via Daily Prompt: Scorched

You would never understand how angry I was. My lips were shaping words I never thought I would be able to pronounce, not to my best friend who was just standing there, her Face blanker than a white paper. Unlike the people, even dogs, in the park, a stream cool wind dared to pass between us. It made her look colder than she already was from the shards of ice I was hammering into her heart.

Getting back to how angry I was, I fuming so much I knew I could have set a house on Fire. That was how much angry I was.

What Nini did was obnoxious, and unacceptable. Psst! She had kissed a boy, and that I couldn’t take. I couldn’t handle that, not because I was an envious friend. Indeed, I was envious, but for us. What would happen to the times, we would sprawl in the grass in my backyard, reading Cassandra Clare, or painting by squeezing only teeny amounts of the expensive paint we treasured, or went to cheap restaurants together and spotted spelling errors in the menu? I didn’t want us to sit together with popcorn watching all that fall into desuetude.

Nini stood silently like a wistful sculpture, without a word of apology. She looked all pretty with her black hair, black dress and black shoes. Her black heart was not pretty.

“Goodbye!” I spun around my heel, and started running down the slippery hill, with my fingers on my head trying to soothe my throbbing. A boy with curly brown hair, whom Nini would have been delighted to see, walked straight to me and said with an amused voice, “A fire that rages inside you is sometimes powerful to burn your world down. Be careful of what you feel and dream becau-”

Shooting a scornful look, I stomped away. Stupid people and their suggestions are what, that should be burned down. I wished someone would soothe my thoughts. I ponder too much on matters many people don’t. I was 15; that meant almost 1/6 of my life was just smithereens of memories scattered all around me. I saw a dog pad away. How old can dogs live to be? I totally forgot to get Nini’s dog something for his birthday. She would kill me for forgetting to wish Phone. When Nini was just 9, she used spend a whole day sitting at her bay window, her legs folded up, and her face glued to the screen of her cellphone. It was then her parents had gotten her a beagle, and in the excitement, she had given him a glorious name- Phone. Oh wait, she was not going to kill me, because I just kil-

“MAYA!” My heart leaped out, as I got yanked back real hard, that I crashed on something that cushioned my fall. My first instinct was the dog I had seen on the street. “Maya! I’m sorry. I really am. I didn’t mean to make you that angry. Why didn’t you wait for the signal before you crossed the road? My head was spinning, because Nini was shaking me up like I was a container with some salad and dressing. “You would have been killed by that fire engine!”

I ingested the high pitched siren wailing and glanced at it as it turned around the corner.

“I love you Maya. Always stay with with me. Please.” I should have had my lips quirking up to smile. But they didn’t. Instead I ran. I didn’t want to hang around, because I was really depressed. I was running home like a wild animal, and at one point of the time I almost wished for another truck.

And next came the moment, that I kicked myself for wishing for a truck, for I had indeed encountered one. It was the same fire truck, parked lousily in front of my house.

There are some moments, which know exactly what memories to open the door for. Paintings created for days, that hung majestically on the walls, treasured books gifted by many lost friends, crazy stories written on yellow scraps of paper, and finally those reminiscences of our ten years of friendship that was the scent of my room, all scorched to ashes. My room was ashes.

I knew Nini was standing beside me. I looked at her, and she had tears in her eyes. She reached out and wiped my face. I could see the fire being fought, my parents standing talking rapidly, like they were arguing, all in her gleaming black eyes.

We stood watching for hours before running to my room. All our summers and evenings after school, were burnt up, now staring in our face, sitting there all innocently. We slowly trotted into my room. The floor, the ceiling and the walls were coated with a thick layer ashes, that rained down on us.

I dropped down on my knees, and Nini followed. We sat there facing each other, staring at, what once was a clean white floor, that we used to scrub with rags when paint had been spilled.

My finger, trembling, reached out and wrote words in the ashes. Hopefully, they were paper once. It made me feel better.

“I’m sorry,” the words spoke to Nini.

She gave me a teary smile.

-Bhavana