FicWad

Her fingers pressed firmly against the back of his hand, her nails making indented half-moons in his palm. She opened her mouth to protest as he pulled her forwards but the words caught in her throat and she found herself gasping for air instead. She hadn't realised that she'd been holding her breath.

Curly red-brown hair pulled up in a neat bun, looking a darkened shade of brown because of the continuous downpour of rain. Mascara and eyeliner had been carefully applied but were smudged due to tears, even if she claimed that the weather was at fault. Finger nails and lips painted deep shades of red, eyelids a powdery blue. She blinked back a fresh set of tears, telling herself silently not to cry.

Eyes taking in the multitude of family friends and relatives, so many words caught in her throat, her feet faltered and she stumbled slightly. Her legs trembled and a shiver ran through her. All eyes turned to her and she saw nothing but sympathetic glances. She told herself she was being spiteful and bitter, that it was just the angle at which she was looking at them from.

Fixing a bright smile on her face, she secretly hoped no-one would be able to see just how pained the expression on her face was what with her face being hidden by a thin black veil. She wasn't smiling; she simply wore a sad frown that happened to be curved.

She took her seat, placing herself on the end of a row of chairs. He glanced at her sideways, probably thinking she wouldn't notice. But everything was just too clear now, just like the pain. Pain, sympathy and the mad urge to run pressed in on her and once again she gasped for breath.

"Delilah," he whispered. She turned to face him, feeling his gaze already on her as she does so, and opens her mouth to reply. He shakes his head, silencing her immediately. "She wouldn't want you to be unhappy. She would want you to move on, however slowly, but moving on all the same."

The words caught in her throat freed themselves upon hearing these words and flew out of her mouth. She found herself suddenly at the mercy of her heart, all rational thoughts leaving her mind as she began to speak.

"How do you know what she would want?" She hissed, teeth clenched, hands curled into tight fists. Her knuckles began to turn a ghostly white though she seemed quite aware of this fact. "Move on, is what everyone's telling me. Move on. But where?" A pause occurred, during which her fists unfurled and blood rushed into her hands, giving them back their natural skin colour.

"I can't move on," her voice had lost all ferocity now and she simply felt quite helpless and useless as opposed to angry. "'Cause I don't know where I'm going."

He didn't reply and she expected that he was sulking, hiding behind the grim expression on his face. Rare was the day when they argued and their arguments never lasted long; she always backed down, opted out, and apologised whether or not she was to blame.

Closing her eyes and blocking out the hushed chatter of the crowd surrounding her, she imagined that she was sitting on the thickest and top-most branch of Miller's Chestnut, looking out over the field of sunflowers, all turned towards the sun. She opened her eyes again and when the wind blew, she imagined her calling her name, ever so close but ever so far away.


Death is more universal than life; everyone dies but not everyone lives - A. Sachs


Morning sunshine streamed through her curtains, penetrating the thin layer of subconscious that had been placed upon her. She rolled over, feeling that now was an unfit time to be woken up. The clock at her bedside was beeping incessantly and had been doing so for the past five minutes. Feeling irritated and guilty for what she was about to do, she slammed her hand down on the alarm clock that, coincidentally, immediately ceased making that beeping sound. It probably wouldn't beep ever again.

Five minutes later, she was sure that someone was calling her name. Their voice sounded muffled and groggy and she guessed that it was her uncle Zack, probably woken by the bang that had been the end of her alarm clock. She pictured him, stood at the end of the hallway, head protruding from the gap between his door and its frame, looking confused, dazed and rather dishevelled.

The girl lying in bed, beneath the thick duvet cover with her head resting against the pillow, chuckled to herself. How funny, she thought, my name sounds oddly like 'time for school'. To be quite frank, this realisation was anything but humorous and the girl seemed to stumble upon a second realisation that made her sit up abruptly.

Time for school...

"Uncle Zack?" She called.

"Mm... yeah?" Came the sound of her uncle's voice.

"What day is it today?"

"Fifth of September," Zack replied.

"No, what day of the week?"

"Er..." There was a pause. "Wednesday."

"Shiiiit," she cursed and jumped out of bed. Being late on her first day of a new school would not make a good impression.

Within two minutes she found herself dressed, within three she was halfway down the stairs, within four she was eating a bowl of cereal at top speed, within five she was washing her face and brushing her teeth and then pulling her hair into a ponytail and within six she was out of the front door, yelling a quick goodbye to her barely-awake uncle.

Seven minutes and she was in her car, foot on the pedal and ready to go. But still, she hesitated. She looked up at the run down house and wondered if Zack was hungover or not. He watched her from his bedroom window, blatantly confused. She came to the conclusion that he was simply not awake.

"You're stalling Dee," she muttered. "Move!"

Upon finding herself in the exact same place another sixty seconds later, she slammed her hands against the steering wheel and bit down on her lip as hard as she could to stop herself from screaming out loud yet a frustrated growl still escaped her throat.

Accumulating all her courage, she put the car into ignition and started towards the local public high school.

Winnetka was certainly a change from Chappel Hill and she wasn't sure if she liked it or not. She missed her old home, she missed her old friends, she missed Miller's Chestnut, the brooke, the big hill and the field of sunflowers. Most of all, she missed him.

And with this thought her foot pressed down on the brakes rather suddenly, causing her to come to a screeching halt. She breathed out slowly and counted backwards from fifty before resuming her journey to school.



Her fist connected with the cold, hard, shiny, painted wood of the classroom door three times. She puffed her cheeks out and let out a slow breath, attempting (and failing) to calm herself down. The sound of her heart pumping filled her ears and she wondered what it was doing, probably beating halfway out of her chest.

"Enter," said a dull voice from behind the door.

Following orders, she pushed the door open and found herself inside of a small classroom with two large windows, a white board, a front desk and many smaller desks (most of which were occupied by students).

"You're late," the dull voice stated.

"I... er... had to go and see the principal," she muttered, looking up at whomever the dull voice belonged to.

"A troublemaker, eh?" She now saw that she was talking to a short man, with a round belly and eyes that were magnified greatly by round spectacles.

"No - just a new student," she said quickly.

"Ah... Miss," the man paused to glance at a sheet of paper on his desk. "Delilah Miller."

"Yes sir," Delilah replied.

"Pleased to make your acquaintance," his attitude had changed quite suddenly and he seemed somewhat joyful. "I am Mister Thomas, please take seat." He handed her a purple exercise book as she passed his desk.

Delilah took up a seat nearer to the back of the room, feeling that this would lessen the amount of curious stares she was receiving from her fellow classmates. Unnecessary attention was something that she had been getting a lot of lately and she'd rather avoid it than get more.

Mister Thomas's Geography lesson was quite boring and she found it quite hard to pay attention. Delilah soon found herself doodling on the inside cover of her book, drawing pictures of herself stood next to two other woman who looked rather unalike but one of which looked quite like herself.

"Forever young, I want to be forever young..."

"Do you really want to live forever, forever, forever?" she sang in reply, not thinking anything of it until the words had left her mouth. Delilah turned to see who had been singing with her and her eyes rested on a boy with dark hair so curly that it looked somewhat like an afro.

Although he didn't look at her, a smile played on his lips and he whispered, "Hey there Delilah."