undertow.

Chapter Two

She flicked the spark wheel of her cigarette lighter, the flame rose slowly from its enclosure a strong blue colour before turning orange as it licked the air in front of Clary's face. She let the clasp go and the light was gone just like that, what was once was so strong before suddenly was no more. Her thoughtful expression continued to stare blankly ahead as she repeated this step a couple more times before introducing the cigarette to the curling flame. It wrapped around the tip, kissing the sides as it smouldered and burned letting off a crisp smoke as the flame danced with it for a few more seconds then was cut out just as quick as a click of the fingers. She drew the smoke into her lungs, it coursing down her throat embracing her windpipe as if they were old friends.

Her friends had once described it as setting fire to their insides for fun, something she's never really understood until now. It was new to her, this need to crave something potentially life threatening, something that could just cut her down in her youth. She had her reasons and they were just as fucked up as everyone else's her age but not everyone her age had lost someone they held so dearly close to them that when they were gone it felt like their hearts had been ripped out and buried with them.

Clary drew in another puff. Her eyes watering.

She'd stopped coughing after every breath, last week, now she'd made it more convoluted than ever before and the arches around her closed in tighter, claustrophobically close like they knew her dirty little secret and pretended to hide her behind pillars till she'd finished. It was quiet here, she liked it that way, just her and her thoughts – it was peaceful where her life was otherwise not and the silence of the cemetery was a great deal better than the silence of an empty house full of grieving paintings and an old life she forgot she ever had happiness in before.

As the snow fell in flurries around her waist and lower limbs she held out her hand and allowed flakes to settle on her black and white patterned mittens. Had she not let go completely of everything her past self had to offer what Clary did next would have seemed all too immature for her to comprehend. As the blizzard picked up; the snowfall became more frantic and her heart longed to dance in it like she had done when she was 5, when you were spinning in a chaotic circle round and round and round everything merged into itself and the one thing you need think about was not falling over... you would fall in the end, sick to you stomach, dizzy and devoid of senses... but when you fell over and you were 5, there was always someone to pick you up, dust you off, set you right and watch laughing as you did it again.

Clary flung herself out from under the arches; arms outstretched spinning around like a wild girl her red hair dancing with her, splayed out in all directions, snow falling all around her, meeting her skin with a cold sting and sprinkling snow-dust in her hair. At some point the cigarette slipped from her grasp and disappeared in the undergrowth, the snow continued to whip around her and before long her head tilted back looking high into the gray sky she opened her mouth and let out a small laugh of absolutely, undeniable joy...

Is this what freedom felt like? Being a child for once and not having to face the adult life you were so cruelly catapulted into against your freewill?

Clary didn't care, for a moment she felt that freedom, felt a little of what people described as "your heart soaring" - the graves around her melded and she forgot where she was; forgot that down the way somewhere was a grave for a family member. Her spinning came to a bitter end when her shin collided with the tombstone next to the one she had come to visit. The one she had visited every day since they had lowered the coffin in the frozen ground. The dizziness and sickness that followed her recent flight of freedom was accompanied by bile when guilt flooded her for the lack of respect she had to dance over the graves of those already passed. She gagged a little wishing she'd passed on lunch before coming down here.

Her heart hurt.

Coming to a standstill at the headstone Clary reached into her pocket and pulled the lighter out, flicking at the spark wheel again, she lifted another cigarette into the flame and puffed. She felt warm liquid trickling down her leg and seeping into her sock. Another puff and a cough quickly followed.

And if you're still bleeding, you're the lucky ones...
'Cause most of our feelings, they are
dead and they are gone...

Simon had tried to guilt trip her this morning – her head though still recovering from dizziness remembered him pulling the cigarette from her mouth, stomping on it and exclaiming that she'd kill herself like she'd killed her mother... He'd looked at her aghast, he hadn't meant to go that far, his glasses slipped down his nose and he pushed them back up hurriedly attempting to explain his loose mouth and his equally loose words.

"She'd kill herself, like she killed her mother"

She'd stared at him blankly, tears pricking her eyelids as she tried so desperately not to cry, her breath came in ragged gasps and she had hit out at him, pushed him and denied his explanations entry to her ears as she ran away, her vision blurred by the tears that flowed so freely now. She didn't get very far before she was heaving through her corrupted lungs like they were made of paper. And somehow she had found herself here; here in the midst of one of the worst Winter blizzards hiding out in a cemetery with her dead mother.

Looking down at the cigarette in her hand, it's glowing tip so bright in the grey haze that continued to snow around her. It was a comfort she thought she needed, thought it helped her to get over the death of her mother, but the real reason was that by systematically sucking the smoke into her lungs Clary felt in control. She had wondered when the hurt would stop, only to realise that the hurt she felt was inflicted onto her by her own hand and not that of her mothers passing. Lifting her gaze from her mothers onyx black marble headstone her eyes met a new figure gracing the next plot over from where she stood; the elegant tomb had a stone angel rising magnificently from it's face; triumphant, yet loving and almost sorrowful, giant wings unfurled above him, a sweet angelic face.

Clary sank to the ground, her hand reaching out for her mom's name on the headstone;

"Oh mom, I miss you so much... I don't know where to turn. I'm so lost without you... I wasn't ready for you to go and more than anything in the world I am so so sorry that it was because of me..."

She stayed that way for more than an hour; her heart achingly burning out word after word as if her mother was standing only a few feet away alive and well. She talked about Simon and their scuffle that morning, she apologised for starting a habit that endangered her life and promised not to pick up another stick. Her heart reached out to her step dad Luke who had all but fallen apart when Jocelyn had left him and her daughter alone in the world. Eventually, when there was no more to say, Clary kissed her hand and stroked her mother's name etched into the elegant marble stone and whispered her goodbyes;

"I love you mom, see you tomorrow..."

Stiffly she hauled her body up and slipped the mittens back over her chilled hands, taking in a lungful of uncorrupted air, adjusted her hood and glanced up in the direction of the stone figure one last time... "Oh to have wings..." she thought "Freedom..." she whispered.. and disappeared into blizzard, red hair billowing out of her hood.

The stone that held the angel high above it's shimmering face, glinted in the snow and not due to the sun. It's corner edge had been shunted by the spinning of a girl hidden in utmost joy, a girl who dented her shin and bled the colour red into it's base. It dribbled down the white stone and soaked into the grass below. And for a time nothing happened; the stone was stained but only slightly. When a crack broke across the stone and a chunk of rock slipped from the angel statue no one was around to hear, no-one but the angel himself. From the place where the rock broke away a pale colour emerged, unlike that of the stone encasing – the pale colour looked like skin and was corrupted with an ink rune...

Angelic Power.

(Lyric Credits: "Youth" by Daughter)