"Florence! Where are you? You're going to be late!" The tight lipped woman stalks away from the bottom of the stair case. Striking green eyes make eye contact with themselves in the mirror as the thin brunette calls back to her foster mother.
"I'm coming. I'm almost ready. I won't be late again, I promise." Florence bends to snatch her black cross body bag. Her getaway bag. Not large, but enough. If something were to happen while she was at school today and she were not to return back to this house, she would have what's important to her. Many years as a foster child, passing through family after family, has taught Florence never to settle, never to give in to the illusion of safety. Because in an instant, everything can change. Your house can change, your state can change, your family can change. Your life can change. So Florence doesn't get close to her families anymore. She gives them the illusion that she is yet keeps her innermost being guarded and safe. Slipping on her shoes, Florence hurries down the stairs.
"There you are, silly girl. Have you taken your medicine yet today? I keep telling you if you prayed more you wouldn't need it. Of course, you look like a witch today so the Good Lord might be wise and overlook you anyways. Come on. Off you go." The middle aged woman appears and acts older than she actually is, strict and stern and straight as a rod. And often by the rod. At least her husband is. A proper Christian woman should never be the one to handle discipline in the household.
It's not like I want to take those stupid little pills anyways. And don't you think I've tried praying? Praying that my father would come back? That I'd be safe? That the next family would be nicer? Trust me, lady. I've prayed. I've prayed harder than you've ever done in your entire life. But did it help? No. Florence swings her bag down and pulls out the little orange bottle under her foster mother's strict supervision. The two women, one older and one younger, stand roughly eye to eye as Florence downs the pills with a swig of coffee. She shoves the medicine bottle back into her bag and grabs her coffee as she heads out the door. The walk to school isn't far, and the weather isn't bad. Florence breathes in the fresh fall air and closes her eyes for a few steps. Her gait is proper and elegant, accentuated by her long graceful neck extending from her turtleneck and her long skirt flowing behind her. She hums a sweet Hungarian folk song as she nears the school, the music in her head providing a distraction from the chaotic noise from the students. Her slight smile begins to fade as she can no longer drown out the comments directed at her.
"Hey, witch! Why don't you fly to school instead of walk? You know, on your broomstick?"
"Wow, what's wrong with her? Is she gothic? I bet she cuts herself and sleeps around."
"Are you kidding me? Who'd sleep with that?" Florence rolls her eyes at the stupidity of high school students.
"Whose funeral are you going to? Your mom's? Or is it your dad's? Oh wait. You don't know what happened to your dad!" Laughter erupts from the crowd.
"Poor loser. Even her own parents didn't love her." Florence's slight smile of earlier is gone, a mask of unfeeling in place once again. Today is Friday. Chess day. It'll be alright. Florence wearily pulls open the door to the high school, hoping the worst of the day is over.