Girlie

I was locked in my room. My dungeon. It had been three days since I had seen the light of day through something other than my window. It didn’t matter. I was here by choice, anyway.1

Perhaps that choice was my demise. I fought everyone and everything to have that little sanctuary of mine. A person’s room is their palace. Their own personal protection against the cruel world. I love it and I hate it. That’s just the way it goes.2

I don’t hate everything, like they told everyone. I’m no witch, or vampire, or creature of the undead, like the rumors say. I just like to be alone. And is that wrong? Is it wrong that I desire the solitude of my silent room, the safest place in the world? Is it wrong that I sat there alone, creating my tales, writing untruths that helped me escape from harsh reality? I guess so, or they would not stare. And all they did was stare.3

The lights had long since gone out, and I had lit a candle to guide my fingers across my beloved keypad, writing my latest web of lies that dull the pain of life. I lost focus, the words flowing through me as if they were being born into the world of their own accord. It always happened that way, the words possessing me. It’s the only way I could take the world. The way I liked it best.4

The candle dripped onto the table, swirling around. It made patterns that became my obsessive thoughts. A ring, or spiral, flowers and bushes of the candle wax. It spilled forth onto the table, but, more so, into my mind. Was I insane? Is that what was wrong with me? Why me? Why always me?5

I drifted off to sleep at my desk, still watching the wax take its own shape. Maybe tomorrow I would add a different color to it. Maybe. But, for that moment, I would sleep.6

Nightmares plague me. What else is there to say?7

The next morning I walked into the kitchen of the orphanage. Yes. My parents had died when I was very young. It didn’t matter. I could never remember them, anyway. The other kids hissed at me and hit me as I walked by. No worse than usual. I simply grabbed something to eat and returned to my room. I would sneak some food to my room during the night. It always worked that way.8

I had no desire to write today. Instead, I sat down with my new obsession. I lit a candle and dribbled the wax onto the desk, doting on my life, focusing it all into my work like I always did. It would kill me, one day, but I didn’t care.9

The forms took shape as the day went by. I alternated between my creations. Write for a few hours, then build. Write and build. I really was crazy.10

More nightmares. They always come to me. Why fight it?11

***12

“She turns eighteen in a week,” Miss Davidson, the orphanage caretaker said. “There are eight colleges fighting for her to attend. But all she does is stay in her room doing lord knows what.”13

“No matter,” Mr. Richards sighed. “She won’t be our problem much longer. To be honest, the girl kind of scares me.”14

“She’s simply lonely,” Miss Davidson reprimanded him. “She’s never made any friends, here. All the other children make fun of her. It’s rather sad.”15

“Whatever happened to her parents?” Mr. Richards asked.16

“Her father was in the army. They were on a military base when some nutcase went insane. A killing rampage. Shot both of her parents. She was five years old when it happened. Watched the entire thing. It traumatized her.”17

“My God.”18

Miss Davidson nodded. “She screams at night. She doesn’t know it, but she does. It’s why the other kids are afraid of her. Because she never stops. Not since she came here.”19

“Has she been to a psychiatrist?”20

“He said she’s just acting out. I don’t think that’s it, but what do I know?”21

Mr. Richards sighed. “I guess there’s nothing we can do.”22

***23

I brushed the dirt off of my face. I had fallen to the floor again during the night. It was late in the afternoon. I sighed at the realization that I had overslept yet again. Quietly, I sat down at the desk and began to write the last chapter of my novel. It was the fourth one I had written in as many years.24

As the last word touched the page, I sighed. It was a relief to have it finished. I lit a candle and began to work on my other project. It was beginning to turn into something truly beautiful. Something that I could care about.25

Midnight rolled around as a soft knock came to my door. I smiled. Just in time.26

“Come in,” I rasped, surprised at my own voice. I hadn’t used it in such a long time…27

Charlie, one of the other orphans, tiptoed in quietly. “Hows it, girlie?” he asked, smiling.28

“Not bad,” I said, sitting on my bed and smiling back at him. “Come to wish me a happy birthday?”29

“You know it. I even brought you a gift.”30

I smiled once more. Charlie was my only friend, but we couldn’t hang out because I didn’t want the others to treat him like they did me. I unwrapped his gift, a printer for my laptop, and laughed as he pulled a stack of paper from his backpack.31

“Thank you so much, Charlie,” I said, hugging him.32

He sighed. “I wish you would let me hang out with you more. You know I don’t care what anyone else thinks. I love you, girlie.”33

I placed my head on his shoulder. “I love you too, Charlie. But, hey, now that I’m leaving I can let you visit me whenever you like. It’ll be great.”34

“Promise?”35

“Always. Hey, I finished the new book today. You wanna read it?”36

Charlie nodded. “Of course. You’re the best writer.”37

I handed him the lap top. “It’s called ‘The Wax Flower’. I think you’ll like it.”38

“I know I will,” he said. He leaned forward and kissed me on the cheek. “I always do.”39

I fell asleep as he read the story. That night, only sweet dreams held me. Dreams of him.40

The letter he left on my pillow said, “It was brilliant, girlie. Your best yet.” My heart soared as it always did at his praise. Today, I was leaving. One of the colleges said they would let me live in their dorms until I could get a place of my own. So I decided to go to that one.41

I unplugged my computer and began packing my things. Nothing could mar my excitement. I was finally free. I was finally happy. I walked to the door and tried to push it open, but it stuck. Must be locked, I thought.42

But no. I pushed harder. Then knocked. I pounded on the door furiously.43

“What’s going on?” I shouted. “Let me out!”44

It must have been the door on the outside. When it was left open, my door wouldn’t even budge. I had been locked in my room before like that. Just another hilarious practical joke.45

Was it getting hotter?46

“Help!” I shouted. “Someone! C’mon, this isn’t funny!”47

And a siren. Why was there a siren? The heat was killing me. Who left the thermostat set on high?48

I looked over at my wax garden. The petals were drooping. I didn’t understand. What had happened? Why was my garden melting? And why was it hot?49

I ran to my window as the fire trucks stopped outside of the orphanage. A boy was wrestling the others to get back in. It was Charlie.50

“She’s in there! Let me go, she’s still in there! GIRLIE GET OUT!!!” he screamed. “Someone has to save her!”51

Then came the smoke, filtering from under the door. The thick, black smoke.52

I opened the window, but it was too small to fit through.53

“Charlie!” I yelled.54

“Get out of there!” he cried, tears in his eyes. “Get out, the orphanage is on fire!”55

My heart stopped. Fire. “Charlie! Charlie, I can’t! The door won’t open!”56

I ran around my room. What could I do? What was there to do?57

I grabbed the lap top.58

“Charlie, catch!” I yelled, throwing it out of the window.59

He cried helplessly as he caught it, staring up at me. There was nothing to do. I had to wait until they could get me. But it was hot. And the smoke clouded my lungs. I cried as I sat there, watching my garden melt before my eyes. My beautiful creation. It was dying.60

I lay there and cried for it. For myself. Because I knew no one would come. Not in time. And not for me. That’s just the way it goes. The way it always went. The last thing I ever saw was the puddle. My garden of wax. Dripping onto the ground by my face.61

My God, it was so hot.62