy beach, but I still cannot see any details in the water whatsoever. It just looks like there's a giant sheet of onionskin paper seperating me from the beauty of the ocean. I dip my toes into the chilly water, watching fog swirl around my bare ankles, but decide not to when I step on an especially sharp rock in my bare feet. Before I impale myself on another, I slip into my sandals and scurry up onto the dock, avoiding the unused planks of wood placed randomly around me. The construction is almost done; Papa only has a few things left to do. Once at the very edge of the pier, I swing my legs over the side and smile at my surroundings. Either the fog has cleared up a little since I had first noticed it, or it's because I'm inside of it that I have a bit more view than before. The haze drifts in wisps over the water and cliffs.
I flip open my sketchbook, ready to draw. It's difficult trying to depict the beauty with only a nub of charcoal. I end up with ten attempts, but nothing worth using.
Disheartened and tired, I close the heavy cover of the book, tucking it under my arm for the walk back home. I turn around for one last glance at the breathtaking ocean, wishing I could capture the moment in Grandpappy's sketchbook alongside his own illustrations, however I don't have the time nor the patience to get it right. Not to mention the talent.
I can still hear the yelling and calls of the townspeople working together to extinguish the blaze when I arrive on my front steps. That's the thing about Wrenside, we can always count on each other. After Grandpappy's funeral, volunteers took over the marina for a whole month and when Mom left, word spread quickly and soon mountains of casseroles and cakes appeared piled on the kitchen counter, ready to be heated and eaten. Even Papa's accident drew in presents and cards from the neighbours.
Without a second thought, I set down my things by the rack of muddy shoes, grab a pair of more substantial shoes than my flimsy flip flops, and race out the door.
"Birdie, what are you doing here?" Papa breathes, taking a swig from his bottle of water. "I told you to stay at home!" An abandoned apartment block is on fire behind us, hoses spewing at the never-ending flame.
"I-I wanted to help" My hand drifts up to my neck, and I rub it anxiously.
"This is no place for you to be, Birdie! You could get hurt!" He sighs. "Look, It would be great if we had an extra hand, but the last thing I want is for you to get hurt" Pa kisses my forehead, and pulls me in for a hug.
"What should I do, then?"
"The daycare needs help, if you're up to going to aid them" I nod, give my father a squeeze, and walk a few streets away from the blaze, to the jolly daycare where I spent my afternoons as a little kid.
"I'll see you later, Sweetie" Mama kneeled down and held me in a tight embrace.
"Don't go!" I cried, tears rolling down my face. "Don't go, Mama!"
She stood up, and crossed her arms. "Kestrel, I need to go now"
"No!"
"Don't be such a baby" She pouted, pulling on her jacket. "Goodbye" My mother walked away briskly, leaving me in the empty lobby to cry by myself. Soon afterwards, an employee of the daycare came up to me and picked me up.
"What's wrong, Kestrel?"
"Nngh" I shook my head and grunted.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"Nngh"
"Alright" The young man set me down, and grabbed onto me hand. "Let's go play with blocks!"
"Okay" I said in my childish slur, letting my new friend lead me into the large room, children bustling around.
I kick off my shoes and walk through the colourful doors. It's much smaller than I remember, the building in my memory being much more grand and busy. There are barely any toddlers inside, mostly gradeschool-age kids and teenagers. I sit down on a bright blue chair, and fiddle with a stuffed lamb toy. Everyone is playing with someone else; I am obviously the odd done out. In the fuss, I make out Claire, Kennedy, and a few more people I grew up with, but Ty's blonde hair, spiked to the side like it always is, catches my attention. He's playing with who I know to be the the O' Keefe's youngest child, Abriannah. I smile, and sit down next to them.
"Why are you here?" Tyler sighs, leaning back on his hands.
"Because I want to be?" I catch myself laughing, and quickly seclude myself once again. "Hi, Abriannah" The little girl looks up at me, and gives me a grin, her long and wavy hair bouncing.
"Hi" She looks at me inquisitively. "What's your name?"
"My name's Birdie" I pout, not realizing that she never really knew me. "I work at the Marina"
"I'm not allowed to swim. My daddy says the ocean is too dangerous" Abriannah stutters on the last word, trying to form its sounds correctly. "Oh, and It's Bree, not Abriannah"
Ty runs his hand through his hair, and stands up.
"I should get going. My grandpa's still helping out, but I have some research to do. See you later Bree!" He picks her up and spins her around. "You too, Kessy" I stick out my tongue at him.
"Bye" Bree scurries onto my lap, and picks up a pad of paper.
"Do you like drawing?"
"I love drawing!" I smile. "Would you like to draw at the table?"
"Okay!" She stumbles over to a short desk.
"What do you like drawing?" I grab an orange crayon and start sketching out a girl with long hair, done up in a ponytail.
"I draw doggies, mostly." Bree shrugs. "I really like that! Her hair is like mine!"
"It sure is"
After she left, my life was turned upside down. Everything that reminded me of her, I wanted to destroy.
One morning, Papa had already left for work, and Izzy was still asleep. I was looking in the mirror, assessing my reflection. When my mother was still around, I brushed my long, red hair every day and would sometimes let her stick a bright red bow into it. Lately, it had just been an unkept mop.
There was only one way to solve the problem.
I grabbed a pair of cherry red scissors from the kitchen, and tiptoed outside. Without a mirror, my haircut turned out sloppy and uneven, but I didn't care.
When I was done, I brushed my hahhir out, glad the short, choppy locks didn't tickle my neck or forehead anymore.
"Birdie? What did you do!" When Papa returned from the Marina, he was flabbergasted by my new look. "Where is all of your hair?"
"I cut it" I say matter-of-factly, hoping that he wouldn't get mad.
"Kestrel, why did you do that? Your hair is so beautiful!" A single tear rolled down his cheek, and landed on the top of my head.
"I'm sorry, Pa-"
"It's okay. Sweetie, it's fine." He looked right into my eyes. "Would you like to go to the barber tomorrow? Get a cute haircut? That would be fun"
I nodded obediently.
That evening, Papa isolated himself in his room. It was all my fault, too; he loved my mother.
She was never coming back.
"Bree-Bree, come with me" Kennedy pulls his little sister away from the table, away from her drawing. "You shouldn't be spending time with Kestrel. She's weird" Abriannah pouts, and snatches my sketch from the table.
"No, Kenny, she's nice. Look" Bree holds up the drawing for his brother to see, but he just shaked his head.
"Kessy, stay away from my sister"
"Okay" I shrug, dusting off my pants.
"Let me talk to her." Claire steps out form behind Kennedy, and grabs my shoulder before pulling me out of the room and into a broom closet.
"What's up?" I peer around nervously, taking in my surroundings.
"Look" She sits down, and crosses her legs. "My intention is not to be mean"
"Okay...?"
"Just, hear me out, okay? I was going to give the watch back, I promise. I guess someone got to it before I did... though. So, sorry, I guess"
"Thanks for the apology"
"Don't interrupt me!" Claire raises her voice accidentally, but corrects her tone. "No hard f-feelings?"
"I guess" Forgiving her is hard, but everyone should have a second chance. Even a heartless childhood bully.
It's quiet, only the sound of people laughing and chatting outside and our own breathing in the cramped closet.
"Okay, then." Claire gets to her feet and leaves, the light pouring in for a brief second before the door swings shut once again. "Bye" Her muffled voice states monotonously.
I panic, looking around in the dark. Surely she wouldn't have locked the door; she just apologized to me. Just in case, though, I reach towards the doorhandle in the veil of darkness and give it a tug. The broomcloset opens with ease.
There's nobody left in the building. It's easy to tell that everyone went home while I was stuck in the cramped room alone. I trudge out of the front door, gathering my jacket, but not bothering to pull it on. The walk back home is short, only a few blocks. It doesn't take me long.
"Welcome home! Where were you?" Papa turns on the sofa, meeting my eyes.
"I-" Leon and Tyler are here too, the three of them crouched on the couch infront of a burning fire place. "I was just cleaning up the daycare."
They won't notice a white lie.
"Oh, Birdie, that's great! Thank you!" My father gives me a grin.
Leon pipes up next. "Come over here, sweetie, there's hot chocolate and a nice, warm fire waiting for you" He winks. I follow the voice, and tuck myself in between Ty and Papa. On each side of me, my shoulders touch their neighbours', the people I snuggle inside a big, warm fleece with. Tyler shifts awkwardly, moving farther away, but I don't let him know I noticed, even though it irks me slightly. He probably still thinks that I'm weird, anyway.
"Was putting out the fire easy?" I question. "It mustn't have taken too long" I grab the only untouched mug from the coffee table, and sip on it while talking to my close friends.
"After you left, it started getting easier, yes." Leon rubs his oily ponytail.
"When Ty arrived, two extra hands really helped us and the blaze was out almost instantly" Pa smiles.
"That's good"
"I didn't help much at all" Tyler sulks. "I could have done more"
"I guess so" Leon deadpans. "But playing with the little children was much more helpful" Ty doesn't answer, but instead downs the dregs of his cocoa.
There's not much more to say, so I stare into the pulsating flames, the oranges, reds and blues flickering together. Creating light and warmth.
It makes me think about how fragile life is. How our lives could shatter in mere seconds. This very house could set on fire this very second, and my friends and I would go down with it.
I would rather die than have Leon, Papa, and especially Ty tortured in front of me.
If only there was a way, a way that I could protect them, if that time may come. Protect the people I love.
A/N Wow philosophical Birdie /claps
Sorry, it took us a month to write this... We've been kinda lazy so we promise to poop out chapters like never before, kay? They've been so short and released so irregularily lately :(
We love you guys! Please give us a critique for this chapter 'cause we know it's not our best :(
KAY BYE <3
~ Fedora & What
ENJOY-O!
Ty holds out his fist, a metallic glimmer visible between his fingers.
"I believe this is yours?"
He places the pocket watch in my palm, closing my fingers around it.
"Yeah!" I admire the shining antique, feeling the smooth metal. "Where did you find it?"
"Uh, yeah..." Ty drops into the beanbag chair, sinking all the way to the floor. "I found it at Claire's house..."
"Claire's?" I lower myself down beside him, tucking the watch into my jacket pocket.
"Yeah. I asked her about it and she told me it was yours." He reaches up to fix his blond quiff. "So I kinda stole it..."
"KINDA stole it?" I chuckle, the first raindrop hitting the roof, followed by many tiny taps. The humidity makes earthy smells waft off of the newly placed cedar planks.
"Totally stole it." Ty grins, bumping me with his elbow. "I stole it back"
"Thanks." I beam, climbing to my feet and heading to the ladder. "We really should get back, it's getting dark and the rain is starting to pick up." He nods, and follows me out of the treehouse.
We race up the front steps, tracking mud into the front entrance.
"Hey, guys." My father calls from his spot on the couch.
"Papa!" I kick off my dirty shoes and curl up beside him on the chesterfield. "Have you seen my treehouse?!"
"Didn't Ty do an amazing job?" Pa smiles as I rest my head against his shoulder.
"Yeah..." I murmur, my eyelids sliding shut. My father strokes my hair, and Tyler flicks on the television to see what's on.
We watch TV for a little while before Leon clicks the remote and the room slips into darkness.
"Well," Leon hauls himself up from his seat on the sunken couch. "We have a big day tomorrow! You're moving back home!"
"Yay..." I mutter, my eyes weighed closed as Papa gets up and moves to his own sofa. The only permanent resident of the small house laughs, and begins brushing his teeth.
I fall asleep immediately, dreaming of walking through the forest, climbing into my new fort and hiding in there, staying there forever.
After breakfast the next morning, we grab our bags and furniture we salvaged from the wreck lying under a tarp in the front yard and manage to cram it all into the back of Mr. Koppinger's vehicle.
After a whole morning of lifting heavy objects into our polished house, the final decoration is set in place and we're ready to move back into our home.
"I think I'm going to go try and finish the final repairs on the marina." Papa wipes the sweat from his forehead, a hand on his sore back. "Thanks so much for your help, everyone." He gives a lame round of applause for our moving crew. I giggle, looking around me to see the Koppingers, Redmans and O' Keefes doing the same.
"No problem." Leon taps my father's shoulder. "We're happy to help."
"Come on, I want to get home now." Ty groans, tugging on his sneakers.
"Bye!" Leon calls as we wave from the window before they disappear down the winding path into the forest. The rest of the crew leave shortly afterwards.
Papa hugs me goodbye and heads down to the marina, leaving me alone in the house.
It feel so good to be back, lying on my own bed, sitting in my own kitchen.
Eventually the excitement from being home wears off and is replaced with boredom. I hadn't been this alone for a while.
I stick my feet into my blue flipflops and make my way to the beach.
There's visitors everywhere, tourists from all over the world here to see the ocean.
I make my way to a deserted patch of beach, dropping down into the warm sand.
I prop the battered sketchbook open in my lap, running the charcoal in fine lines across the unmarked page. The pure sand scorches the bottom of my bare legs and the blazing sun pounds on the back of my neck as I squint at the yellowed page. With an exasperated sigh, I tear the page from the booklet and crush it in my palm.
"Birdie!" Papa gestures from down the beach, waving me over. I push myself up from the ground and shove my feet into my sandals, tucking my sketchbook into my bag as I hop across the burning sand.
"Hey, Birdie. I'm gonna need some help down at the marina."
"Okay." I brush my hair out of my eyes and follow Pa towards the docks.
Kittie doesn't look at me when we arrive, but I can practically feel her hate for me radiating off of her.
"Kittie-" I start, trailing off as she shoots me a glare.
"Just shut up and please don't accuse me of anything." She growls, jabbing a thin finger in my direction.
I nod, shuffling after my father. Usually I wouldn't take that kind of rudeness from her, but I already feet massively guilty and, well, at least she said please.
Papa's afternoon of sweaty, physical labour looked tiring, but despite my insistence, he still was convinced that I wasn't healthy or fit enough to do much work. Not that I was complaining, I was very happy with sorting out the bills and insurance fees from the storm, sitting in the shade punching numbers into an overly-large calculator.
"Thanks so much, Birdie. We're closing up for the day now."
I finally look up, the sky beginning to darken and the humid air cooling. By the time Papa and I get home, it's clouded over and a few round raindrops splash onto the fixed rooftop.
"You did a good job, Papa." I pat him on the back as he watches his food spin around in the shiny new carousel microwave.
"Thanks, little bird." He grins, kissing the top of my head. "Remember how the water used to drip there?"
"Yeah." The scratchy outline of the bottom of a big metal bucket is still visible on the wooden floor, even though it's been such a long time since it sat there.
I shudder. "We were kinda living in a dump."
Pa laughs playfully. "We're still living in a dump, Birdie. Just one with a nice roof."
It's nice to finally spend time with my father again, something I hadn't gotten to do much for the past little while.
He tucks me in tightly under the covers that night, regardless of my protestations.
"What?" He chuckles, fluffing my pillow and slipping it beneath my head. "You're too cool to have your old Papa say goodnight to you? Has Tyler changed my little girl?"
A giggle escapes my lips at the preposterous thought that I might consider myself 'cool'.
"Well, goodnight, little Miss popular." My father teases, closing the door behind him.
"Goodnight." I call, rolling over and drifting off seconds later.
A blaring siren wakes me from my peaceful slumber.
"What the-" I question, tugging on my threadbare slippers and bathrobe. The noise wanes a bit, but is still loud enough to keep me on my toes. When I pass Papa's room, I peek inside, confirming he's still asleep. Sure enough, my father is lying halfway off of the mattress, his tongue lolling out of his mouth. I snort, trying to contain a laugh. Papa can sleep through anything. My feet pad to the door, and I step out onto the ancient, creaky porch.
The first thing that catches my eye is orange-tinged light leaking through the highest branches of the slight woods behind my house. I rub my eyes, trying to figure out what is creating the pulsating glow.
"Oh my god" I tear back through the front door, and stop beside where my father sleeps. "Papa" I whisper, nudging him fully onto his bed. "Papa!" He startles awake, snatching my wrist.
"Birdie" He moans, rubbing sleep from the corners of his eyes. "What's wrong?"
"F-follow me" I stutter. He slouches behind me when I lead Pa outside, and point to the sky.
"What is it?"
"Seriously?"
"Birdie, I don't have my glasses with me. What are you pointing to?"
"There's a fire" I pause, making sure he's still listening. "I was woken up by sirens. We need to help"
"O-okay" Papa turns towards me. "But, Birdie, it's dangerous. I don't want you to leave the beach"
"But Papa"
"No is no"
"What if you get hurt?"
"I promise I won't" He kisses my forehead, and reaches inside the house before pulling a jacket over his nightclothes. "I love you"
"You too" I wave goodbye. "Be safe" Pa gives me a reassuring grin, and runs off into the night. A small sigh escapes my mouth, and I pull up a few flimsy plastic chairs to rest on, knowing that it would be useless trying to fall back asleep. I try to rest on the seats, feet thrown onto the speckled white table, but it's too uncomfortable. In the far corner underneath the deck, I reach into a monstrous chest to find a stack of folded up afghans.
I wrap a blanket around my shoulders and curl up in a ball to watch the smoke rise above the trees. When I turn in the direction of the ocean, however, I am blown away. Fog covers horizon, making the ocean unintelligible from the expanse of sand before it. The only thing I point out in the hazy white mist is the roof of the new shack peeking out.
Curious, I decide to pack up my things and go for a walk. My backpack is already sitting by the front door, so I sling it over my shoulder and trek down the short, muddy sidewalk from my house to the beach. The horizon line begins to form when I step onto the sandy beach, but I still cannot see any details in the water whatsoever. It just looks like there's a giant sheet of onionskin paper seperating me from the beauty of the ocean. I dip my toes into the chilly water, watching fog swirl around my bare ankles, but decide not to when I step on an especially sharp rock in my bare feet. Before I impale myself on another, I slip into my sandals and scurry up onto the dock, avoiding the unused planks of wood placed randomly around me. The construction is almost done; Papa only has a few things left to do. Once at the very edge of the pier, I swing my legs over the side and smile at my surroundings. Either the fog has cleared up a little since I had first noticed it, or it's because I'm inside of it that I have a bit more view than before. The haze drifts in wisps over the water and cliffs.
I flip open my sketchbook, ready to draw. It's difficult trying to depict the beauty with only a nub of charcoal. I end up with ten attempts, but nothing worth using.
Disheartened and tired, I close the heavy cover of the book, tucking it under my arm for the walk back home. I turn around for one last glance at the breathtaking ocean, wishing I could capture the moment in Grandpappy's sketchbook alongside his own illustrations, however I don't have the time nor the patience to get it right. Not to mention the talent.
I can still hear the yelling and calls of the townspeople working together to extinguish the blaze when I arrive on my front steps. That's the thing about Wrenside, we can always count on each other. After Grandpappy's funeral, volunteers took over the marina for a whole month and when Mom left, word spread quickly and soon mountains of casseroles and cakes appeared piled on the kitchen counter, ready to be heated and eaten. Even Papa's accident drew in presents and cards from the neighbours.
Without a second thought, I set down my things by the rack of muddy shoes, grab a pair of more substantial shoes than my flimsy flip flops, and race out the door.
"Birdie, what are you doing here?" Papa breathes, taking a swig from his bottle of water. "I told you to stay at home!" An abandoned apartment block is on fire behind us, hoses spewing at the never-ending flame.
"I-I wanted to help" My hand drifts up to my neck, and I rub it anxiously.
"This is no place for you to be, Birdie! You could get hurt!" He sighs. "Look, It would be great if we had an extra hand, but the last thing I want is for you to get hurt" Pa kisses my forehead, and pulls me in for a hug.
"What should I do, then?"
"The daycare needs help, if you're up to going to aid them" I nod, give my father a squeeze, and walk a few streets away from the blaze, to the jolly daycare where I spent my afternoons as a little kid.
"I'll see you later, Sweetie" Mama kneeled down and held me in a tight embrace.
"Don't go!" I cried, tears rolling down my face. "Don't go, Mama!"
She stood up, and crossed her arms. "Kestrel, I need to go now"
"No!"
"Don't be such a baby" She pouted, pulling on her jacket. "Goodbye" My mother walked away briskly, leaving me in the empty lobby to cry by myself. Soon afterwards, an employee of the daycare came up to me and picked me up.
"What's wrong, Kestrel?"
"Nngh" I shook my head and grunted.
"Do you want to talk about it?"
"Nngh"
"Alright" The young man set me down, and grabbed onto me hand. "Let's go play with blocks!"
"Okay" I said in my childish slur, letting my new friend lead me into the large room, children bustling around.
I kick off my shoes and walk through the colourful doors. It's much smaller than I remember, the building in my memory being much more grand and busy. There are barely any toddlers inside, mostly gradeschool-age kids and teenagers. I sit down on a bright blue chair, and fiddle with a stuffed lamb toy. Everyone is playing with someone else; I am obviously the odd done out. In the fuss, I make out Claire, Kennedy, and a few more people I grew up with, but Ty's blonde hair, spiked to the side like it always is, catches my attention. He's playing with who I know to be the the O' Keefe's youngest child, Abriannah. I smile, and sit down next to them.
"Why are you here?" Tyler sighs, leaning back on his hands.
"Because I want to be?" I catch myself laughing, and quickly seclude myself once again. "Hi, Abriannah" The little girl looks up at me, and gives me a grin, her long and wavy hair bouncing.
"Hi" She looks at me inquisitively. "What's your name?"
"My name's Birdie" I pout, not realizing that she never really knew me. "I work at the Marina"
"I'm not allowed to swim. My daddy says the ocean is too dangerous" Abriannah stutters on the last word, trying to form its sounds correctly. "Oh, and It's Bree, not Abriannah"
Ty runs his hand through his hair, and stands up.
"I should get going. My grandpa's still helping out, but I have some research to do. See you later Bree!" He picks her up and spins her around. "You too, Kessy" I stick out my tongue at him.
"Bye" Bree scurries onto my lap, and picks up a pad of paper.
"Do you like drawing?"
"I love drawing!" I smile. "Would you like to draw at the table?"
"Okay!" She stumbles over to a short desk.
"What do you like drawing?" I grab an orange crayon and start sketching out a girl with long hair, done up in a ponytail.
"I draw doggies, mostly." Bree shrugs. "I really like that! Her hair is like mine!"
"It sure is"
After she left, my life was turned upside down. Everything that reminded me of her, I wanted to destroy.
One morning, Papa had already left for work, and Izzy was still asleep. I was looking in the mirror, assessing my reflection. When my mother was still around, I brushed my long, red hair every day and would sometimes let her stick a bright red bow into it. Lately, it had just been an unkept mop.
There was only one way to solve the problem.
I grabbed a pair of cherry red scissors from the kitchen, and tiptoed outside. Without a mirror, my haircut turned out sloppy and uneven, but I didn't care.
When I was done, I brushed my hahhir out, glad the short, choppy locks didn't tickle my neck or forehead anymore.
"Birdie? What did you do!" When Papa returned from the Marina, he was flabbergasted by my new look. "Where is all of your hair?"
"I cut it" I say matter-of-factly, hoping that he wouldn't get mad.
"Kestrel, why did you do that? Your hair is so beautiful!" A single tear rolled down his cheek, and landed on the top of my head.
"I'm sorry, Pa-"
"It's okay. Sweetie, it's fine." He looked right into my eyes. "Would you like to go to the barber tomorrow? Get a cute haircut? That would be fun"
I nodded obediently.
That evening, Papa isolated himself in his room. It was all my fault, too; he loved my mother.
She was never coming back.
"Bree-Bree, come with me" Kennedy pulls his little sister away from the table, away from her drawing. "You shouldn't be spending time with Kestrel. She's weird" Abriannah pouts, and snatches my sketch from the table.
"No, Kenny, she's nice. Look" Bree holds up the drawing for his brother to see, but he just shaked his head.
"Kessy, stay away from my sister"
"Okay" I shrug, dusting off my pants.
"Let me talk to her." Claire steps out form behind Kennedy, and grabs my shoulder before pulling me out of the room and into a broom closet.
"What's up?" I peer around nervously, taking in my surroundings.
"Look" She sits down, and crosses her legs. "My intention is not to be mean"
"Okay...?"
"Just, hear me out, okay? I was going to give the watch back, I promise. I guess someone got to it before I did... though. So, sorry, I guess"
"Thanks for the apology"
"Don't interrupt me!" Claire raises her voice accidentally, but corrects her tone. "No hard f-feelings?"
"I guess" Forgiving her is hard, but everyone should have a second chance. Even a heartless childhood bully.
It's quiet, only the sound of people laughing and chatting outside and our own breathing in the cramped closet.
"Okay, then." Claire gets to her feet and leaves, the light pouring in for a brief second before the door swings shut once again. "Bye" Her muffled voice states monotonously.
I panic, looking around in the dark. Surely she wouldn't have locked the door; she just apologized to me. Just in case, though, I reach towards the doorhandle in the veil of darkness and give it a tug. The broomcloset opens with ease.
There's nobody left in the building. It's easy to tell that everyone went home while I was stuck in the cramped room alone. I trudge out of the front door, gathering my jacket, but not bothering to pull it on. The walk back home is short, only a few blocks. It doesn't take me long.
"Welcome home! Where were you?" Papa turns on the sofa, meeting my eyes.
"I-" Leon and Tyler are here too, the three of them crouched on the couch infront of a burning fire place. "I was just cleaning up the daycare."
They won't notice a white lie.
"Oh, Birdie, that's great! Thank you!" My father gives me a grin.
Leon pipes up next. "Come over here, sweetie, there's hot chocolate and a nice, warm fire waiting for you" He winks. I follow the voice, and tuck myself in between Ty and Papa. On each side of me, my shoulders touch their neighbours', the people I snuggle inside a big, warm fleece with. Tyler shifts awkwardly, moving farther away, but I don't let him know I noticed, even though it irks me slightly. He probably still thinks that I'm weird, anyway.
"Was putting out the fire easy?" I question. "It mustn't have taken too long" I grab the only untouched mug from the coffee table, and sip on it while talking to my close friends.
"After you left, it started getting easier, yes." Leon rubs his oily ponytail.
"When Ty arrived, two extra hands really helped us and the blaze was out almost instantly" Pa smiles.
"That's good"
"I didn't help much at all" Tyler sulks. "I could have done more"
"I guess so" Leon deadpans. "But playing with the little children was much more helpful" Ty doesn't answer, but instead downs the dregs of his cocoa.
There's not much more to say, so I stare into the pulsating flames, the oranges, reds and blues flickering together. Creating light and warmth.
It makes me think about how fragile life is. How our lives could shatter in mere seconds. This very house could set on fire this very second, and my friends and I would go down with it.
I would rather die than have Leon, Papa, and especially Ty tortured in front of me.
If only there was a way, a way that I could protect them, if that time may come. Protect the people I love.
A/N Wow philosophical Birdie /claps
Sorry, it took us a month to write this... We've been kinda lazy so we promise to poop out chapters like never before, kay? They've been so short and released so irregularily lately :(
We love you guys! Please give us a critique for this chapter 'cause we know it's not our best :(
KAY BYE <3
~ Fedora & What
