Radiant Eclipse

Halfway through the middle of the United States, but not quite the Midwest, I lied alone on the bus as the others headed out towards the large lake that they all decided to take a dunk in. I didn't want anything to do with their stupid immature party of retarded children, and had vowed to sleep for the two hours they were going to be away. Unfortunately for them, I was lying when I said I wasn't going to go anywhere else but the bus. Instead, I slapped a pair of plain black gym shoes, fitted blue jeans, and a decent Black Label Society shirt that went a little below the thighs, since it was a fitted shirt meant for women, and headed off onto a dirt trail that led through tall prairie grass.

My hair reached low even as it sat in a high ponytail, off of my warmed neck and upper back, and the sun heated it up faster than usual. The sun wasn't close to setting completely, but it was lowered enough to cast an orange tint to everything its light touched, and it was starting to get cooler, dropping to about sixty compared to the seventy that it had been in the early hours of dawn.

I sang to myself as I found a rock that overlooked a small running creek, and sat down upon it gracefully, extending my arms so I could balance myself and not topple over like a fool. Looking out towards the sunset, I wondered what my family was doing back home. It was random, I knew that, but it still came to mind. Probably because the setting surroundings reminded me of when I was six years old and my dad used to take me and my brother down to the waterfront of Lake Michigan to watch exactly what I was seeing now. The colors were all the same, oranges and yellows and shades of purple. To this day I never really knew why people made such a big deal about the sun setting. They all looked the same no matter where you were; didn't matter if you were in Maui or if you were in Alaska.

Maybe it's not the physical aspect of it, but the people you share it with, I thought to myself, looking down at the stream of water to hopefully forget the random outburst of insight my mind occasionally had throughout the day.

I guess I just didn't like to think about my dad and brother, or even my dead mother (whom I never met) unless I was just checking up on them through the years. Even then all i wanted to hear was that they were both still alive and no one had died, yet. I didn't believe my dad hated me until the one time I called the house and he'd picked up the phone. Upon hearing my voice ask how he was doing with innocent regret, he flat out stated, "What daughter of mine? You've got the wrong phone number, you loser," and then hung up with a loud bang.

My brother wasn't much different. He followed dad so much that I was surprised he didn't talk like dad. Either way, they disliked me for something that had never been in my control, and even if it had been, how would I have stopped it? The guy was ten years older, and ten times stronger than I had been. But I guess my dad believed I had flaunted whatever assets he thought I might have, and that I saw it coming. Now, because of my dad's lack of support, that man was a free bird, probably spreading its wings and landing itself in whomever's privacy it pleased.

Just the faint memory, like the passing of a speck of dust in the soft winds of winter, of the man who stole everything I ever had away from me forced me to shiver and I could feel my chest tighten in irrevocable anger, the kind that will never be settled until he felt the same way I did now. I wanted him to scream in pain and horror the very same way I did, and the way I still do in my nightmares. I wanted him to know what it was like to be weak and to crumble every time he saw someone who looked just like me.

What he deserved wasn't as simple as death by injection. No, he deserved to live the rest of his life with "I Steal The Innocence of the Young & Hopeful" across his forehead and the very essence of his urges cut off. I didn't care how cruel it was, what he did was cruel and totally beyond comparison. Murdering was one thing, but stealing the hope from someone and telling them to keep living life, that was the root of all evil.

"Vickie?" came a voice from behind me, as I snapped back to the present and wiped a tear that I hadn't noticed was trailing down my cheek.

I turned around and said simply, "Yes?" in a hoarse and soft voice.

Johnny hesitantly looked at me with inviting eyes as he said, "We're leaving, now. Just thought you might want to go with us. I hear there's coyotes here, and they like the taste of cute girls."

"Good thing I'm not cute," I said, attempting to make a perfectly harmless joke, but failing miserably. I got to my feet to follow him, when I realized he wasn't walking back towards the buses. He was just standing in place, scratching one arm with his finger nails awkwardly.

"Why wouldn't you be cute?" he wondered.

"Can we just go back to the bus?" I asked, trying to stroll past him before his hands flew up and gently held fast to my wrist. Facing him for the first time, I took in the concern in his rough eyes, ones that seemed they had searched the world through, yet had never found what they'd been wanting. It scared me, because it was like they reflected the exact same feelings that mine portrayed, only his were beautiful, and mine were hideous.

"You are pretty," he said sternly, as if he wanted to get that fact across without argument.

I stole my arm away forcefully and glared at him as I gritted my teeth and demanded him to let go of my arm before I showed him what being infertile felt like.

"Why can't you accept that fact?" he asked defensively as I stormed off.

Pausing to turn around, I shouted, "What does it matter! You don't know me. It's not like I have to like you or something? I hate people. Alright? I think humans are all selfish and any act of compassion or generosity is for their own benefit, whatever that may be. The last time someone told me I was pretty, he...They did horrible things. That's all. They hurt me by telling me I was pretty, okay? End of discussion. "

As I slammed the door to the bus in Johnny's face, I sped off towards my bunk, the guys watching worriedly as I pulled the curtain closed and pulled the bottle of sleeping pills out of my pocket once more.

I made it six before I took an Advil for the headache, and fell fast asleep.