BREATH . OF . LIFE . ~ { ReGenisis Chronicles Book I }

Chapter Four [Part 4/5]: The Living Dead

                      -Kate Firethorn-

      Staring out of my third story window, curled up at the padded box built beneath it, my warm fingers pressed to the cold glass, feeling the pulse of the rain tap against it. Outside a large driveway covered in seasonal leaves, all hues of amber, red and brown, becoming darker as the water washed over them. At the centre of it was an old round fountain that had long stopped tippling water from its Romanesque figurine's hands, as if she was giving it as a gift to the world. Now she was truly stationary, locked in one state of beautiful disrepair forever. Like me, I guess. 

Leaves floated in the basin around the figurine and so marred the surface that you could think it was solid with them until something made them sway. 

A couple hours ago my father's long black Jaguar had been sat next to the fountain as he pulled on his thick leather gloves, passed his driver who tipped his head and pulled open a door for him. My father had glanced up at my window, knowing he'd see me staring out at the dense wood that surrounded our house near Bow Brickhill. His dark lavender eyes were cold on my face, his lips stern, everything about his slim figure perfect, from his sandy blonde hair to his creaseless suit. Rigid, cold, controlled. 

But for me he'd turn up the corner of his top lip, his eyes would soften, his hand would lift to indicate an almost wave to the shadow behind the windowpane. My fingers would touch the glass, remaining as stationary as that statue and my life had been, and my father would sigh, his expression grave. Then he'd turn into his open car door, getting in without a second glance back. The wheels of his Jaguar churning up dirt and leaves as it made its way down the trail, re-finding the trench it had made when it had arrived yesterday. 

My father rarely comes home and his car is the only one to traverse our driveway. 

Cased in, away from the world. Sat up in a window like a porcelain doll on a shelf. Staring out at life and the living, yearning to get down and be something more than an imitation of health and beauty. Wanting, for once, to have a choice. 

I was tired of it. I sighed, my hot breath steaming the glass and casting an eerie, magical fog on the beer stained trees  built up like walls about my prison. I turned my face away from the cold light of the window and into the warm dim of my room, made grey by the clouds outside. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the change. 

The shadows of my room were made more powerful by the airy white of the walls. My room was like a museum, trapped in time. A child's room forever, with a four-post bed covered in lace and frills, china dolls sat in a careful row on the hamper at its foot. Obnoxiously extravagant pillows taking up the head end of my bed. It was any child's dream. But I hadn't been a child for a long time and despite the changes in me, how I was treated remained the same. 

 I slipped my socked feet quietly off of the window seat. I was careful to miss the loose floorboard near my bed as I tip-toed over to it and pulled on my thick, brown leather walking boots. My heart was already beating quickly in my chest as I finished lacing up and stood to grab the backpack hidden under one of my puffy throw-pillows. 

I stared at the remote on my bedside table and picked it up, pressing the on button and setting it to my favourite music channel. I let the sound of it blare and set the control back down before grabbing my brown aviator jacket from where it had been thrown over the end of my bed and made my way to the door. I twisted the handle gently, cringing as I heard the tick, tick, ping of its parts rolling and shifting. I let out a sharp sigh as it came open with less of a noise. 

 I peeked out into the hallway.  I could see the red light from a security camera up in the top corner to the right of the hall, that way it was best at capturing movement going up or down the stairs. The guard who was usually stationed outside of any room I was found inside of, had his head drooped forward where he sat in his chair, asleep. Still, I didn't like my chances against a motion sensitive camera.