Nightfall Passing {Open}

Lightning walked down the sidewalk with her hands tucked neatly in her jacket. She observed an elderly couple walking in front of her, and she smirked. Love can't last that long. They must be newly weds. Lightning assessed what she had just thought and rectified this. Old people don't marry this late. They must have not had the money for divorce. Picking up the pace with her walking, she looked back at the couple, who were holding hands. What actors. She thought about how lonely she was without a love interest in her life which eventually led to her balling up her fists, ready to punch something or someone.

Lightning was led by her feet down the cold pavement to a light post that was flickering slightly. People gathered around it as if it were the holy sacrament, and like Lightning, she wanted to see what it was too. Pushing aside a middle-aged man, she came to the inner part of the circle and directed her blue eyes at the boy that was lying on the ground. He was on the pavement, his body sprawled out. What selfish people. They don't even try to help Lightning thought, as she pushed aside two women to get to the boy that had passed out. Why are they just standing here? They should be doing something! The nerve of the people in Panem these days...

Earlier that dawn, she had gone to the fabric store to experiment with something. Pulling out a small breakaway piece, she wiped his mouth of blood. Forcing her head down to his heart, she listened to the beating of his internal drum. Well, he's alive... "You there!" A woman pointed to herself questioningly and Lightning gave a threatening nod. It was as if she was threatening to hurt her if she didn't tell the truth. "What the hell happened to this boy?" This woman looked at the boy for a moment, and then at Lightning and decided to tell the threatening artist what happened. "He was running, and then suddenly, he just... collapsed."

Lightning looked at the boy, and then the crowd of annoying people. Ripping a bottle of water from a girl (who immediately started pouting), she poured the ice cold liquid all over his face, trying to awake him from his unconscious state. The boy jumped to life with a panicked look upon his face, almost as if he was strapped to train tracks and was witnessing his death come nearer. "Hey, are you ok?" Lightning's kind words were a large surprise to her, considering she was mostly a hypocrite and only allowed people to help her. Her bitchiness momentarily stopped for this boy. Who would like to wake up from unconsciousness and encounter someone screaming at you to wake the hell up? Nobody. Lightning looked at the boy, her face worried and her eyes warming, trying to let him know that he was in safe hands.

The boy lying upon the ground had sputtered to life, looking around frantically. Suddenly, embarrassment crosses his face. He should be embarrassed. He passed out in the middle of the damn street! Lightning looked at his face with concern, examining his features. Silky-looking black hair, striking green eyes, and he was dressed in what looked like a gym uniform. Oh yea, he's hot, Lightning joked to herself, thinking this boy would probably never become her live interest. Nobody would probably like her anyway. She was too much of a constant downer on the world, constantly fuming about why the world would miss out on a beautiful, shattered young artist who needed a friend. Looking in her bag for something for the boy to eat, she almost didn't catch the boy's request.

"Who exactly are you? And why did you choose to help me when no one else would?" Lightning looked at the boy with a blank look, slightly of narrowed eyes. He's just like me. Always wanting to know the who, what, where, and why. Tucking her legs under herself, she stopped rummaging around in her back and responded. "My name is Lightning Vox. You looked like someone who needed something when everyone else didn't care, just like me. So I helped you." She was struck by the truthfulness of her own words. Lightning, for the first time in awhile, felt alone by the words of her own voice.

Picking up both of his hands, she lifted the boy off of his ground position against the light post, which had just flared to life. Looking at him straight in the eyes, she holds his left shoulder and looks straight into him, demanding an answer. "Why were you running? Who were you running from? Answer me." Lightning slightly teased the boy by squeezing his shoulder. I swear, if I was a boy, he would be my exact definition. She drilled holes in him with her icy blue eyes, demanding an answer.

Her hand was still pressed firmly against his shoulder, squeezing it, demanding an answer. Even though she could tell it slightly intimidated him, Lightning did it anyways. That was just the girl who Lightning was; intimidation and threats lead to anything you would ever need to know. When was there ever a time when I asked nicely for something and people actually listen or give me what I want? Hah, never! After awhile of staring at him, he slowly answers her recovering from her slight rudeness. Looking at her with olive colored eyes, he answers her.

"Running? From someone? Is that what you think? Well, I wouldn't run from anyone." Lightning twisted the words around in her head, thinking this was just the natural demon of pride. But then, he stated something that made the whole story twist itself around from its pride-filled, snobby excuse, to a real problem that had bothered the boy to the point of running away from a imaginary devil. "I was running from the truth. Just facts. . . you know, like words." Lightning looked at the boy and dropped her hand from his shoulder, looking at him with her usual blank face with narrowed eyes. Her way of putting her life seemed similar to his problem. I need to help this boy. I need to, or else, I could never have a set mind.

At that moment, Lightning realized something about what he said. She didn't mean to speak it out loud, but she did anyway: "You say you were running from nobody. You said you were running from the truth. But truth is somebody. Truth is that person that follows you around after discovering the death of family. Truth is discovering that the person you loved has abandoned you. But no matter how far you may try to run, Truth will always be faster." Lightning had never before put so much emphasis into a short phrase like this, especially to a stranger. Only her journal ever had the enormity of her feelings, her artistic yet depressing entries spurring each and every page with sorrow.

She continued with strong, calm words. "You can get rid of Truth for a time, but it will never truly go away. Telling someone what happened could bring you peace for a moment so you won't have to feel continuous pain." Lightning gave him a gentle smile, allowing crinkles to cloud around the corner of her eyes - something she hadn't ever allowed herself to do for a very long time. Staring at the boy, she hoped that he would actually tell her what happened. Her situation was just like his, a cat and mouse game with Truth, but her game was different. Nobody would ever accept the words of Lightning, ignoring her feelings and just telling her to get over it. She knew what it was like to be alone, and this boy and her were the same. But he had the chance to find peace with the truth - she didn't.

After she had offered him kindness, he stared at her for some time, looking shocked at her spontaneous wise words. Something about him made Lightning not want to hit him and instead ask him what was wrong. Then she turned it around. "I-I won't tell you anything. If I'd wanted to tell someone anything I would have done so already. And if you're done playing your hero act, you may well leave. I don't need you here." The boy instantly had a slight face of regret as he stared at Lightnings icy eyes. Drilling holes into him, she looked at him for awhile.

Her eyes shadowed over, and her face dropped into that of disapproval. Lightning's voice dropped just a tad lower, and then she whispered and spoke at the same time. "I would slap you, but I don't like hitting people when my nails are cut." Lifting her head up from the ground to undo her shadowed face, she stared at the boy, her head turned to the side, with her eyes narrowed and looking at him, while her face was blank. "Why must you say I am playing hero? I was never the hero, I was almost always the villain within my own sick and twisted games." Lightning looked away, pulling up the sleeves of her jacket to reveal the abundant scars on her wrists. "And also, before you ever dare to call someone a hero, make them do magic."

Lightning was 13 years old. Late at night, she cried her icy blue eyes out, to the point where tears couldn't flow anymore. Tears had flooded her vanity, to the point of her grabbing an old piece of sewing material and wiping it away. Feeling alone, she paced the room for awhile, looking at the various colors all around her. The colors only made her feel more alone, as she thought that even a building could hold more feeling than the solid stone girl that it held within its painted walls. Why doesn't anybody like me? Is there something wrong with me? Am I not pretty enough? Pacing her room faster, she thought of ways to make herself prettier. Makeup? Too expensive. Better clothes? I love my clothes the way they are... Lightning's legs gave way and she sat on the purple bed.

Thinking of different ways the make herself pretty, she looked around at her room once more. Then something struck her - maybe she could just humor them and cut herself. Maybe they would get what they wanted when she hurt herself. Going downstairs, she went to the knife rack and picked up a small serrated knife. Running to the bathroom, she looked at her wrists, the knife, and then the mirror. Taking the knife in her left hand, she created five lines on her wrists with her eyes closed, which instantly leaked crimson tears.

This behavior stemmed out for years. It wasn't just a game of sympathy anymore. It was a game to see how much blood had to be shed to make her happy. After a couple years, she came to the conclusion that nobody would care, and she began cutting to just cut. Even to this day, she cuts every other night, just out of habit. When she is feeling extra raw about something, she goes to the secret place where she keeps her box of fun things and that same piece of red cloth, looking forward to the fun she would have with her already scarred wrists.

As she recovered from her memory of her first self-harm, she looked at the boy, examining the terrified look on his face. He seemed alarmed at the pale, angry scars, and looked at her with upset green eyes as he asked her many questions. "Did you do that to yourself?" They both stared at each other for awhile, while Lightning thought of something to say. How could she ever say out loud that she did this on purpose just for the hell of it? Then, the boy slowly whispered the next question for her to painfully answer. Even though the question was so simple, it was hard to understand it. "Why?"

Lightning lifted her sleeves to the inside of her elbow so he could see every single dash on her entire forearm. She purposefully did this so he could possibly understand how long she suffered, and how often she suffered. Her thoughts of suffering had displayed themselves on her arms and her next words. "Yes. I was my own murderer. But in my own right, other people were my murderer, even indirectly. And as for why? When you are so upset you can't help but scream, you need a control in your life. You need something to make you feel connected with everything. And my personal control, was taking a knife to my wrists."

She paused for a moment, comprehending what she had just said. And the weird this was, was that it was all true. She was her own murderer, although others had spurred her to do such things (and they were later framed for horrific crimes by other people, as they had been cruel to many). She also realized that taking a knife up and stabbing herself in the wrists did leave her with a sense of connection, and also a distraction from her real life problems. But she also felt another feeling when she did cut, one that was never rid of when she decided that it was the night to hurt herself. She was always alone. Nobody would talk to her for the fear of her hurting them. Eventually she became cold, nearly heartless, only able to express her real feelings in the clothing she made at the factory.

Lightning momentarily closed her eyes, and breathed a deep sigh. Twisting her face into that of slight anger, she looked at the boy again, and mentioned her most recent thoughts to him. "Even though I did such gruesome things, it never helped my feelings of loneliness. Nobody ever dared to even look my direction and ask what was wrong. You have the chance to reverse a problem, and I will be the one to do so. I never had the chance to help myself. Now you, however, have one shot at getting rid of a problem. Tell me what happened. Please." At that moment, Lightning felt as though she was a piece of glass that had been struck by a rock; shattered and broken.

But also, for the first time in awhile, she felt like the weight of the world was off her shoulders. She wasn't just an old porcelain doll dashed to the floor in many different pieces. Lightning was a doll that had kept a secret note inside of her, and when she broke, she had revealed her true colors, making her feel free. I should have told someone long, long ago... she thought jokingly, as she kept a serious face and stared at the boy with a small twinge of anger as he would possibly tell her his problem. Then she decided to soften her harsh gaze, so she didn't seem so intimidating to him. She proposed to herself that years after unkindness was given to her, she had hardened her face into an unhappy glare. How could it be that very few years could possibly stain her for life?

After Lightning spoke, he looked at her for awhile, trying to find the words for his answer to her offer to help. She stared at him with softened eyes, and a face that displayed sorrow. "I keep myself distant from others, I like to keep it that way. Its. . .safer that way. I don't believe people when they talk to me, I don't trust anyone. I don't trust you either. Only, I keep wishing I did. I become. . . disturbed, I mean my mind does, because I don't trust anyone. I sometimes feel like I'm in a world, alone, living among people who may want to screw me. I feel as if it's too much to handle sometimes, and I act accordingly to my feelings. When I was running, I was trying to direct my mind away from my feelings, but I don't think it worked very well."

Lightning stared at him for awhile, assessing what he had just said. He and I are equals. Both of us are miserable. We both need someone to talk to. Looking at him for awhile, at a huge loss of words, he began to speak again. This question sent chills down her spine. "Uh. . .Lightning? What did you mean by a 'control' in my life? Do I really need one?" Her face paled and her face tensed up. She didn't display any emotion on her face, except her eyes. Her icy blue eyes widened, as if someone had hit her. What is a control? Staring at him for awhile, she had to gather the words to answer.

"A control is something to distract you from yourself. You need something to grasp onto when there is nothing else. For me, I found a control with cutting, and fashion designing. When I was stable, I would only express my emotions through my designs. When I was too upset, I found my emotions carved into my arms. But, I would never wish cutting upon someone. You should find something to do. Join track and field, do something." Lightning looked at him for awhile, trying to straighten out her emotions. But she couldn't will herself to do so. No matter how hard she tried, her face would only keep itself within a sullen look. Looking at his sad expression, she spoke once more.

"And I am sorry. I would never wish feelings of sadness upon another person. Nobody, even how wicked and cruel they are, deserves to feel helpless." Looking at the boy for awhile, she couldn't help but think about all the tortures he might of had to go through. She couldn't help but think of all the times he might have thought of dying. Why was it that there are some people who are miserable all their lives, and how was it there are some people who are totally crack-happy? Lightning thought about the irony of it all. Why must people be divided because of their emotional state?

After she spoke, the boy looked a little confused. Turning her words around in his head, he looked at her again, and spoke. "I accept your apology, though you don't have to feel sorry." He stared at her intently as she thought I wish I could say the same. Snapping out of his staring contest, he decided to take an interest in what she did for a living. "You said you liked fashion designing? What kind of things do you design?" At that moment, a smile lit up her face, an odd thing to happen with Lightning.

She felt like she wanted to get up and waltz. Somebody actually has an interest in what I do! Fighting herself to stay with him an not do a happy dance, she opened her black messenger bag and ripped out a sketch pad. Within it were drawings of the depressing scenery of District 9, realistic pictures of women she saw on the street, and of course the designs she had to complete each week for her clothing factory. Each design was unique; and extension of Lightning herself. "I design everything! Shirts, pants, shorts, shoes, socks... But not dresses. I hate dresses. And sometimes I just draw to draw."

Handing him the sketch pad, she looked at his face as he went through the many different pictures. Her emotions were directly on every single piece of paper. Was Lightning angry that day? There would be a design consisted of entirely black. Was Lightning feeling peaceful that day? There would be a very realistic sketch of two twin girls. Every single emotion had its own personal sketch. While he was looking through the sketch book, she realized she didn't even know who he was. "What's your name?" she asked slowly. Looking at him more intently, she looked at his lips in anticipation of a name.

While Lightning asked him his name, she left her position in front of him and squeezed in next to him to see which art piece he would react to. Looking at his face, she examined his eyes. Green eyes took in all of her artistic drawings of various things. I wonder why he actually took an interest in my art. Nobody ever does. Well, except the people at my factory who have to look at it. And what is it about this boy that intrigues me so greatly? Lightning always wanted a friend, but nobody really ever jumped out at her like friend material. And even though she had thought this a billion times, she knew that he would be a good friend.