A short fic, told in Roxas's POV. I feel like I made her too bitchy though...
Rant :Ah. I feel so horrid for myself. The last thing I wrote was (gags) Roxine. And it HURT. But now I'm back to Roxiri. Even though I need feedback for this for other reasons, I decided, even though I'd get more there. I'd put it here. Because Roxiri beasts Roxine.
We sat under that old tree, up on that stupid hill, overlooking that huge lake, you know the one. The ideal "vacation" or "picnic spot", yeah, that lake. I hate this lake. But we're just sitting, not talking, not trying to make shapes and images out of clouds, or look for four leaf clovers for her to insult. I really didn't know why I agreed to this. I could be home, doing better things…like sleeping. But here I am. And I was content, just sitting… Playing with blades of grass…And then she started smoking. Turning to look at her, I watched. She attempted to make smoke rings, but unfortunately for her, she just ended up looking like a retarded goldfish.
"That's bad for your health." It is. Smoking kills people. Well, technically speaking, death kills people. Smoking just sets off that endless chain of black muck on your lungs that piles up and gives you cancer. And then those cancer cells infect your cells and so on…
"You're bad for my health." I hate when she does this. I hate when she just turns stuff around. Not only is it immature, most of the time it didn't even make sense.
"How am I bad for your health, you're the one plotting to kill me with second-hand smoking." Though with her, I'm not sure her smoking habits is what I should fear most.
"Listen kid, at least it's not dope." She insists on that word. Kid. She's three days older, three, and I'm a guy and taller and she still thinks she can get away with it. It's not fair.
"Marijuana is technically better for you." Well, health wise, it makes you stupid by killing brain cells, but not causing any health issues, while smoking just cuts off years of your life.
"Well at least I won't die stupid. If you want to die that way, be my guest."
I'm not sure how I want to die thank you. And it's not something I go pondering. But now that she's given me ideas of dying from other people's smoke, I'm just not sure how I would prefer to die. Honestly though, I would prefer to not die at all.
She yawned, obviously forgetting the cigarette in her mouth that could fall out. I hate being paranoid, I really do. But this is just too much. It's just there, so close to falling out.
"We need lemonade." She announced, moving the cigarette to her hand. I sighed, not realizing I had been holding my breath while watching her.
"We also need a frickin' fire hydrant for when you torch this place."
"It's Saturday right?" Oh, okay, just ignore me then. Burn the place down, see if I care when you're paying fees!
"Yeah?"
"Good deal." She then stood, flicking the cigarette to the ground, and I immediately began piling dirt on it. Idiot. Is she trying to get us arrested for arson? I looked back up at her to see her roll her eyes. "Come on," offering me her hand, "We're going to find yard sales."
We walked down the main street of a small subdivision. She said there should be loads of yard sales here. Even though I, in all of the seventeen years I've lived here, have never even noticed this place. So I didn't think that it would be so huge. We stopped at a few that were set up in the driveways; she looked over trinkets, stuffed animals and books, while I would scan the place for hats. And then when caught staring at a hat, was then teased about it. I have an unhealthy obsession with hats. Especially weird ones. And she knows about those, but she also knows that I never wear them. They're just their for my entertainment on rainy Mondays.
We were making our way back around to the entrance of the subdivision, she was carrying a panda bear she had purchased for three dollars, and was wearing one of the hats she saw me staring at. It was a pretty cool hat, kind of vintage, you know, like they wore in the fifties, a short bill and larger than the average baseball cap.
"Oh! Look there!" She grabbed my hand, pulling me over to small church that was at the exit of the subdivision. And, as our luck would have it, yard sale. Or is it a church sale? Rummage sale? Junk sale. Well, I guess it's more like an old lady sale.
Because, I know churches are usually varied in their, attendance or churchgoers and all. But I'm sure most of this church's population, just judging by the people and the items there, would definitely not be around in ten years. Seriously, the only time I had seen that kind of telephone was in the old movies my parents made me sit through. And even those didn't look that old.
She continued to pull me along, until we ended up in front of a large purple parachute. It was spread out, hanging off the end of a table, and looked like it had been through a hail storm. Or three.
"We have to get it." I'm sure if there was an official "WTF" face, it would be the expression I was currently wearing. Really? I will buy her a new one before I buy her that, because that thing just looks dangerous. What the hell does she need a parachute for anyway? And a ripped one at that? She turned to look at me with a smile. That smile. The one she used to get whatever she wanted, that half of a smile. Almost a smirk, but not really. But not this time. I was not wasting money on that.
"That, it doesn't look like it's in good shape."
"You don't look like you're in good shape." Blow to the ego point. Her: too many to count; and me: zero. But I am in shape…sort of. I'm just kind of…gawky.
"That's so childish."
"You're childish, now wait here while I go get one of these old ladies to take your money!"
First of all; how was I being childish, second of all, I could outrun those old ladies before they even got into ten feet proximities with my money. But, then again, there are a lot of them here…
She returned with a lady tailing behind her. And before I knew it, I was jumping as I felt her hand slid into my back pocket and fish out my wallet. I watched in horror as she dug through, counting out bills. But instead of arguing with her, I simply watched the exchange.
Handing me the panda bear, she began carefully folding the parachute into a more reasonable size. And soon, we were heading back to her house.
I don't know why she enjoyed living in her basement. But every since we dared to venture down here as kids, she had decided she wanted her room to be down here. So her parents did some remodeling, and voila, "Happy Birthday…We're moving you down to our basement." I'm sure I would have cried as a kid. Actually, I think I did anyway.
We'd been down here a couple of hours, she had been sewing the parachute back up, which, I didn't know she could, and she was still sewing it back up.
And, I'm bored. She won't let me play music, turn on the television, or even leave the room for food. The only thing I've been allowed so far is a bathroom run that she gave me two minutes on. And even worse, I'm not allowed to talk unless she talks to me. Otherwise I face a wad of fabric to the face. And she has perfect aim for the eyes.
"Go get me a soda." Oh, as you wish your majesty, but might I ask, may I have one as well? "Me. A soda." I take that as a yes.
"Has this always been down here?" I was leaning into the closet space under the stairs that continued on with the rest of the house. Looking at the junk that was piled inside to make room for her.
"What?" She didn't bother walking over to me, but I could tell she was interested. When I turned around, her butt was still in the air as she hung over the futon, sewing. No, I'm not being serious; I'm surprised she even answered.
"This parachute." She then flipped over the futon, landing in the floor. And then she was beside me, she looked up and pulled the chain hanging from the ceiling, and the small room was illuminated.
"That's not a parachute!" And indeed, it wasn't, it was a maroon hot air balloon.
"Kid, get that out of there." And so I did.
It has been two weeks since we bought that parachute. And now, we're back at the lake. Only now, we have said parachute…and a hot air balloon.
She got her dad to repair it, and demanded I take a ride with her in it, and I was forced to agree. Only…two problems, one, that thing seemed unsafe, it's been in their basement for twenty years, and two; I am afraid, of heights.
Her parents are standing on the hill, watching us. And she's clambering all over it. Checking the propane tanks and burner. But does she really even know what she's doing?
But I'm just standing, well, leaning against the basket. Waiting for her to give the orders. I'm nervous, if something happens, we have the parachute. We have a parachute. Which then makes me question her parent's sanity. They must think that if something happens, I will give her the parachute, while I fall to my death… Now I know they don't like me. Maybe I wouldn't give it to her. So like that.
"Ready?" Turning, I see, she's already in the basket, wearing one of the aviator hats I had collected over the years. Smiling she offers a hand.
I step in, and soon she's yelling at her parents to make sure they have 911 on speed dial because I'm sure to fall out. And I thank you for that concern, I really do.
I then realize I really don't want to do this, the burners are lit. And we're rising. And I need an inhaler.
Laughing, she leans over the side as we continue to rise, and I cautiously grab the back of her jacket hood, just to be sure.
And now, I can see everything, we're up here. And the whole town is below us. All of it. I can see the string of schools, the far off hospital, and even our houses. To which she yells and points at, jerking on my jacket sleeve.
It's windy, but she removes her jacket, and throwing it in the bottom of the basket. Looking back at me she laughs.
"Take it off!" And I do. Even if it is freezing. This is her day, and I'm okay with it.
As we move through the sky, she decides she wants to play I Spy, and so we do. And as I'm fighting to come up with things, she guesses on the first try, while I struggle to guess hers.
But even though I'm scared out of my wits, stressed as hell because I'm sure I'll run out of I Spy ideas soon, being up here with her, in this maroon cold hot air balloon, makes me never want to touch back down. And maybe we won't, maybe we won't have to.
Love it? Hate it? Let me know. Please.