The morning sunlight streams through my window. I walk to the bathroom to brush the foul taste out of my mouth thinking everyone was still asleep.
Stepping out into the hall a few minutes later, I realize that it’s only five thirty. Figuring breakfast won’t be for at least an hour; I get dressed and venture around the train. I come across a multitude of cabins, the dining hall, and a recreation room complete with a T.V. Then I stumble upon a door at the rear end of the train. I carefully turn the knob and slide open the door. The chill of the morning air hits my face. The silhouette of someone tall—either Marcus or Dillon, I thought—stood near the railing of the small balcony. I hurry to shut the door, wanting to give whoever it was some privacy.
“Hello?” they ask turning to the squeak of the door.
“Sorry Marcus,” I say, defining him by his chestnut colored hair. “I’ll just leave you alone.”
“No, it’s okay. Stay,” he says clearly wanting company. I walk to the railing and let the breeze play with my blonde hair. I gaze intently at the sun, still near the horizon, almost forgetting Marcus was standing next to me.
“You usually up this early?” he asks.
“Yeah. My dad always took me hunting early in the morning,” I reply. Marcus tears his eyes away from the scenery.
“You hunt?” he asks, surprised. “I thought girls cooked and sewed.” This annoys me, but I know he didn’t mean to irritate me so I just shake my head.
“Not this girl,” I say almost defiantly. “Never had the patience to sit in the kitchen or sew.”
“Well Skye,” he starts, “I guess there’s more to you than I thought.” This catches me. I’m not sure if I should feel angry or flattered nor am I sure how to reply, so I concentrate on the rolling hills we pass by. The next few minutes are spent silent, so when I hear the door squeak, I’m almost relieved.
“Hey it’s time for break—” Rosalind starts to chime. Marcus and I turn around and Rosalind backs up a bit.
“I’m not interrupting, am I?” she asks, blushing.
“No,” I reassure her. “Not at all. Right?” I ask, looking at Marcus.
“Right,” he murmurs.
“Thanks Rosalind,” I say as the three of us head inside.
On the table sat a copious amount of food, very carefully arranged. Rosalind, Marcus and I join Olivia and Dillon at the table. We fill our plates with small amounts of food, no larger than the servings were accustomed to. The room is quiet except for Dillon who is crunching on a slice of toast.
“So Skye,” Olivia says, breaking the silence, “What were your parents like?” The question shouldn’t have surprised me, but it did. I run to my cabin, slam the door shut, and flop on my bed, crying. I hear the door slide open, but don’t bother to look up.
“Skye, I’m really sorry,” Olivia said. “I didn’t mean to—”
“No, I’m sorry,” I manage to get out. “You deserve to know.” I see Dillon appear behind her.
“It’s fine if you don’t want to talk about it,” she says gently.
“Thanks.”
“You know Skye,” Dillon says, “we all know how you feel.” I consider this. It’s true. They had all experienced the dark night of the massacre, and lost their beloved parents. Just like me.
“And we’re all here for each other,” he continued. I give him a smile. He sits on my bed and wipes away my tears.
“Thank you,” I whisper. The train halts.
“And here we are, Grindelia Village!” the conductor booms over the intercom.
No comments:
Post a Comment