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Second Sight
Amy Jackson | | | | | |
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The girl pushed her hair out of her face and concentrated on the vision in
front of her. The sun was strong and the heat was intense, but she knew
that if she moved her eyes or even blinked, what she saw would be lost.
Loss.
She knew all about that. Loss was the feeling she hated most, she could
cope with pain and hate, but loss? She hated that feeling, almost as much
as she hated. she didn't dare say his name. She didn't have to think about
him anymore. She didn't need to think about him and his precious lies and
his devious glances and sly smiles. But she knew that before long she would
have to face him. All over again. And then again, and again, for as long as
was necessary. Or for as long as she could stand, she could never decide
which. Decisions, decisions, she thought to herself. How she had got into
this mess she didn't know. She remembered when they first met, talking
about music and concerts and books. Music. Her one true love. Her CD
player skipped, but still she kept her eyes fixed in front of her. Even
this stupid mess was more important then love. And hate. Hate. Had she
really felt like that? Ever? Yes. Only towards him, and even then she
didn't want to hate him because he wasn't worth it. But something.
Something made her heart leap when his name was mentioned, or when he passed
in the street and met her gaze for a split second that felt like hours.
Hours.
Time was something that, towards the end, she had not even contemplated.
Time stood still when they were together. Bombs could fall from the sky
into her street, but if he was holding her, none of that mattered. Nothing
mattered when they were together. She thought they were invincible. She
was wrong. Her eyes were watering. She knew she must not blink. She felt
pain.
Pain. It had driven her mad. Jealousy, rage, hate, all stemmed from pain.
Was pain the one true feeling? She didn't know. As much as she tried to
concentrate in front of herself, her head was filled with thoughts and
feelings, and in her heart, she still felt pain. When he spoke, she knew
that in every word, there was an under-current, another meaning to what he
was saying. It was all for her. About her. She knew that much.
She was crying without blinking. She hadn't thought that possible, but here
she was, doing it. She fixed her watery gaze straight ahead as the tears
continued to fall. Why was she crying? She didn't know. She felt a bit
better. She had to concentrate on the task in hand, but the heat and the
bright sun and the noises around her and the thoughts in her head told her
to do the opposite. She wanted to go home, go to her bed and cry. She
wanted to sit in front of the TV, eat ice cream and cry. Or just cry.
Crying was her pass-time since that day. Since he left. But what she
wanted was not as important as this. She could hear people around her,
trying to understand what she was doing. They stopped and asked her why
this was so important, but she didn't answer. She just stared ahead.
It was dusk. The street was calm and quieter, but still she sat, gaze fixed
straight ahead on the object. Thing. What was it? It was captivating; it
had held her gaze all day and made her contemplate all of her deepest
emotions, but still she didn't know what it was. Maybe it had been sent to
make her think? She didn't know. She had thought for so long, about him,
them, the whole sorry, sour mess. Sour. Now there was a word. It
described exactly how she felt. About him. Just sourness, like the smell
of old milk, or bad eggs, or rotten fish.
She was still watching, listening.
Her eyes grew heavy. She could feel sleep creep up on her. She tried to
pull each and every last bit of energy up so she could watch for as long as
possible. She could hear some people approaching behind. They stopped.
She stared ahead, but listened to what they were saying, and doing. A voice
seemed familiar. She concentrated, allowing her eyes to rest slightly, but
still fixed ahead. Yes, the voice was familiar; she knew it almost too
well. It called out. "Hey! What are you doing sat there?" It was him.
She blinked.
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