Strawberries

Scarlet straggled down the icy cement stairwell to enter into dimming night air. The clouds still bled with dusk’s hatchet, their limbs leaking dazzling wonders. Stars appearing, Scarlet could feel the reverberating steps waning. He left.

Air swirled as Scarlet, her long hair drifting at the sudden cease in motion, took in a deep sigh. She paused to glance down at the tan cobblestone path leading to the parking lot; no doubt he had dashed over them into the shaggy blue convertible, keys dangling. Scarlet could imagine his long, oil-black hair dancing in the force of interstate wind.

The upstairs lights flashed.

Scarlet’s mind rushed back to the present. The glowsticks. The strobe light. The ravers. An eavesdropping apple tree noticed two slightly curved lips under the girl’s hair when she remembered all the movements to the lame techno music. The opened rose immediately fell back into place. It was over, at least for her.

Scarlet slumped onto the exasperated driveway lined with her friends’ over-exaggerated toys. Senses of selfishness and shame started to seize her spirit. Most would consider her lucky. Scarlet seemed a princess in a kingdom of peasants. Her castle possessed what she called “the tower” at the north side, a distance away from the main house. A cold stairwell, her own demented bean stock, led to Scarlet’s “bedroom.” Dangling double-doors bent to reveal four rooms, a bathroom, a small kitchen area, and a plasma TV. Yes, Scarlet had it all.

She traced her fingers across the long, curved scars.

As Scarlet glanced at the self-inflicted clouds, one began to softly weep cold, frosted tears. Yet soon it dashed over a rising moon, theatrically ceasing the shower to mist.

Then the night seeped into the surrounding branches. Then into the air. Then the pavement.

Darkness.

Silence pervaded, absence dilating in Scarlet’s dark blue eyes. The only light emanated from the ravers and their flashing motions in the background, spreading dooming shadows upon a fragile figure.

Eyeliner started to retreat, dripping slowly down the smooth mountain, small trails of silt left behind. Shudders shook Scarlet’s spirit. Fists clenched, she wrapped her marked arms tightly around the dark-blue skinny jeans.

Thoughts collided and emotions fled. The barely sixteen-year-old soul shifted her mind. She didn’t want sympathy; she didn’t want healing; she didn’t want mercy. All Scarlet desired was her angel.

Yet the void grew stronger and darkness increased and emptiness evolved. Time froze in the cold night air.

The breeze slid affectionally across lonely eyes, concealed in their fortress. As if whispering, it trailed over Scarlet’s arms, telling her to keep breathing. The air filled her lungs and fueled her thoughts. Scarlet gasped again and again. Shaking, she sighed and let the wind brush her face. The comfort she found in the moving particles stunned her. Lifeless matter kept her alive. No matter how hard she tried, Scarlet could not grasp what help formed from taking it in. What good was it to keep breathing while sobbing on the tattered stones? Her life still fell miserably into hell, and no amount of air could lift her up; however, the wind continued to murmur, Just keep breathing…

Still crying, Scarlet opened her eyes. A faint blue light stared at her. Curiosity spurred, the slumping form leaned outward to grasp it, humanity reaching for the spark of life. Scarlet, almost crawling on her knees, felt the fabric of her jeans rub against her thighs. Amid the drops and sobs and the shudders, two fingers stretched behind a tire of a black coupe, nearly invisible in the void.

The distracted girl lifted the shining blue object from the square plastic container it was resting on. A glowstick. His glowstick. The one she gave him to wear for the party. The six-sided cylander, threaded with black string to be a necklace, had been hastily tossed on top of the carton in his silent retreat. Like Scarlet, it had been forgotten.

The stream of faint light quivered as Scarlet reached for the carton on the ground. Dusted with sand, its plastic surface barely showed in the night. A small, slightly-torn piece of paper sat patiently on its lid.

Scarlet could still hear the loud beats of the rave behind her as she read the hand-written note.

All souls hold what life solely brings to break

A deadly gift, a lonely work of art

What some would indict to always be fake

A love that swells the shallow, putrid heart

Not all who claim to know it’s worth prevail

In showing light beyond what they can see

Nowhere has there been an untainted tale

Of feelings that never seem to flee

Yet here lies the passion we have to live

A spark of hatred swallowed by the flames

Giving all our creation has to give

Ourselves are only how we can now blame

Red rivers drift among their hasty flow

Forever is now your choice, this I know

Tears returning, Scarlet opened the lid of the container, revealing its precious cargo; strawberries lined themselves along the sides, the corners, the edges, green leaves flourishing. Scarlet ran her fingertips over the smooth skins, feeling each individual crater, cavity. She grasped one loosely, wrapping her lips around the edge. Pressure built, followed by the sweet sensation unrivaled by the salty tears.

Tossing away the top, Scarlet glanced down and picked up another delicate strawberry. So fragile, so easy to break, so red. Yet so sweet.

A sparkle caught her eye. Scarlet reached for it, twisting the tangible redemption in her hands. She slid it onto her finger. The silver heart gleamed in the darkness.

A blue car pulled into the driveway.