Firedown Sun

There it was again. Something deadly demonic. Just the way it sounded made me want to lose my lunch and take a long nap, maybe even for the next nine months, even. Then I could save those last three of summer vacation to meander and lie about to do as I pleased.

That is, if I didn't have to go through my mother first. She would never allow it in a million years. As for my father, he could care less. He could care less about most things.

A steady beeping filled my room, coming from inside my wall. A nasal, robotic voice announced, "Message from your mother and father. Accept?"

I rolled my eyes. Did I really have a choice? "Accept."

"Here's your message."

The voice was replaced by my mother's hurried reminder: "It's the first day of school tomorrow. Are you getting ready?"

Naturally, I wasn't. What was there to get ready for?

"Well, I suggest you do so."

My father cut in, "Pick out a cute outfit, okay, sweetheart? Make us proud."

They were nuts.

With a little electric zap to end the message, the mechanical voice told me, "That's all. Goodbye." Then I was left in silence.

Here's perfect proof that my parents are insane.

They named me Kitten. That would be all fine and dandy if I were some sort of doll, but I can distinctly remember the dolls my parents bought for me as a child. Most of them lost their heads or were thrown into the Fire Pit. I knew that everyone was supposed to sacrifice something valuable at the end of the month, but hey, with a name like Kitten, I was bound to have some problems.

"A cute outfit," I mumbled, staring out my window at the houses across the street. I wasn't really the type to choose an outfit a day ahead of time. I had no interest in fashion, and the clothes I had weren't that interesting anyway, let alone cute. Might as well burn them, too.

Popping a cherry into my mouth- there was a bowl of them by my shelf of books- I hovered by my bed. The juice leaked over my tongue in a pool of fruity sweetness and I smiled, remembering the orchard.

My moment of happiness faded as it hit me, for the millionth time, that the orchard had been bulldozed and all those trees, all those delicious cherries, were gone. Destroyed. Jerked up from the ground to make way for the new, improved highly-secured school that I would be attending in just ten hours.

Huh. No wonder I hated it so much.

The Bedtime Alarm sounded and my mother called up, "Night-night, Kitten. Sweet dreams."
And as I crawled into bed, I snapped my fingers once, two, three times, and the lights flickered off. A little voice above my head whispered in its melodic, bitter-sweet mechanic recording:

"What would you like your Waking Song to be, Kitten?"

I twisted my hair around in one hand then yanked the black hair-tie out and placed it around my wrist to keep for morning. I squirmed deeper into the blankets, the heat wires clicking in automatically.

"Something by Justin Bieber," I said, cringing at the name. Though I had no appreciation for his music, playing it in the morning would certainly wake me up. I might jump to my feet to beat the wall just to get it to shut up.

"Alright," the voice said, "setting in. Would you like a sample?"

"NO!" Oops, that was a little rude. I mean, come on, it was only a wall. "Er, um, no thanks."

The wall became dead silent. I closed my eyes, wrapping my blue and green quilt around me, feeling the vibrating buzz of electric currents swimming through the fuzzy fabric. It was calming, but my mind still raced ahead into the nauseating reality of tomorrow. Sleep simply evaded me.

I squeezed my thumb gently; a numbness ebbed at my thoughts; the nervous feeling clutching my stomach eased off. I pressed into my right index finger; the fear of being caught and dragged off to torture because of how I couldn't control my rebellious tongue or even what I DID vanished. As my nail dug into my middle finger, I felt the anger towards the bulldozing of my orchard and the secured, candy-sweet taste of the school dissipate into invisible smoke. Then, with the pressure against my ring finger, the dreaded loneliness that the surrounding world crushed me with also departed. Any grieving, choking feelings completely left my body, leaving behind a dulling emptiness. But there was one more.

I always hesitated when I got to my pinkie. It stood for feelings of not being true to yourself, for pretending to be one way and really being the other. Gingerly, I squeezed it for a few seconds only and felt the void completely take over my head. And slowly, with all the stupid emotions I gathered together each day gone after my mind-clearing finger practice, I fell asleep.