For the pause

She had forgotten how long she had been there, she forgot most of the recent things that happened. You want to forget what happens. No I don’t. Do you like what happens? No. Then that’s why you’re forgetting it. I forget it because it’s not important. So what is still important?

 

On the first day of school Orange stayed with her every moment. She was careful to make sure he could squeeze into every gap and shared her seat with him. She had learnt quickly that Orange wasn’t appreciated by everyone. A princess was far too dignigied to have a menial friend. So he was her secret friend, and he crept quietly with his arms full of oranges. He still managed to trip every time.

He was smart, Orange, but she was always just that tiny bit smarter, managing to finish all the work a nick before him.

It was easy for her to talk to him, easy for him to understand her.

“I’ll pick some flowers today, for us Orange.”

“There are no flowers.”

“I’ll find some. You’ll help me, won’t you Orange.”

“Daffodils and daisies.”

“Sunflowers and jaolins.”

She’d take the bus into the city, buy a pork bun at the Asian bakery, a large cola from the nearest fast food store and go sit in the park. She’d take out her notepad and wait. Out of the corner of her eye she’d spy something. Her pen would come out; they job in perfect rhythm, their feet smashing the pavement in symphony.

Then over there; she ran giggling to the furtherst tree. “He’ll never find me.”

She’d sit there until the ice had drained from her cup, and then she’d put away her notebook, and catch the bus home in time for dinner.

 

A bushfire wrecked the country today

Burning its bounty down

Crashing and smashing

Lashing and thrashing

The only thing left was the ground

 

The balding hair had turned grey years ago. He didn’t mind, all the great conductors had lost their hear. It meant there was no need to swipe it from his eyes as his arms moved in their allegro rhythm. The violins were nicer than the cellos, but the violas could be quite witty at times. He had never played any of them, he choose the saxophone as his weapon, but he thought it was more beautiful to hear than anything. It was his sanctity.

 

“Trixie, come here.”

She comes.

“There’s been complaints.”

She was no longer afraid of this woman. “About?”

“You. I think you’ve passed your time here.”

She packs her bags and is gone by the night.

She returns, early in the morning.

“Did the princess miss her throne?” Another girl laughs.

“I forgot to say something.”

The lady is gotten. She had never liked the young girl, her head always in something, her eyes glassy instead of glazed. But she was beautiful, and it paid.

“What do you want?”

“I wanted to tell you what I was doing that night you found me.”

“Eh?”

“I was trying to escape the rabbit hole.”

 

Come meet me here

Amongst the stars

Of Rumpelstiltskin’s wishes

And a Russian czar.

 

There was a monster in the background. They could feel it, heaving, wheezing out its thick song. It was always there, constant, waiting to pounce, but they knew it never would. As long as she stayed where she was, the monster would not rise from its breath.

 

She walked past the asylum. One, two, sixteen times. She wondered what it was like inside; white walls, white jackets, why was everything white? It would scare her she knew, being surrounded by so much nothing, so much endless possibilities.

An employee walked out, dressed in a casual jacket to fend against the evening chill.

“Can I help you?”

It had been a long time since she hadn’t worn makeup.

“No, I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

He seemed nice, but she supposed they all did from there. “I’m fine thanks.”

“Did you want to go inside, it’s warm there.”

She was still wearing the short skirt she had on from the night before. A thin jacket covered her shoulders. “I’m fine.”

“Do you want me to call you a taxi? There’s a place in the city that will take you in for the night if that’s what you need.”

The light was musty, her hair looked blonde. “I’m fine, really.”

“Look if you need someone to talk to, we can grab a cup of coffee.”

She hesitated, hesitated.

Paused.

Wavered.

Lingered.

Idled.

Loitered.

Dithered.

Faltered.

Hoped.

“Okay.”

He didn’t offer to take her in his car, instead steering her off to a shop round the corner. It was closed, but he knocked on the glass a middle-aged woman came to the glass with a mop in hand.

“What do you want James?” She looked over at the young woman with her.

“Fancy you can stir up a couple of cups?”

She sighed, as anyone would in that situation. “The machines off but I can give you instant.”

He let her choose the seat and she chose the one furthest from the window. They were silent until the coffee came when she smiled up at the middle-aged woman. At a glance, she saw there were thin streaks of grey in her hair.

“Nancy’s an old friend,” he said, perhaps noticing her eyes gaze.

“Oh.”

Sips for the two.

“She must like you then, letting you come here so late.”

“I think my Christmas present gets smaller every year.” He laughed. He was wondering what topic he could bring up that wasn’t sensitive, but he could know. How was your day? I bashed someone. Where did you grow up? I was always grown. What’s your favourite food? I don’t eat.

He looked at her glassy eyes, her weary hair and her thin wrists.

“What were you doing walking outside?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Did something happen?”

“No, not really.”

“Not really?”

“Nothing happened. Nothing happened today at all, not a thing, not a single thing.”

When he left her with the taxi later that night, and his phone number in her pocket, he hadn’t found anything from her. She didn’t shy away from any questions about her life, and each answer seemed with honesty. Just one had made him wonder.

Do you love your parents?

 

Her response played over and over in his head.

 

Author's Note

I'll add here that the name is only temporary. Once I've finished writing this I'll change it, because that's when I'll have it.