STORMS

cinq

05 —
HER.

two years ago

winter was over, and it had been for a while now, but layers of snow still froze lee iseul's heart. the alienated girl had distanced herself from all things she considered dangerous, so very cautious of the smallest things because of her abiding fear of being touched. so when the plump lady came into her designated room, she faked being unconscious to avoid exchanging good nights and her wrinkly fingers twiddling with her hair as she tells her to be good or she'll never find a home. she hated the scorching, raspy voice of the elder women yelling satanic verses to the many foster children. that's how she knew it was dinner time. iseul had been anticipating this moment, the feet of the children rumbling against the creaking wooden floor to get to the table first. the loud sound that would muffle the ear–bleeding squeak of the window rolling up. the sound of lee iseul escaping.

she couldn't count how many times she rolled her eyes each time the sun set. she just grew sick of the way the sunset looked through the dirty glass. was more than annoyed with her roommate who talked her ear off about her teenage rebellion, first time doing it in a fast food restaurant bathroom when she was sixteen. that was only a year ago. from the moment iseul was brought into this blue world, freedom was not a word she could use like everyone else. freedom was locking her door from her addict parents, the sound of needles and grunts telling her they were too fucked up to even remember she existed, freedom was when her father died and mother left; leaving her in this foster home. the only memory she has of the male was his nauseating acts, lights off in the master bedroom with a story book to mask the fear. stupid fairytales could never light up the dark. she hates books. sleeps with the light on.

iseul was always mistaken for abstract art, a radiant facade. the reality was a ghost girl who cried jewels, always used for her hidden sparkle. a ghost girl who sometimes wished she could be dead, gone from the savage world who had all the power to rip her apart. nobody truly knew her. nobody knows that her eyes have a ring of caramel around the raven, or that she has two small moles underneath her collarbone, that even if she distanced herself she still tries to make other people smile when she isn't capable of being happy herself.

she scans the room one last time, bag thrown over her shoulder and right leg halfway out the window with the strawberry banana sky calling her name along with the distant voice behind her. she turns dramatically, scared the unknown voice will accidentally reveal her long awaited escape. it's a sickly boy leaning against the door frame, a hard cough straining his throat. it's the boy she still struggled to make smile. the new boy came in last week after his parents died, court still forcing him into foster care even if he turned eighteen in about a month. "are you leaving?" he crosses his arms over his wrinkled shirt.

iseul quickly brings her index finger toward her lips, hushing intensely. "keep your mouth shut," she barely whispers. she'd been planning this forever and unlike the soon–to–be–leaving boy, the seventeen year old girl would still have an entire year to go. "why aren't you at the dinner table, idiot? i don't need help so go now, and don't you dare tell anyone about this."

he pauses debating whether or not to tell her that she could use his window which is wrapped in tree branches, and that the sound of the other kids running did not hide the screeching sound at all, but he is a simple man. if she does not need help, he will not help. "good luck." a sense of emptiness washes over her when the boy whose name she does not know walks away, sniffling up his sickness.