i've already :: [rook] :: wrecked myself

This graveyard is barren, void of all life, and yet I swear I can hear you.

My feet trudge along the rubble before me, charred wood and particles of ash crumbling upon contact with my feet. It's been years since my childhood home went up in flames, a thousand smiles and a thousand happy memories burning with it, and yet I can still see wisps of smoke rise from the destruction with help from even the frailest of winds. Nothing remains, no photographs or chipped teacups, nor any trinket to remember the innocence of my youth by. Mama's skeleton was the last thing they drug from this wasteland, and with her, they dragged out my heart, too.

A soft wind starts to blow, strands of my hair gliding across the flesh of my face, and echoing in the distance I can hear the laughter of a happy girl that once was, squealing alongside her sister as their mother's chuckles of amusement join in on the apocalyptic serenade. I can hear it, still, the glee of a life once before - but never again will I see it, a heart once warm. A sigh escapes my lips as I lower myself to the crisp ground, knees pressing into the bits of ash and causing them to disperse into the air.

Am I but a frail blow of wind?

My slender fingers poke into the dust, palms scooping up nothing, but holding everything. I bring the particles of my childhood kingdom up to my nose and inhale, my mind registering nothing but a horrid and burnt stench, but my heart finding solace in the aroma of my mother's homemade stew, and the flowers my sister and I used to place upon the dining table. My eyes close, locking my thoughts within the pure mindset that I used to hold, but upon unclenching my fist and allowing the dust to be snatched away by the wind's fickle fingers, I find both my eyes peeling open and my mind right back in the confinements of its own personal Hell.

I rise slowly, hands not even bothering to wipe away the ash that clings to my form. I lift my hood over my head, the gusts of wind so fragile, so true growing in strength. I shiver, both at the chilling breeze and the thought of what my sister will do if I take any longer arriving home, and I turn away without even bothering to take one last glance at the life I once knew; why torture myself with the things I can never keep?

I start my journey "home" - an alleyway with nothing but bony dogs and a sister who hates me more than she hates herself - as the sky grows dark, my eyes glancing upwards at the pale sun that slowly succumbs to being tucked in by the motherly hands of the gray clouds. If I am to make it to my destination before the howling screams and falling tears of a wounded storm begin to descend upon Four, I should walk a little faster, a little braver.

The pile of decayed memories is almost out of view by the time soft droplets of rain begin to trickle down from the clouds, a mockery of what bullets will soon fall. My neck arches backwards, examining the sky as I swallow. Even if Ripred himself was to guide me, I'd still never make it home in time. Moreover, is it better to wait out a storm in solitude, or alongside a sister so cruel, so foul?

I'd prefer the isolation.

Jogging into a nearby crevice between two buildings, small enough to block out the rain and big enough to move around in, I exhale. I lean against one of the two walls, lowering my hood and running a hand through my dampened strands of hair. My arms cross themselves over my chest, my mind somewhat enjoying the thought of an extra moment to be alone; I damn the cause of what my sister will say or do.

This is no burnt place of happy memories, nor a place where the echoes of my youth scratch their way into my eardrums, but it feels more like home than any place has in a long time. I find my chapped lips forming into a smile, a first in quite some time, and I allow a laugh to fall from my lips. I lean my head back against the wall, eyes glancing up at the tiny crack between the two buildings. The sky is a dark torrent, the sound of the howling wind finding its way into the crevice, but here I feel safe.

Here I feel; here I wish I could remain.

Still, finding momentary peace or not, it takes nothing but a small creak within the alleyway to send the muscles in my bodies tensing, arms pushing me off from the wall. I lift my hood back up, hiding the burn marks that linger upon my neck, and lift my arms in a stance that clarifies that I'm not just some little girl to mess with. I'm the girl who broke herself, but refuses to be broken by anyone else. 

I'm the girl who thinks too damn much.

"Who's in here?" I spit, inching closer to where I heard the noise. "You're not gonna hurt me." - I've already wrecked myself.