DISCLAIMER: If I owned Twilight, I would turn Breaking Dawn into a musical. But since that isn't happening, I obviously don't own it ^_^
"Before the night owl / before the animal noises / closed circuit cameras / before you're comatose" -Radiohead
The first thing I remember is the rain. Even when it wasn't pouring, evidence of the incessant precipitation lingered. The humidity. Glistening asphalt. Puddles—dirty, imperfect reflections of what we think we see. The green. Green clinging to every branch, every hill, even the walls of the cookie-cutter houses.
The only other things I bother to remember are vague snippets of what used to be my world, a random picture-book assortment of memories torn, tattered, and worn by the passing of time.
My house, large, landscaped, decorated to perfection, empty…a house that never was a home. THEIR house, warm, cozy, quaint, brimming with family photos, apple-scented candles, and Paula Deen cheesiness. There's one particular crisp evening sometime in October, the air heavy with the scents of decaying leaves, pumpkins, and other smells that remind me, for whatever reason, of childhood. The playground. That never-changing billboard right beside Benders. Bathrooms. The time I did one too many lines and all I could do was jump on the trampoline, tears ruining my mascara. His hands. A day at La Push, all of us tan, glistening with sweat, young, free, at least for a day. His eyes. Mirrors. His hair. The wind. His smile. His frowns when he tried to save me.
I remember jealousy, anger, hate, and later, regret, constantly nipping at my carefully constructed numbness.
But that seems like a long time ago, when I was a different soul in the same shell. It's time to disappear.
A year earlier…