Saint Joseph School

She could smell the abhorrent scent of recent dye on strands of her hair as the summer gale danced her strait tresses into nose and mouth. Giving a reluctant sigh while pulling the hair free off her lips, the young woman stood before the old school on its cobble walk entrance, at the gate of the entrance doors.

The wind picked up again, blowing through the many rips tears and holes in her dark tights. Comfortable cool in the heat. She thumbs at the frayed edges with a thumb and forefinger, chewing on the inside of her mouth, both anxious and nervous for her first day to attend classes.

Memories flood back of her last day at school, on the west coast, three months ago.

Her breath quickens, and goes shallow in a progression equal to the increasing lucidity of that day.

She lets go another sigh, as if to tell anyone who might hear her of her decision in the vacant milieu. Reaching through an open hole in her uniform’s shirt, where a button was left unbuttoned behind her red tie to retrieve a worsened cigarette she kept hidden in her bra. Taking a small, silver lighter from her generous purse, she lights the smoke as she walks away from the door, a slight quiver about her hands, legs and lip.

“Tomorrow,” she tells herself.

“You’ll be able to defeat this tomorrow, Danelea.”

Ash trail from atop the cigarette, and blows out across the cobblestone.

Correspondence:

To: Abramovich, Danelea W. M.
From: Folken, David S.

Outbound address:

Portland, OR
Home address

Inbound address:

Paragon City, RI
Saint Joseph School

Message:

Danelea,

Glad to hear things are going well for you out there. Must be nice to have escaped everything over here, in the wake -- dare not describe it to you. Here goes out my hope to you that not much has followed you. I know you didn’t like the idea of living with your parents again, perhaps you can obtain a Dorm room in your new schooling abode.

I am finding precious little time to write, but I assure you when I find the time I will. It is a fickle commodity. You will have to pardon, however, the length of time between letters.

Cole Humour is well.

Fraternally,
yours,

D. Folken

<signed with an emblem of a Falcons wing>

It builds up unhurried, but assured. Calm intensity. Familiar unusuals.

There is a guiding light, metaphorical and seeming literal within her breast she can feel fostering into a core of white coercing luminosity, making its way through her body. She takes a deep, hurried breath in her nervous stature, sitting on the cold wood bench at the water side. The warm summer morning was turning to a cool, clouded afternoon, and the water bounced and danced on its own capricious tune. She looked out over the Talos bay, keeping up a steady breath to the best of her ability, with a leg vigorously bounding up and down on the ball of her foot. In its time, the light delays, and retreats again to a small, calming center at the base of her throat. Things seem to slow.

She leans back against the bench head, letting go one last long inhale.

Feeling more herself again, she readies to stand from her seat when he legs give out, still feeling oddly done in for all their commotion a moment ago. The contents of her copious purse spill about the grass while she tries to catch herself, landing on knees and hands.

She sighs, shaking her head to herself, beginning to reluctantly return the things inside: one piece fabric dresses, loose rings and bracelets, pens and small papers with random sayings or number, deodorant and spare toothbrush, &ect

From a distance, one man dressed in a crimson tone and a mask tied about his face pushing the shoulder of another man in similar dress and demeanor near himself, motioning with a gesture of his head to the young girl laying about the grass collecting her trinkets, still wearing her Saint Joseph School uniform.

“Look there. What’ch you thinking, the same thing I‘m thinking?” one asks the other.

“I think so, Brain, but how are ya’ going to get the Rhino in a dress?” he muses.

“Yeah, you’re a riot.”

The man smirks yellow teeth. “Don’t know, man. I know them colours. That’s the Freak High.”

“It’s one schoolgirl. Come on.”

Correspondence:

To: Abramovich, Danelea W. M.
From: Folken, David S.

Outbound address:

Portland, OR
Home address

Inbound address:

Paragon City, RI
Saint Joseph School

Message:

Danelea,

That is a troublesome thought.

We both know the repercussions if you attempt to again self medicate. I would if I could grant you what strength of willpower I have left for myself to help you through your current tribulation. Have you been in contact with your psychiatrist, to find an office in your local area?

However, I know you are passionate, and strong enough to overcome any problems you may face. You are a bright as the lucent of the moon. I believe that was a good moniker choice of yours, Moonlucent, though I do not understand the point of acquiring a Security License if you do not plan to use it. I believe this is a step in the right direction. To lend a hand to others with their own quandary is both humbling and healing.

Keep me posted with any updates, be them medical (physical or mental) or a passing whim of thought, of the ‘second,’ you spoke of. I can not do much more than make vague comforts when all you offer me are vague descriptions.

Wish your mother well for me.

Fraternally,
yours,

D. Folken

<signed with an emblem of a Falcons wing>

She held her first high over her head.

Taking only a moment’s breath, before bringing her clutched fist down, demanding and swift.

Quickly there after, as quickly as she had made the impulse to strike, she took hold the bottom side of her hand from the impact, pulling it close into her chest with a sighed whimper. Collapsing over some, to rest her head on the table in front of her with an arched back forward, squeezing her hand for a good long while, she swears to herself in three tongues. Eventually setting herself back up to look at the now swollen and burgundy coloured bump across the whole of her palm side hand.

“Miss, please don’t be hitting the tables. . .” a voice carries from behind the bar up front of the small Pizza restaurant. He flings a white towel over his shoulder, resting the other arm by hand on the bar side, watching the young woman in her booth, still in an almost quiet sob at the pain.

She turns in her booth as the leather gives a light squeak, to meet his eyes long enough to squint at him, and returns right to her booth, sitting in front of the table, reaching into her purse with the hand still well, keeping the other pressed between thighs. She retrieves a blue and white pack of cigarettes, pulling one out by her lips from the opened top, and tosses them back into the large purse casually, reaching in again to grab a slim silver lighter. Striking it twice on her leg, once down to open and once back up to light it, leaving another burned cinder hole on her tights among many, she lights the cigarette as the lighter makes a classic click with the lid closing and snuffing the flame.

The man from the bar calls out louder than last time, leaning in slight over the clear sneeze protection glass above the Pizzas laid out over a heater. “Hey, no smoking in here. This is a public place.”

She turns again, cigarette hanging from her closed lips, and shows him her beat and soon to bruise hand as an excuse with a whine in her near tearing eyes.
The man takes the towel off his shoulder, moving it in through some large metal cooler of unknown content, making quite the sound of solid against small solid. He approaches her in a brisk pace, as she begins to sink back in her seat, putting on a tough front to her facial emotion, as her body retreated to the wall side.

Reaching a hand out, the man snatched the cigarette from her mouth, dropping it into a large collection of ice cubes in the center of the towel, then spins the white cloth at the corners as the cigarette lets out a moan of a choked cinder. He ties the corners to one another, making something of a neat fold on the impromptu ice bag.

She protests. “You should, you know, ask a girl before grabbing something out of her mouth. Its uh. . . Common Courtesy.”

Without a rebuttal, he reaches out again to take her now bruising hand and lays it atop the ice bag left to sit on the table top. His facial expression and even posture finally loosen, into an easy shoulder hang and a small smile, before walking away.

She tries to keep her tough façade. “Oh, alright. . .” Watching him leave, once he has his back turned to her, she finishes. “Thank you.”

The cold on her hand began to set its self.

Memories from earlier in the day came back, of the cold Summer afternoon wind on the water side, where she had been sitting, where she had dropped her purse, where she had been offered a hand up from a pair of men, where she was assaulted.

The light she had been breathing careful to keep in control within her breast erupting on its own, after a casual smack across her high bone below the eye from one of the men. Both men falling to their backs. The brilliant awe in their eyes at the field of luminescence formed about her body, protecting the young woman. Her eyes glowing with the same bright patina, overflowing and flooding out, to dissipate little distance further.

Despite all the weightless wonder and brilliant elucidations, it soon went dark. She had fainted, to wake up alone on the grass hours later.

“Probably best it didn’t work this time," she thinks to herself.

“Probably better if it never does.”

Disciplinary Action:

Date: August 3rd, 2009

Student: Abramovich, Danelea W. M.
Grade: Junior
Enrollment Date: August 3rd, 2009, Fall Quarter

Mark: Absent without Proper Notice
From Period: All Day
To Period: All Day
Discipline Checks: 3

Punishment: Detention (after school)
From Date: August 4th
To Date: August 7th

Disciplinary Action:

Date: August 3rd, 2009

Student: Abramovich, Danelea W. M.
Grade: Junior
Enrollment Date: August 3rd, 2009, Fall Quarter

Mark: Failure to Return with Hall Pass in Time Limit
From Period: Detention
Discipline Checks: 1

Mark: Dress Code Violation
Discipline Checks: 3

Mark: Talking After Warning
Faculty Member: Sister Mary Moltar (signed)
Discipline Checks: 3

Mark: Using Profane Language
Faculty Member: Sister Mary Moltar (signed)
Discipline Checks: 3

Mark: Possession of a Lighter on Campus
Current: In Possession of Sister Mary Moltar
Threat to Harm: None
Discipline Checks: 4

Mark: Smoking on Campus
Location: Women’s Restroom, 2nd Hall, West
Discipline Checks: 5

Mark: Destruction of Property (smoke alarm)
Location: Women’s Restroom, 2nd Hall, West
Means: Punched
Discipline Checks: 5

Conduct Referral: Spitting

Punishment: On Campus Suspension (all day)
From Date: August 4th
To Date: August 7th

Punishment: Schedule Revision
From: Atwood, Valerie
From: Conrads, David
From: Sister Mary Moltar

Punishment: Student Conference
With: Atwood, Valerie, Counselor
Accompanied: Student's Parents

Punishment: Student Work on Campus
Job: Cloakroom
From: Present
Until: Payment of broken property, three fold