author's note: this will be a four-part drabble series (first attempt at writing, so not too much harsh feedback, 'kay?)
-arabella
[winter]
There are voided spaces in time.
You don't know where they really are, but sometimes, there's just these little cracks of little infinities. They're beautiful, to say the least; they're everything that a person could ever wish for seeing, those flashbacks and memories and cinematic daydreams all wrapped up into a beautiful bundle: hopes and wishes, goals unreached.
She just masks her dissapointment and walks on.
Her shoulders are bent, snow flurries spinning in the shape of a tornado, a never-ending circle around her frail body. Skye Hamilton has always wanted to see the world: to travel through all of space and time, the empty dimensions, to see the worst of the world and the best of it; she's just wanted to travel. Skye is a small-town girl, with dreams that could encompass the entire of the country, though.
Rejection is not, perhaps, the sweetest of surprises that one could expect on a Christmas 'morn; she woke up, ran down the staircase without brushing her hair, and was caught on camera, paparazzi filming her state of utter humiliation after not being accepted into another year of the Alpha Academy. And the worst part of all, was that, her parents were there.
Skye's parents were really never there, for her.
Yet at the worst moments of her life, they always seemed to turn up; just, when they really shouldn't have been there. Their eyes are empty, milky white pearls, yet slanted all at the same time, and Skye can hear the words of emptiness. "Why, Skye? Why can't you ever be good enough?"
"I'm going out," she comments, when the paparazzi finally leaves.
Walking through the snow, Skye examines the world around here: it's painted, like an oil canvas, in all its perfect Westchester white magnificence. Unlike most days, where Skye sits down on the porch and admires the never-ending perfection, she just wants to destroy the bland world around here. Sometimes, on days like these, Skye feels like she's living in a dollhouse.
It's just a little too perfect to be considered real.
In a million years, Skye would never admit the fact, but she yearned for something that had flaws (just not herself, 'kay?). She found beauty in imperfection: blind eyes that turned up, yet could never see the light.
.
.
.
Am I crazy? she asks to her mother, who's cleaning the mahogany table, near the foyer. Her mother looks up, just for a slight second, almost ignoring the question in its entirety, before looking down once more.
It's almost impercetible, but Skye can see a nod. Yes, yes, Skye. You're senile.
.
.
.
The snow carries along a midsummer's breeze, and the seasons change.