Witness

The Middle; Syra's POV

New Problem:

Another day, another damn day in this miserable hell hole of a town. At least it's grey this morning, unlike the usual foggy haze that covers the area. I always feel better after I first wake up, in the silence while the world still sleeps and the morning light from the rising sun, casts a beauty that gets hidden by the dark things in the world. I wait for the sound I’ve become accustomed to, a lone wolf howling into the distance, letting me know it's about time I start the day. I pull out my sketch pad from my bag next to my bed and crawl over to my little nook in front of my window sill. I start to draw that beauty of the morning.

I love drawing, especially the scenery. It helps calm me and reminds me that there are things in the world that can be excused rather than condemned. It grounds me, one of the few things that makes me feel good. Alive. That's something that I haven't felt in a pretty long time.

After a quick rough sketch, I place the book and pencils on top of my bed. I don't have time to color it this morning. After class, I'll add the finishing touches that hopefully do the image justice. I checked the clock on my wall and realized it was only 5:30 a.m. I woke up early. Again. So, I simply shrug and start the tedious routine of getting ready for school. I made my way over to the dresser, looking myself over and dreading the day ahead. I look directly at the full-length mirror next to my dresser, and the first thing that stares back unfortunately is my freaky eyes. Silver with flecks of red in them. I've looked them up, and they're incredibly rare, so it's not like I'm one of a kind. Which is better this way because attention only makes me feel on edge anyway.

Don't get me wrong, if this was any other place and I was any other person, I would think my eyes are pretty cool. Beautiful even, but I'm not, and I don't, so the only thing I know is that they make me even more freaky than I am. Looking pale like some sickly swamp monster. I sigh at the thought of my eyes calling attention, I don't think I would be able to handle it which is the exact reason I wear contacts in the first place. I never knew what my mother looked like only the way Aunt Clara described her. She said she was beautiful, like a glass-winged butterfly, who seemed so fragile on the outside but able to hold her own against whoever stood in her path. Beautiful and sharp, a piece of stained glass, dangerous to hold but something to admire. I smile at the thought, I only wish I could be like her, too bad I only felt the complete opposite, weak, angry, and an utter mess.

I realize that I'm touching my amethyst earrings while lost in thought, they had been my mothers. Aunt Clara said my father had given them to her the day she found out she was pregnant, she also said she had never been more certain in her life that I was going to be a girl. A lucky feeling she said. Aunt Clara doesn't speak much about my father, I just assume she didn't like him very much, convinced that he was just a little too city for her. I think I got my eyes from him, but with no pictures of either of them, I can never be certain. Letting go of my earrings I continue to look at myself from head to toe noticing that my roots are fading back to blonde, which means I need to re-dye my hair back. I'll check the bathroom cupboard after to see if I need to run and buy a new box first. I finish my grueling assessment of my body or lack thereof and head into the washroom to shower and finish getting ready.

Fresh out of the shower I walk to my bed in nothing but a towel and I try and decide on what to suffer the day in. For underwear, I go with a nice white lace bra with matching underwear loving how cute they look even against my pale skin. Not that anyone would ever see them, since that would involve having a date, and that would involve talking to people. And forget talking to people I don't even talk to my aunt. I go through the mess that is also known as my closest and dig out my favorite black skinny Jeans with the rip just above the knees. Grab my second favorite purple tank top paired with a red and purple plaid shirt. As well as black sneakers(high tops of course) over my mix-matched socks. I love wearing mix-matched socks they make me feel like a badass. (Which of course only further proves how much of a loser I am). I 'Sigh'. and throw on an extra large baggy black sweater on top.

After securing my homework and making sure I packed my notepads, as well as my sketch supplies tucked away in my bag, I trudge down the stairs to grab breakfast and wake up Aunt Clara.

Good lord, could this woman sleep. And not lightly either. I swear if the house was burning down and she caught fire, the woman would still be out cold. Shaking my head I finish the descent of the staircase knowing exactly what I would find when I reached the bottom and the stress it's gonna cause for sure. Lo and behold I was correct. I reach up and brush the hair out of my eyes to rub my temples at the sight before me. Aunt Clara half-changed into her night clothes half still in her work clothes from yesterday evening. A half-eaten bowl of pasta from last night's dinner, as well as 4 empty cans of what looks like red bulls I can't completely see it because the cans are knocked down, but from the blue and silver color it seems likely.

I walk towards the couch where my aunt is face-planted into the worn-through leather sofa we keep and turn off the TV which she must have tried watching before she drifted off. Although it's useless I try poking her in the arm a couple of times wishing that would be enough to jar her from the void that is sleep. Seeing that it was indeed useless I go about the regular method of waking her up. I gently tip-toed past the couch. I'm aware she can't hear me, but I like the spy feeling it gives me as if I was super covert. As soon as the thought enters my head I of course trip. Over nothing. Slamming my body into the floor loudly and knocking the cans around. I looked up to see if there was a reaction from the sleeping dragon I called Aunty. Nothing. I sigh and shake my head, knowing what has to be done.

Raising my hand in silence strength, I brace myself for the noise about to erupt and I don't mean from the pot. Continuing my amazing self-appointed spy moves, I round the corner into the kitchen which is thankfully still spotless. Guess Aunt Clara didn't wake up for her usual midnight snack. I bend on the floor to the cupboard closest to our backdoor. Being as quiet as I possibly can I stretch my arms in and pull out two big circular bags and slide them out. Walking back into the living room at a normal pace, I open each bag separately and assume the war position.

Stepping directly next to Aunt Clara's head I hold two large symbols. I raise my arms and just as I'm about to clang them together I stop. I shake my head silently at myself and quickly slip my hand into my pocket and retrieve my little earplugs. I make quick work and put them in my ears, cause I may be mute but I have no plans on being deaf anytime soon. I return to my position, take a deep breath, and let those puppies crash. "BANG!!!! BANG!!!! BANG!!!!" Right on cue, Aunt Clara jumps up with a look of shock on her face, you'd think someone just ran a car through the house. Not like that would wake her anyway. Sighing I shake my head then place the symbols neatly back in their respective bags sit them on the cluttered side table and step in front of my aunt. Since I already placed my bag and jacket with my notebook on the stairs I simply signed to Aunt Clara hoping she was awake enough to pay attention. I hate signing since I'm not quite used to the speed people can read my hands and how fast I move them. I sign good morning, and I'm glad you're in the land of the living, which I require a short smirk for. I told her breakfast would be ready in 20 minutes and to go clean herself up with proper work clothing, nothing half and half. She sighs and mutters something under her breath but throws up her hands in surrender and walks toward the stairs to get decent. As she headupstairsrs I turn and look towards the mess that's become our living room sigh and begin cleaning. 10 minutes later, living room clean and tidy I'm in the kitchen wrapping up the 3rd in a small stack of pancakes and filling up two glasses of orange juice. Just as I finish buttering myself a slice of toast and plating it Aunt Clara walks in with a huge smile "Our those my favorite chocolate chip/blueberry and spice pancakes. Oh, this right here is why you are my favorite niece." She gives me a cheeky grin as sits at the table and starts digging in. When she casts me a glance between bites I sign, I'm her only niece. Shaking my head, I bite into my toast, and the silence resumes until we've both eaten our fill.