The cars employed by parents zoomed past Sahara’s residence in a haste as their perverse children caught the bus. The woods turned into an ordeal to some because of its skeleton-related image. Winter boots indented the snow-painted floor.
Teenagers talked intently as they navigated through the intercept, their laughter remained in the open. But what was Sahara doing? Sahara let a cry escape her lip as she glanced aside from her window. Am I odd? The thought burned through Sahara’s mind like an ongoing candle. She sat crossed legged on her bed, waning light on her dresser, illustrating the austere room. Peculiar?
Sahara learned once before that she appeared to not have what pertained to be ‘ordinary’. Normal. What does that even mean? Sahara pondered to herself. What do you want it to mean? Her conscious replied. Sahara gazed down at her hand, hooked up in speculation. She thought of when someone claimed her odd.
It seized her off guard, that sudden proclamation. When she demanded what they meant, they had just reacted with an uneasy laugh accompanied by a thrust of the hand. She hadn’t acknowledged back then, but she was strange. The way she dressed, or how she kept her hair coiled and unmanageable. The way she walked, or communicated.
She wasn’t your average joe on the avenue. Sahara fell backward on her bed, laying down. The gloomy sky complimented her dreary room. Sahara loved days like these, she could see, her mind went wild, she did not have to try at all. It thrilled her she never had to worry about school; it caused her anxiety to spike.
The piercing eyes of her schoolmates made her grip the belief that she was an annoying thumbtack under a shoe. Sahara got on her knees, the bed creak under her capacity.
Her beige curtains concealed the blackened window. Sahara noticed that the printed snow was now being buried with a coat of flurries. She craved it to mean society doesn’t judge if we are ordinary or not.
She wished it to mean that if she sported a chunky sweater amid summer, she wouldn’t have to fret about others, assuming she’s strange. Or if she preferred to not do up her household for Christmas, she doesn’t have ‘Christmas spirit’.
Sometimes when she suffered from her lonesome, she reckoned back to when she was an unknown girl. Everyone looked at her like she was a human, not just someone who existed. Sahara let out a tedious snort.
She felt disturbed. She embraced her location.
It was at the end of the avenue. She was her own society for a period. Although determination raced through her, to keep it that way, she also wanted company.
It became lonely after all those years.
The once crisp air converted into a raw and humid mood, as if it was pondering whether it should be hot or icy.
Deciding that she managed enough overthinking, Sahara tried to settle her racing mind as she tucked herself in her creaking bed.
Though the delicate sheetings were not enough to withstand the cold, Sahara was still glad to have something cover her frail body. Sahara’s eyes sagged lazily, her breathing becoming steady. Her thoughts slowed until they came to a full stop. And only then did Sahara know she was asleep.
The knocking at the door startled Sahara out of her sleep. It had been loud and urgent.
This made Sahara worry because it was unusual for Sahara to get visits, she almost never got them.
Of course, sometimes people would knock on the door and hide for a prank because apparently, her house looked haunted.
It made Sahara’s stomach churn when she remembered the time a group of teenagers threw eggs at her when she was taking out the garbage. She had spent almost an hour trying to get the yolky ness of the egg out of her already tangled hair.
Sahara stood from her bed, slowly making her way to her bedroom door. She was not in a rush.
She thought like sauntering because if they saw she wasn’t going to the door, they’d leave. At least, that’s what Sahara hoped they would do.
The door knocked once again, and Sahara, seeing they weren’t leaving, decided she’d see who was at the door. She made her way down the stairs on the left side, just in case the floorboards creaked. Sahara stood in front of the door, anticipating it to open on its own instead of doing it herself. With a nod of encouragement, Sahara reached out, a trembling hand on the doorknob, twisted it and opened.
“Is there a problem, officer?” Sahara asked, hesitantly. It wasn’t every day the police came to her door, so this confused Sahara.
But the officer never looked up. Not once.
Sahara, now alerted, reached out her hand to grab his attention. “Sir— ”
The strange man looked up, and Sahara stared agape at his void eyes. The “officer” didn’t have his sclera, and his eyes were pitch black, black veins running along with his face and down his neck.
Sahara recoiled, her hand to her chest, a lump in her throat. Sahara threw herself at the door, trying to shut it fast as she could. The pushing on either side of the door was making her feet slide against the splintered floor.
The officer pushed the door with force, sending Sahara’s body tumbling onto the wooden floor. The door creaked open, revealing the officer. It trained his darkened eyes on her; the floorboard creaking under his boots. Sahara scooted back until her back met the familiar icy walls.
As the officer got closer, Sahara looked around frantically.
Spotting a lifted wood plank, Sahara dived for it. She pulled, and she tugged, but it was useless. Sahara grunted as the officer yanked her back with her hair. He dragged her across the floor, throwing her against the wall. His hand curled against her neck, squeezing her windpipe.
Sahara clawed and kicked, punched and even tried to gouge his eyes out. She felt a stinging, then a burning sensation to her cheek. Hot tears welled up in her vision, running down her cheeks.
Out of her peripheral vision, Sahara saw his baton and reached for it. With all her might, Sahara swung the baton at his head. The officer fell off of her, his body twitching, Sahara watched in horror as his body shriveled up. Sahara sniffled when his body stopped moving. She heaved in, chest rising and falling.
What was that thing?
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