Sarah’s
room smelled of patchouli and cherry blossoms, mixed with an earthy incent
burning in the corner. It was painted a
lighter shade of pink, which was a color she must have despised, as most of it
was masked with rock band posters, artwork, and writing by friends amidst each
wall. One picture in particular stood out to me, and I couldn’t help but
question it. I knew the figure very well, as we’d learned about it together in
eighth grade history. But I couldn’t put together why she’d hang this hateful
man with a stoic mustache across bed she’d rest in every night.
“He started
an entire war by himself, he was a genius…” she’d explain.
I nodded my head, “He did get away with mass genocide.”
Her smirk said it all, how proud she was of what I could learn
in such a short instant.
Catherine
was protruding in her stomach now, lightly stretching the five-pointed star
tattoo on her hip, something I was envious of. She had wanted to get drunk, but
her pregnancy was quite obviously the reason that inspired her sobriety. Once
the baby was born, she had flawlessly gone back to her old ways, living it up
without consequences until her fatal accident.
Her face
drooped a little blankly now, as a heated question pondered in the back of her
mind before it poked out of her mouth. She sighed and lightly touched the
subject. Her voice trembled as if he was a forbidden spirit, which shouldn’t be
mentioned.
“Where’s
Peter been, Elyse…”
It took me a moment to process an answer that was
believable, but sarcasm took over me quickly, as usual.
“Drinking
liquid poison, fighting medieval battles, anything but look for a new job.” I’d
admit I was continuously bitter when it came to Peter’s aloof lifestyle. “I
don’t care,” I added, although the tone of my voice didn’t match that last
statement. I’d never lied well, like telling the truth was a curse my aunt put
on me. I laughed to myself in my mind, wondering what she would think if I
browsed Sarah’s bookshelf and took A Witches Bible, or Mein Kampf back to the
dorm to study. It’s almost certain that she’d tell me I was too young or naïve
to comprehend those types of books, but I knew fully well I could suck
information out of that literature, like a psychic vampire. She did not grasp
my abilities, as they were not for a woman like her to understand.
Sarah
snapped her fingers in front of my face to bring me back to reality. She was
one of the few to take my flashbacks lightly; it didn’t scare her like it did
the others. “Let’s go for a walk,” she pleaded. Catherine must have been doing
anxious flips inside of her stomach again. I pulled a clove cigarette from my handmade,
knitted pouch. “Sure, I’m ready to head out.” I had business to take care of
soon, anyway.
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