broken keys [Azaleah]

 annemie

The beauty of taking a walk is breathtaking. Wherever you pace about, there's always something with a howling, pounding allure which leaves you speechless. A delicate flower piercing through the thick air or the general buzz of a district, face after face - tension released from their expression as they move past you.

I think it's beautiful.

It's been a while since I enthused myself with the outdoors. She had become ill and was taking up too much of my time as of late. My mother was the one to go out and create the remedies whilst I was left to keep her company. It wasn't my cup of tea, to say the least. She's old and decrepit, time has taken it's toll on her once supple skin and stable mind. It's like it's all collapsing in on her. Again.

My feet begin to hurt. I guess this is why I haven't been out much, because once I start-- I don't stop until it hurts. Nature is amazing and wonderful, but can cause difficulty too. I step with no shoes on so I cannot blame it on the manufacturing of them... so, it must be the dusty ground.

I stop in my stride to look down at it. Brown and dry, cracking under the pressure that the summer sun is bringing.

A child bumps into my hip, I feel startled a little as they turn to stare up to me with large, bright eyes. I hear the murmur of his mother behind me, before I'm tapped by her hand and instantly turn to face her.

"He's a rascal, this one. Excuse us."

I nod my head all robotic-y.

Eventually, I exhale a brief moment of laughter as to break the awkwardness. I'm not to say anything as it wasn't my fault her kid bumped into me. I look at her for a few moments - silence sweeping over us - before she begins to head off. I notice she throws a look over her shoulder at me. Right.

I continue along the path, my eyes pinpointed on the blue sky above. Summer is definitely my favourite season. Watching the trees mature and flourish in its duration is an exceptional thing to watch. The little tree across the way from our home has started to grow. It's only been there for a couple months but a sprout has finally emerged from it's bed of soil.

I can't wait to climb it.

My hand automatically moves to shade my eyes from the sun. It's beaming down with no mercy. Summer: perhaps it isn't my favourite season after all. I suppose the heat does allow a fruitful and heavy harvest in the lower districts, and as long as that is able to happen, I'm happy.

I huff in the heat, looking down from the sky. A boy sat on the grass verge catches my eye and I'm drawn to him. There's a book next to him and his hand are touching, feeling the grass which he's sat on.

Why would he want to sleep?

Like a magnetic attraction, my feet carry me over to him. In a blink, I find myself standing over him. I create a gloomy shadow over his face and body and perform an over-dramatic sigh in hopes of catching his attention.

A few seconds pass and I'm having no luck.

I kneel down beside him, taking a quick glance of the book beside him. 'Noticing Signs of Anger and Controlling It', it reads. I begin to ponder upon the idea that he's got something wrong with him. Mentally? Psychologically? Physically? Anger can take a form in someone in those different ways. Does he struggle with that?

Is he reading it for him or someone else?

So many questions piling up like paperwork in my mind. The only way I'll find an answer to any one of them is to pluck up the courage to raise my voice and interfere with him.

"If you need anger management, I'm sure there's classes for it."

I fold my arms and watch his face as my words trickle from the tip of my tongue. I hope that they weren't too sharp.

 annemie

In  the moment between silence and shatter, the general air of the ever-moving district behind us entangles my body. I causes me to smirk a little - my lips curling to one side of my face uncontrollably. I like it. It's one of those feeling which makes you feel young, it makes you feel at home. 

And with recent events, it seems you never know how long you'll stay home for.

The boy takes a minute or two to open his eyes, and when he does I'm greeted by a slight confusion.

"Oh no it’s not for me, I am just reading it for someone else…”


He moves, his hand pulling himself up from the previous lying position, his fingers pressing the book against his chest. My head tilts as I rise up through the air from my kneeling position. I'm met by a gust of wind which dances with my split ends as it moves, the shades of dirty blonde flying out before my eyes.

It slows and I eye the boy again. It's not for me. He says, I am just reading it for someone else. One of my earlier guesses was indeed correct. I'd assume someone with severe problems with aggression would be isolated from friends and family in a tall grey room, their head lolling around in the clouds before their eyes.

I quickly blink as the boy slides his way towards the tree behind him. He places his hand on the grass and moves to stand on his feet. He's tall - or at least taller than me, and I immediately feel vulnerable as her towers over me. It seems that the tables have turned, almost. I see it as a way of asserting one's self.

"Oh, do you go to classes?"

"No."

It escaped. Not a lie, however. Part of me takes offence from the question. Do I come across as a person who needs classes? I'm mad just like the rest of us; fallen down the rabbit hole and hit our heads on the way down. The only thing that draws us apart is the level of madness. Anger management seems to be a more minor form - the people that I feel sympathy for are the severe ones. More problems around every corner until they pile up and---

--topple.

"Why do you read the book for someone else? Surely they can do it themselves, no? Independence is success."

I assume he's referring to people with the problems. In my opinion, it'd be better they read the book so they can shape themselves to become a better person. Being taught how to do you "correctly" seems odd and warped. Exploring and discovering yourself is a treacherous journey, but it is one we all have to endure.

Some come sooner rather than later.

My mind takes a moment to reflect on my earlier statement and it gives me a shudder. Too rude, perhaps? I'm unsure. 

"I'm Annemie. Ann-em-ie."

Ann-em-ie. It's a startling number of people who pronounce my name wrong when we're introduced. It isn't pronounced Anne-mie. Ann-em-ie. Like a sea anemone, sea annemie.

I take a step back and look up to him. A hand moves onto my hip and I exhale a silent sigh as I watch a cloud obscure the sun from our district. From the corner of my eye, it looks a colossal event, but as my pupil follows the ball of puff against the azure skies, it's all too normal and familiar.

Familiar: the moment between silence and noise. This time, I can squeeze the feeling between my  fingertips. It feels thicker than before, more meat on the bones to cover the vital organs. 

Will he respond with a performance: dancing around the truth, or will there be a distinct sincerity in his words which will peel away the flesh and skin, bones breaking to expose the reality of it all.

I want him to make me understand, make me learn.

 annemie

Independence. 

A word, a noun, but what does it mean?

To me, it's being free from restraint. No metaphorical chains holding you back - you are gifted with the ability to smash through the metal loops and etch your story onto the path behind you. Independence is you showing the world who you are, and that you don't need someone else to do it for you.

"Yes Independence can be success, but people need help once in a while. Yes we may fall down in life and can get up ourselves. But from time to time, we may need a helping hand to get onto our feet again."

I exhale a slight sigh, a hand moving to my head to run through my hair. I disagree with him completely and will make him aware of that; for sure. But, I have no plans to argue. Not the awareness or the time, not the patience or stamina. Words are to heal, not harm.

I admit that people need help every once in a while, but piggybacking onto someone else whilst they are forced to deal with issues that are merely your own seems morally wrong to me. They are yours, and are yours for a reason.

You have them to overcome and grow.

My mind can only comprehend the use and using of another in once situation: The Hunger Games. Allies - they are there to cover your back and the whole point of them is selfish. You have them to spread the damage over two people, three or four. It balances and manages-- and to me, it's the only world in which I can see the dependence being okay.

Because in that arena, it's a matter of life and death. And you have to play.

My thoughts are interrupted.

"Oh, I’m just Tomas."

"I see."

Tomas. That's simple. I was that my name was simpler, but then I begin to ponder upon whether that did happen, and whether I'd want a more complex name. I don't feel as if there is a middle path or fence to sit on with this dilemma, so I'm going to dismiss it from my head.

But Tomas. Come to think of it, his face is sculpted like a Tomas. His face has a secretive maturity about it, his looks maintaining a brief moment in which you are pierced by his killer eyes. But there's a different side, a softer side. I can tell.

The book lowers itself within his grasp, his eyes following the pages as they flick quickly before him. All I can see is a blur of an off-white shade with specks of jet black ink. Perhaps it's different for him.

I notice a change in his expression, the tension relieving itself from his muscles, as if he's content once again. 

"Here,"

My gaze is instructed by a point of his finger to look at the page. 

"Some days those big goals just seem impossible. On those days when you most want to give up, you need to lean on your peers the most. They believe in you—probably more than you belief in yourself."

But having independence is what adds coal to the engine. It gives you confidence and acceptance of yourself and comfort in your own skin. It gifts the pleasure of high self-esteem. The quote is subjective and open the world of opinion, I hope he realises.

"And who's to teach that person to believe in themselves?"

I lower myself down onto the grass to sit beside him. The various textures of the bark on the tree on my back makes me smile. It feels relaxing yet vivacious, providing me with a new found glint in my eye.

"They've to grow from their own obstacles, not be spoon-fed how to live. Don't you agree?"

My speech ends with a closed question. It's superficial; black and white and his reply can be one of two words.

Yes----

or no.

A road with two paths, one north and one south. The pronunciation of the two words is simple. Just like his name: Tomas.

Maybe there is an advantage to having a facile name, you're blank with everything and give an answer straight to the point. His previous response to my introduction wasn't schematic. 

But once you start to peel back the layers, you expose what's deeper.

And what's deeper has more sense and soul.

 annemie

The book closes with a sharp snap.

I watch as the pages morph together before my eyes, changing into one thick block of ivory as the cover meets the blurb. It's a relatively long book, once which would make you read it for hours upon end, but it's not dictionary length. Not even close.

"I kind of agree. You don’t necessarily have to teach someone to believe in themselves, just motivate them, they will choose to follow it or not."

I don't understand the difference between teaching and motivating. I admit, a teacher is a person is employed deliberately to do one thing: teach you. But a motivator isn't a job, and doesn't seem to be a plausible hobby either. Teachers can be motivating. What's the big deal?

"People are very different, that is what makes us stand out from one and other. Sometimes humans chose not to grow emotionally and become empty. We need help from others to fill in that emptiness."


I don't understand. Why would a person choose to not grow emotionally? Emotion is what makes you intricate and complex, it makes you evolve your traits and make you who you are and want to be. Filling the 'emptiness' with someone else sounds like a downgrade. 

Emotions of your own are important to everything you do.

And you can do everything without a person.

I hear him take a breath.

"This world isn’t a fairy tale, it is terrible, full death, hate, betrayal. It’s a dark place and we need each other to get through it."

I hiss.

"So I'm aware."

What I'm unaware of, however, is what he takes me for. I am a girl, a person with a brain. I utilise it to work, and improve myself. Heck knows that the world isn't a fairytale, there's no escaping from the deadly sins which they try to blind us is.

All there is, in every corner and nook: is truth. Something I'm more than familiar with, something I've learned to love and warm to. 

"We don't need each other to struggle through life. Reliance would only leave a person broken when they leave. You can't run from what's suffocating you from every angle."

I glance to him as he relaxes against the tree. I arch a sarcastic brow and flaunt a smile which curves to the right. I'm a believer in the truth and I'll fight with my onslaught of words for it.

My eyes narrow and I look up to the sun. It's rising faster in the sky, burning away the grey clouds which were once in it's way. Summer is flashes itself upon us and waves goodbye to spring.

The noises beyond the grass verge is getting louder as noon dawns upon us. The aura of activity dies however, and it's replaced by something more casual and normal. Gone are the screaming babies and whining children - now, a fresh air of mature conversations and firm families.

I look back to Tomas though, and realise I can't say the same for my own current situation.

I exhale and sense a dragon breathing flames, fire burning under my feet.