The sharp bitter sweet taste of crisp autumnal apple peppers Alison’s mouth as she bites into the fresh fruit. Despite her warm coat the bench beneath her feels damp, and cold. There is ivy entwined with the dull cast iron supports which hold the rotting wood. Looking round, she can see other girls in the distance, on the other side of the vast and grim tarmac. They walk sedately, in silence. It’s almost eerie how well behaved everyone is here.
The scene before her is bleak and unattractive, grey uniform and pale faced girls on a faded black tarmac, even the skies pearly grey. Alison sighs, and turns to look at the empty bench next to her and blinking a couple of times, a girl soon appears there. She is perhaps a little older, her purest pale white skin and perfect smooth face designed to flatter a goddess, and small but plump peach tinted lips and a gentle smile radiates a vision of beauty.
Jet black hair is cropped into short punkish spikes, and her brilliant blue eyes flash brightly, rebelling against the pathetic and drab reality of existence. The beautiful young woman has the aura and nature of the perfect gentleman. Alison smiles warmly, her heart lifting up and out of her chest. “You came!” she says delightedly. “Alison, it’s been a long time” murmurs the young woman next to her, her voice is deep but naturally so, with an air of maturity and grace.
She’s dressed in a smart snowy white shirt, and silvery grey matching waistcoat and trousers designed for men, but a pastel blue tie that amplified her eyes and polished coal black shoes that reflected the thin bright light. She smiles at Alison, leaning on her knees by the elbows, her hands clasped over the edge of her lap. “Are you alright?” she says kindly. “I’ve been better.” Replies Alison truthfully, shuffling closer towards her friend, though being careful not to touch her. If it were so, she’d simply stop existing as her very existence is a peculiar and fragile thing, suspended inside Alison’s mind.
Though the young woman’s existence is questionable by many, to Alison she is more real than the world, than the sense of the mind, the touch and sight. “How’s the school?” asks the young woman, reaching out to put a hand on Alison lap, but then thinking better of it. “I’m not sure.” Says Alison slowly, pondering the question delicately in her mind like it were fine as cobweb.
“I think…there’s something dark about this place. It’s very religious, I suppose, well-kept but…” “Hmm?” says the young woman gently. “You know what it’s like. You know what going to happen in this kind of place…if I don’t mind my step…” “You know that whatever happens me and Gemma will look out for you.” Said the young woman carefully, sensing the tension.
“Yeah. Thanks Kay.” Alison whispers. “It’s her birthday tomorrow.” “I know.” Kay says. “It’s her birthday present, I suppose.” “Make it count.” Alison smiles and glancing at Kay, sees her smile weakly but her nervousness betrays her. She has a right to be, she supposes. She really does love her.
A faint wind half-heartedly ruffles Alison’s hair; she glances up at the other students, who have paid little attention to them both. She needed to keep it that way. She didn’t want to think about what these girls where going to do or say if they ever found out… “How’s Gemma?” she says faintly. “perfect.” Says Kay softly. We watched the crinkled light float amongst the dust paint clear shapes on the ground, before the harsh ringing sound of the school bell calls me away, and Kay disappears.
© Copyright 2016 synesthesia. All rights reserved.
Short Story / Gay and Lesbian
Poem / Poetry
Book / Gay and Lesbian
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