Falling to Pieces

They say fear is just a part of our imagination; it’s just something our mind does to trick ourselves. To me, being out of control is fear. The state of having no control over what happens to you is haunting. It gnaws at your mind, and perhaps that is really what fear is.
That’s what happened two years ago.
When I was sixteen.
And she was keeping a secret.
My mom has this cancer called leukemia, which pretty means that she is screwed to begin with. And then she didn’t want to tell us. She kept her illness quiet, hid the doctor papers. Now that I think about it I wondered if she was in denial. I wonder if she thought hiding the papers meant that the statements on there weren’t true.
Now my brother and I are at her hospital bed, but she isn’t awake. She’s asleep and drugged up on meds. I guess that would be a good way to go. In your sleep while you're high.
I mean that’s how I’d do it given the choice.
“Stop,” Kyle said, my brother.
I gave him a look. “Stop what?”
“You know what. I can practically feel your bitterness. Mom doesn’t need that,” he said.
Kyle was the good child. He stayed Christian and was going to college. He was the only one now who had faith in himself, the future, and his version of God. He was always looking out for me, pushing me when I didn’t want to move anymore. He was freaken annoying, but I guess I need it.
“Mom can’t hear me,” I hissed.
He glared at me. “I don’t need your dark attitude right now,” he said walking out the door.
I sighed and sat next to mom.
“Don’t suppose you can hear me can you?” I asked softly.
She didn’t move.
“Cause I'm tired of this crap. I'm tired of talking to you when you won’t answer. I'm tired of silence.”
One thing she did do for me though was call my uncle Thomas. She wants me to live in New Yuck. Mom didn’t want me to see her dying; she said she wanted me to remember as she was fully alive in her own home.
My home in Darton, South Carolina is beautiful. It is near the Atlantic Ocean, and the best memories of my childhood are left there like an imprint. I live in a very small town where everyone takes care of everyone and their community. I have a few friends my age, but I knew everyone in the town. It’s my home and I have no intention of making New Yuck my home. All New Yuck would be is buildings and pollution; I blamed that city for Global Warming.

* * * * *
Beep.
Beep.
I hate that damn sound, Joel thought as he scanned all the items this eighty year old woman had bought. Most of it was for a cat; her husband must have died.
“Thirty-nine eighty-two,” he said in a monotonous voice.
She pulled out her debit card and handed it him. It smelled like out-dated perfume.
He swiped it and gave it back.
“Thank you dear,” she said, rolling the cart away.
The bag boy grinned at him. “Well that took forever.”
Joel chuckled. The boy had no idea what forever was like.
“I’m going out for a smoke, cover me?” he asked.
The boy smiled, “Those things are gonna kill you the way you inhale them down.”
Joel grabbed his pack of smokes. “That’s the point.”
That always threw them off.
It was kind of his joke. He would love to have the mortality that the boy possessed. He would love to think that smoking would kill him. It would be like a two in one deal.
He sat against the brick wall and lit one.
He still couldn’t get over it, the look in their eyes.
Her screams.
Then the silence.
He hated the feeling, the label.
Murderer.
But Lindsey wouldn’t judge him, she always told him that.
When they first met, at that open house at the art museum, she flat out told him about her terrors. She said that her family had died in a car accident; her parents and her brother. She told him she went downhill from there; the parties, the alcohol and drugs.
Of course he didn’t tell her he was a killer and immortal on our first date. But he noticed her habits quickly.
Not only was her appearance very inhuman, her actions weren’t human. She was constantly on the edge, smoking down packs of cigarettes just to do something with her hands. And then there were the nightmares she would have when she finally moved in.
That’s when he confronted her.
“You have no heart beat do you?” he asked.
She froze. “What are you talking about? Have you been drinking?”
He laughed, even though there was no humor in the air.
“I'm not one of them,” he said, “I'm not human either.”
She stared at him, blinked a few times as if she didn’t hear him.
He took her hand and pressed it to where his silent heart was.
* * * *
Finally I arrived in the air port, where my Uncle would pick me up. He was in his forties and a professor at some nearby college. He had light brown hair that was fading into grey, and was parted as well as unbrushed. He had dark brown eyes and dark circles under them from stress over students.
“Hey Kid,” he mumbled.
I smiled weakly at his attempt.
We got my bags and weaved through the crowed, into the dimly lit parking garage. He owned an old Chevy that smelled like fast food grease. He had the radio on some oldies station and kept beat on the steering wheel. I rolled down the window to get some air going.
His apartment had cheap wall paper and smelled like mold. He showed me to my room, which was at the back of the apartment. My room was just as bad as the rest of the moldy place. It was small, very small. My bed was on the north wall. There was a small window on the west wall, the closet on the south, and the door was in the corner.
Thomas left me alone to unpack, which I was grateful for, it allowed me to think (talk to myself). I plugged in my stereo and turned on “Sting”.
My world can be described as a midnight sky with only a few stars, reasons to put up with life. When I mean a few, I mean four: mom, brother, music, and literature.
My mom’s star was the bright than ever because even if she died tomorrow, I’d live everyday to please her. We were best friends and she always prayed for me to be happy and safe.
My brother, Kyle, was my lighthouse. He kept me going even though life sucked major butt. He had so much faith and knew where he was going; he was always so sure of everything. He prayed for me every day as well. He always pushed me to achieve what seemed impossible, and I wasn’t allowed to give up. He told me that I had a purpose for living; God gave a purpose for living. In his eyes I had a goal to reach, a dream to follow, a life to live.
I always carried his cross around my neck as a reminder.
“Mom’s gonna die,” I had mumbled, “Isn’t she?”
Kyle let out a shaky breath and pulled me into a big brother hug. “Yes. But won’t she be a beautiful angel, Rose?”
I held back a sob and whispered, “Will you pray for her?”
Kyle kissed my forehead.
“Everyday, right after yours.”
I laughed weakly, “You’re just wasting your time, there’s no hope for me.”
“Of course there is Rosella!” He hissed. He sighed and then he saw the tears in my eyes. “Here,” He said taking his silver cross off his neck. He fastened it around my neck. “You need it more than I do.”
I placed my hand over the cross. “Thanks, Kyle.”
Now I stood in the mirror and placed my hand over the cross.
I smiled.
Then there was music. Music was my life. Literally. Amy Lee’s voice inspired my soul, Santana’s guitar echoed my heart beat. Lyrics flowed through my veins with my bloodstream and took over my mind.
Literature keeps me out of the real world as I explored the fantasy works of Mellissa Marr, had an adventure with Robert Ludlum. Love and tragedy burned my heart when I read Shakespeare, and I got Goosebumps when I read Edgar Allen Poe. Even in my own writing I was no longer in this horrible world.
In the early hours of the morning I woke up crying. I didn’t bawl or through a fit, I just lie in the hard mattress and let the tears fall silently and soundlessly down my cheeks.
Around six-thirty I dragged myself out of bed and into the shower for the first day of school at the nearby school Thomas enrolled me in.
I got dressed in jeans and a black t-shirt. I stuck my hair up into a pony tail and looked in the mirror. The girl in the mirror had light blonde hair that was twisted into unwelcome curls that fell past her shoulders. Her eyes were a cold grey with no reason, no purpose, to faith, no hope. She wasn’t skinny, but she wasn’t fat, just the awkwardness in between.
Disgusted with the mirror, I walked away and grabbed my things. I stumbled down the steps and out the apartment building. In South Carolina I had my little green Neon; in New Yuck I had ten bucks and a subway.
As I sat on the germ infested seat, I turned on my iPod
When I arrived at “Central High” I literally fell down. It looked more like a prison.
I groaned and pulled myself though the doors. Inside kids ran around yelling and carrying on like they were animals in a zoo. The office was full of kids that looked like they should be in jail. The secretary was sitting at her computer smoking. Her grey hair was piled on top of her head and she wore some cheap bright red lipstick.
“Can I help you?” She asked, not looking up.
“I’m new. Rosella Connors,” I said.
“Oh,” she said handing me a folder, “That’s everything you’ll need.”
I took the folder and left. Inside was my schedule and locker assignment with locker combination. I found my locker, which looked like a scrap of metal, so I decided to keep my things with me. I left in search of my first class, which was AP physics. ..
The school back home was never this full, it was small and comfortable. I missed the comfort of being with my friends. I missed the feeling of my mom’s hand as she took me to kindergarten, then the sound of her voice as she called for me when I was older. I missed it all.
The bell rung.
Then I looked around and saw the vacant hallways. Terror washed over me, as I realized I was late.
Someone tapped me on the shoulder, which made me jump. I turned and saw a boy that looked like he was a sophomore.
“Lost?” He asked.
I nodded.
He took my schedule and smiled. His hair was the color of caramel and was long enough to say, “Bring on the poetry.”
“Ok AP Physics is down the hall and the last door on your left. See you later, Rose.”
He left.
I stared confuse at how he knew my name when I realized it was on my paper. I walked down the hall and into class. The teacher stopped in mid-sentence, causing all the other students to look at me. And it was like that all day, I was doing the wrong thing at the wrong time, causing me to stand out. At lunch time I decided to skip the cafeteria and go outside to get fresh air, when I realized I was just breathing in pollution, but I didn’t care. I sat against a building and sighed.
The sun was held directly above me, like it was trying to annoy the crap out of me on purpose. I watched the cheerleaders do flips in the grassy area. Football players watched too, but for a completely different reason.
“You look like you need a smoke,” A voice said. I looked up and saw a boy with a lit cigarette hanging out his mouth.
“A bit young to be smoking, don’t you think?” I said.
He shrugged. “You care?”
I shook my head. “Not really.”
He leaned against the brick wall and grinned.
“Good. I mean a bunch of people are always complaining that I cause second-hand smoke. I always tell them to get away from me if the smoke bugs them so flippen bad.”
I closed my eyes. Why couldn’t he just leave me alone?
“So?” he asked.
I opened my eyes and saw that he had extended the pack in my direction.
“I don’t smoke,” I said.
He shrugged. “So live a little.”
I stared up at him. He had dark black hair that was so messy that a few hairs stuck up. His eyes were this beautiful shade of blue. His eyes were so amazing, yet so very creepy. Everything about him was different. The way he was slouched against the wall, the way he was dressed, the way his eyes were so intense.
“If I die of lung cancer, it’s on your conscience,” I hissed taking one.
He laughed and handed me a lighter.
I lit the cigarette and inhaled the smoke. The smoke burned my throat, causing me to cough.
“Don’t Inhaled it down!” He laughed.
I glared at him and blew smoke in his direction. He smirked as if he accomplished something.
“Joel”, he said, putting his hand out.
I took it. “Rosella.”
He smiled. “Interesting name.”
I smiled, a bit smug, and breathed in more smoke, knowing Kyle was going to have a fit when he found out.
“So you’re new?” He asked.
“Yeah,” I said, “I’m supposed to be in South Carolina.”
He looked at me weird, “Then why aren’t you?”
That was so straight forward that it startled me a bit.
“Don’t really want to talk about it,” I mumbled.
He nodded like he understood, but he didn’t. No one does.
The bell rung.
I groaned and inhaled the last of the cigarette before I put it out.
Joel stood up and waited for me to get up as well.
“What’s your next class?” he asked.
“IB English,” I said.
He grinned. “Mine too. Care to walk with me?”
“Sure,” I said.
We had kept our distance before, so when I walked next to I realized how amazing he smelled not like heavy duty cologne. He seemed to notice the closeness and froze.
“I-er- forgot something,” he said running away from me, leaving me in a daze.
I walked to class alone and took my seat. He never showed up.
When I got home Thomas wasn’t there. I sighed and went into my prison cell. I turned on my stereo and collapsed on my bed.
Evanescence played; Amy’s voice captivating:

I live in the darkness
I see it to die
Erase the silence
Erase my life
A world of ashes, blacken the day
A world of nothingness, blow me away

After awhile I pulled out my journal. Kyle suggested that I write one. My journal doesn’t contain entries that much, more of just thoughts, scribbles of nothing.
Just what I think.
I turned to look out the window. Beyond the horizon the orange sun threatened to vanish. Along with my dreams, childish fantasies that have grown into vague possibilities, the sun fell.

* * * *