Cold Blood

Life is never dull, because well, life is what you make of it. I learnt that after my first few days in high school. It wasn't as dull as I had expected it to be, but it was undeniably different and that was hardly a statement.
Since my pure age of 6, my father had taken it upon himself to home school me, liking his ways of doing things as opposed to how everyone else thought it should be done. He was the best father to me, because he knew so much about the world and its flaws, and how things were supposed to be. He saw everything in his light; but then again I guess that could be a weakness as well. A gateway to arrogance and foolishness.
She came to me as I was walking home. Like a feather in the wind she approached me, almost giving me a downright heart attack to say the very least.

"Do you have a light?" she said in the softest tone. I couldn't help but look at her, stare if you will. She had black orbs surrounding both her eyes, yet such beauty; maroon hair blew around her pale face, home to a couple small scars just above her jaw line. I could hardly contain myself. She repeated her request as I came back to life, then I asked her in my heaviest Italian accent, "Why would someone so young be doing such to herself?" I pointed at the cigarette in between her fingers.

"I hardly think that's your business," she replied, "Besides, it's something that cannot be helped."

I gave an involuntary chuckle, "Everything can be helped, its whether or not you want to help yourself or not," I studied her body language. She was slightly annoyed, yet curious. I could tell she was slightly malnourished by the look on her face, and how her bones in her arms protruded in her elbow.

"Do you have a light or not?"

"I don't smoke," I said lamely, "Quite frankly I don't think you should either,"

"You don't even know me!" her voice was raising slightly, "How did you ever get the gall to tell me what I should and should not do!?"

"Simple. I take initiative."

She made a low grunting noise and mumbled something about me wasting her time. "Do you go to M.E?" I asked. "Yeah," she said, "Mr.Wylie's homeroom." and started to walk away.
I couldn't believe what just happened. I ran our conversation through my head over and over a couple of times, realizing how I sounded. I mustve sounded like an unbelievable douche to her Thats when I realized I never got her name. I jogged slightly towards her, "Hey," she turned around puzzled, "What's your name?"

She looked at me for about 30 seconds before saying in the lowest voice possibly, "Christine. And yours, stranger?"

"Firenzo Cipriano,"

And for the first time I've seen her, she smiled. It was something magical, it was. Because when she moved her lips into that odd smile of hers, it changed her face completely. The ailing and dead beat expression on her face had formed a look of pureness. Even beauty.
After thanking her I switched my brain to off and blankly walked home. By then I had crashed in my mattress on the floor and dreamt something completely off topic in my head...