Work Text:
Under the stop sign across from her school, [A] sat down with tears in her eyes. Her world blurred unlike the sharp pain from her bleeding knee, scraped by gravel in the playground. The strap of her work-out backpack warmed to a temperature that mirrored her small hands, also bloodied and hurt. The sun shone on her cold cuts. There was no warmth left in her heart as she wiped her face with the dirtied sleeve of her uniform. If the sun were any indicator, perhaps peace would ascend in an hour. School ended in an hour.
But the ground outside the school was kinder than the inside and the asphalt smoother than the paving block within the school’s ground. Outside were notably quiet too, as [A] remembered the constant buzzing whenever she was in the classroom. Like flies had built a nest in her brain, nobody ever shut up. She could hear it all, at the same time.
Her dirty uniform and ugly handwriting along with her unkempt hair that suits her ghastly smell just like the fogged-up glasses sitting on her crooked nose that breathed too loud.
She sighed aloud. Nobody was around to hear.
But her ear picked up a noise, footsteps, fast and following a rhythm. Without looking up she could feel the shoes pointing at her, slowing down, before hesitation let silence fill the air that bridged the two. [A] refused to pry her head from her knees. She never once opened her eyes.
“Hey, that’s my school’s uniform. Why are you outside?”
Mercy, mercy. His shadow blocked the sun from warming her leaking scrapes and bruises. Cold was not kinder than heat because the hurt felt clearer than before. [A] hummed because that was all she could muster, a silent plea to be left alone.
“Hey! You’re hurt. Y-your stocking’s ripped at the knee. You okay?”
No, but [A] would never raise her voice to be heard. Indifference was a painful brand to be cast; awareness was crueller than existence. Mercy, mercy, would you go away already? But [A] would never open her mouth to declare her being.
“Here, I have water so you can at least wash it, take this.”
A company. As warm as an object that reflected the brilliance of the sun. The wind that brought him was warm, [A] noted, now that the cold that came with his absence settled. The warm sun hit her again but this time, the ray of light that bounced off the plastic bottle scorched her into ash.
Tomorrow would come without a doubt, and mercy would never be upon her. Tomorrow would burn her before she could put her hands together. Her name never to be spoken, her existence never to be named. [A] took a sip of the bottled water, warm to her tongue from the sun. Once, twice, then she poured it all on her head.