one
Autumn leaves whirled in light swirls as the black BMW drove steadily by, cracking fallen petals of nature. I gazed involuntarily in the paned glass window; Wisteria seemed so foreign since my last visit. Perhaps it was the fire that convinced me to return. My eyes sub-consciously drooped, flickers of memories rewinding from the present.
"Run, Val!" her sere voice muffled between gray smokes that throbbed her throat. I remained curdled in the corner, hands trembling, fiery flames blocked my path…I knew it was the end. Blindly, an anonymous hand clutched onto my own, I was hauled to my feet and confronted with the most alluring dark orbs that muted me. We stood motionlessly in the peaks of immense flame, my legs became weightless and I became aware of his heaving chest against my eardrums. He rotated, only to find the stage banister tumbling in our direction; he bent his body forward and rolled his body in a semi-circle. We landed on the theater's hot ground and he cushioned my fall. The banister missed us by mere inches and he brought me in his arms once more, striving toward the nearest exit. We arrived outside, smoke residue smoldering our faces. A fading scream reached me before I melted in unconsciousness.
Enticed as I was in the memory that befuddled me since twelve months ago, I was deficient to hearing Paul calling my name.
"Miss Valerie…Miss Valerie…are you okay?" I met his concerned eyes, my lips parted slightly in confusion.
"Yes, Paul?"
"We're here," he announced the second time with the slight stoop of his head.
'Oh', I mouthed, nodding gently in comprehension. I slouched in my seat, waiting for Paul. The car door opened and I felt the hard ground sending back feeling to my legs. The door closed after a range of steps I took away from the vehicle.
Paul popped the trunk, bringing out my luggage and sealed it before carrying it for me to the entrance. He is a middle-aged man with three adorable granddaughters/sons and our family's chauffeur. My father was his high-school friend and he was like a second dad to me. To him, I was like a daughter. I gazed hi and lo at the tall building, Chase College.
I was limited to theatrical area, which was besides the tall building. Raymond M. Stoddard Performing Arts Theater. The outer walls looked decent, not yet considered ancient. I began strolling in a trellis of trees, lined in two rows of pattern on both sides.
A lull of nostalgic rush overwhelmed me, it suddenly felt like I was this is my place to be and that I was meant to be here. I anchored my bangs behind my ears, and strode to the entrance of theatre.