“You’re not a people person?” she questions evenly, brushing the leaf from her head. “I can’t see why not? Spurting all that fun, factual information must win you a load of friends.”
“I don’t know why you’d think I care. Friends are only good for long treks in the snow. Just ask Alfred Packer.”
“Who’s Alfred Packer?” Her interest has me wishing I used a different fact to prove my point. But I can’t stop now.
“The Colorado Cannibal,” I explain coolly, running a hand through my long bangs. “A prospector who got hungry during one of his quests and ate his crew during the winter of 1874.”
I smile.
She does not.
I expect her to turn away, disgusted, as most would, but she doesn’t.
“At least he didn’t have to worry about refrigeration.”
I open but soon close my mouth because, for once in my life, I’m caught off guard.
“How do you know all this stuff?”
And there is the question that has plagued me my entire life.
I always knew I was different. Since I can remember, I’ve been able to retain information and recite it without a problem. That seems like something most can do.
But when I explained to my mom how to change the spark plugs in her car, she knew I was special. I was five.
I overheard the mechanic at the local garage we walked by the week prior describe it to Mrs. Murphy, and it just stuck with me, as do most things. I don’t know how I know. I just do…but being here with this strange girl is something I don’t know.
And I don’t like it.
I like to assert control in all aspects of my life, and standing here, in the middle of the street, under the full moon, I am not in control.
Reaching into my backpack for my pack of cigarettes, I casually light one, making a point to look at the crucifix around the girl’s neck. I don’t even know her name.
“So what’s a good girl like you doing out here in the dark?”
Smoke plumes between us, and the nicotine is exactly what I need to calm this pulsating energy.
Her eyes linger on my lips, but I soon realize it’s not my mouth she’s transfixed by, but rather, the ember of my cigarette, which glows red.
Her gaze soon focuses on it, and I don’t move when she steps forward and stands on her toes to steal the cigarette from between my lips.
She places it between hers, inhaling deeply.
I wait with bated breath.
“What makes you think I’m a good girl?”
I point at the crucifix around her throat.
A smile spreads across her cheeks, but the devil himself may as well be grinning at me, and when a red glow suddenly smolders from behind her, it just confirms the fact.
“Looks can be deceiving,” she states, calmly blowing out a cloud of smoke.
The crimson glow suddenly gets bigger, brighter, and when I look over her head, I see that’s because the prized red rose bush of the double-story house we stand in front of is on fire.
“Your rose bush is on fire,” I say casually, and she laughs lightly. The sound fucking scares me for all the right reasons.
“I bet you say that to all the girls.” Does she know what I was doing across the road?
Before I have a chance to reply, the porch light switches on. I suspect her parents are about to put out the fire, but when she tosses the cigarette to the ground and grabs my hand, it seems I’ve misread this entire thing.
“Run!” she cries, her excitement palpable as we break into a dead sprint away from her house. But the farther we run, the clearer it becomes that that isn’t her home.
We run through the neighborhood, our footsteps pounding against the concrete in sync with our heavy breaths. Her amused giggles punch me low when we hear the anguished screams of whoever’s rose bush she just set alight.
“Just another Sunday night for you then?” I quip while she turns to me, grinning.
We continue running away from the crime scene, hand in hand, and I can’t help but feel it’s us versus the world. A stupid thought to have as this girl is clearly a pyromaniac, and I’m a thief. But this is the most fun I’ve had in a while.
We turn a corner, and she suddenly lets go of my hand.
We stand still, breathless and facing one another with the world on fire around us. But I don’t look away. I can’t. And it seems she can’t either.
With her bare feet and bunny suit, she fucking slays me because I want to know who she is. But I don’t get the chance to ask as she suddenly runs down a driveway where she jumps over the fence, ignoring the German Shepherd that nips at her bunny tail.
“Who are you?” I say to myself in awe, staring toward where she disappeared into the darkness.
I don’t believe in fate, but I can’t shake the feeling the world as I know it is about to be set alight—in every possible way.
I rarely look at myself in the mirror.
Mainly just at my hands as I button my shirt or shift my school tie—a prerequisite for the new school I’m attending today.
I’ll look at my mouth, then skim over the details of my face and look at my hair as I tie it back so that it hangs like a pale horsetail down my back. I don’t dare look into my own eyes. They are my mother’s eyes…ones I’ll never see again.
It was the summer of 2019, and we were driving down to our regular holiday cabin for the school break. It had just gone dark, and cars flashed past us from time to time, but most of the road ahead was just black.
We’d driven this way what felt like a million times before.
I sat in the back trying to get service on my iPhone and cursed under my breath about having to spend my break in the middle of nowhere with my parents. My father hated anything electronic and anything that took quality time away from the family. There wouldn’t be any television.
Mom was the peacekeeper and often drove the car on these trips. I’m sure my father was just humoring her by giving her the wheel. He was very traditional with strict churchgoing values. Values he couldn’t really impress upon me without an argument ensuing.
“If you spent less time on that device, you’d do yourself a great favor, Darcie!”
His voice was the same booming sound that carried over the pews in church. He always spoke to me like I was standing at the back of a room, amongst a crowd. He didn’t even have to turn around in his seat for me to hear him.
“If I didn’t have this device, I wouldn’t have one friend since you always make me go on these holidays while everyone is out doing what kids my age are supposed to do!” I spat back at him.
“What children are supposed to do is experience the world as one should without their heads buried in utter garbage!”
“Garbage? How do you even know? You don’t even know what Facebook is. You’ve never even seen the internet! This is 2019! Not 1960!” I shrieked, infuriated.
My mother sighed as she drove on, and I knew this argument was wearing thin on her. She asked me not to poke the bear, yet I found myself doing it every single time.
“As soon as we arrive, I’ll be taking that from you so you can focus on what’s important, Darcie! I’ll hear no more about it. God did not intend for us to walk around with our heads attached to telephones!” he retorted firmly.