Let's Start A Revolution
Light fingers flew through dark hair. Cerulean eyes met cerulean ones. Beside the mirror laid a bottle labeled "black hair dye". Clarissa sighed to herself. It didn't look all that bad. She wished she was born this way. It would have been more fitting.
Outside, her mother was pounding on the door, yelling at her. Clarissa was the only blond-haired blue-eyed child in their family, the dove which she had chosen the raven over. Her mother, or anyone else in the family, didn't want her giving up her hair. On and on the punches at the wooden door came. Clarissa merely ignored them and looked around her messy room, the tangly wet hair sweeping behind her neck. Bags and books laid everywhere. An outdated laptop and outdated mp3. Notebooks and papers all over the floor. The mattress was clearly shown, shabby underneath the slightly torn bed sheet, dark comforter falling to the ground. Clarissa was always used to this mess. Any mess.
The poundings must have stopped after a while, because she reckoned she was able to hear again. Mutterings passed by, sighs of uncaring and "leave her alone, she's never worth any of our time"s, audible through the closed door. Love had always been lost in this family. Her blond was their remembrance of the girl, and now it was gone. She doubted they really missed any of it.
She held back a sneeze and looked through her cluttered closet for something long to wear. Finally, the purple jacket was found, too-long and too-baggy but seemingly just right. Clarissa pulled it on and sniffled, feeling her sickness catching up with her. Shouldn't have dyed her hair in a tank-top, she figured. Especially not in this kind of weather.
She walked back to the east side of her room and glanced at her block. One fifty-six am. It was almost a joke. Clarissa snorted to herself, and then wiped her nose on her sleeve. What kind of teenager would be up this late on a "school night" and not be doing homework? A dysfunctional one, evidently. She held back a cough this time, afraid to wake the baby beneath her. The small things she really only did care for.
After coughing quietly to herself for a bit, Clarissa drew back the curtains of her window and stared out. Fitting for the cool, frosty weather, it was dark and glittery out. Winter was always so much nicer than summer—calmer, peaceful, serene, and somehow befitting for her character. She had no neighbors—after all, her house was lone off the road—so she had no gingerbread houses to admire except her own.
The trees outside rocking in the wind and shadows looming over her seemed to mock, while the conscience part of her brain told her she was stuck with an illness. Clarissa sniffled again but opened up her window ever so slightly to look out her mere first-floor bedroom. The stars twinkled through the light layer of clouds in the sky, the full moon clearly made out. A blanket of snow laid across the grass and roads, flawless in flakes and perfection as they dangled between each twig, each leaf, each shrub. She could see her breath as she barely breathed out a stream of oxygen into the night air, swirling around her.
"Fuck it," she muttered to herself, and then her cold fingers found the bottom of the Plexiglas window and then she was out of the warm vicinity. Coldness took her in but she did not mind it—rather, she enjoyed it. Pace by pace, her Vans broke into the snow, making her no colder than she already was.
Although she was quite used to this, especially the cold, having done this for a while, there seemed to be something different about that night. As Clarissa marched footprint by footprint in the snow, she felt like she was going on a different route today. Of course, every day her paths alternated, but she always managed to find a way back to her house. This time she wasn't so sure where she was going, or how she was going back.
Having been watching her feet the whole time walking and shivering because of her sickness not the cold and careful not to tread on the delicate parts of the snow, her head misguided with a tall stranger's body looming over her. She didn't both looking up, only staring at the cuffs of their pants and said depressingly apologized, "I'm so sorry."
"Don't worry about it," said the stranger, a male, and smiling from what Clarissa could hear. "I'm Jacob."
Clarissa smiled herself, still looking down. She tugged at the sleeves on her shoulders. "Hi Jacob. I'm Clarissa."
"Hi Clarissa. I like your hair."
"Well I like your pants," she replied, now looking up at him. "Not many people like my hair."
"Not many people like my pants," Jacob responded. His stormy grey eyes sparkled next to the snow and the moon. "What are you doing our here? Did you run away from home too?"
"No, I just came outside to admire the world at two in the morning because I know when I get back to my house, my family will be asleep and especially not care if the next morning they find out I brought home a girl," Clarissa said as they started walking.
Jacob laughed. "Well you certainly don't know my family, Clarissa. Especially the 'brought home a girl' part. They wouldn't even know."
"But what would you do? Rape me? I'd run away from you by then" Clarissa said, coughing. "Though I'm not too sure about right now. Considering my current condition."
"Yeah. Not smart sneaking out when you probably have the flu," Jacob said. "How's soup?"
"Will your significant other mind?"
"As long as your significant other won't."
"I don't think she'll mind."
The trees crackled in rhythm of their footsteps in the snow while they walked. Jacob turned to Clarissa and asked, "Hey, want to run?"
"Run where?" she said.
"My house, of course," Jacob replied. Then without waiting for a response, he grabbed her hand and said, "Come on!" He took off down the snowed grassy path alongside the road.
They suddenly sped across lawns, now kilometers away from Clarissa's house, through where curb meets ground, around trees, below branches, bounding above fox and rabbit holes. And all the while Jacob did not let go as he pulled the two of them down the roads of neighborhoods, up until did they stop. He had led her next to a mailbox that was lightly decorated with festive lights, where they halted to catch their breath, panting on the edge of the road. Their breaths sprayed out of their mouths, visible underneath the moonlight.
"You made me run while I have the flu," Clarissa exhaled in a whispery rasp. "I dislike you."
"Could you ever possibly forgive me because I thought it would be fun?" Jacob asked, tilting his head to the side to look at her. She swallowed in effort to regain a steady breathing pace and looked back.
"It depends," she replied. Then she looked up in front of her. "Where are we?"
"My house." Jacob reached into his parka pocket and pulled out a small white key. "Running's good for you, anyways."
"When I'm sick?" Clarissa frowned. He grinned.
"Yeah. It means you get more soup." He started walking across the lawn that was covered with snow angels. "Come on."
They arrived at the front door, and Jacob put his key in. The roof of the house was decorated with freshly piled snow, but the warm smell of pumpkin pie inside was even better. Nearly the entire house was dark and the two crept through the house like cautious mice. Clarissa saw that one room upstairs was still light—Jacob's, she figured. They made their way in, whispering.
"You have brothers and sisters?" Clarissa asked. Jacob turned to smile and shook his head.
"Only child. I made the angels on the front lawn."
"And your parents?" she questioned.
"They work evening shifts at the hospital," Jacob responded. She frowned, again.
"Then why are we being so quiet?" she asked, louder now. He shrugged and grinned.
"I don't know. Seemed to be fun." He walked over to his kitchen counter, where a large pot lay. "Soup?"
"Yes please," she said, sniffling and wiping her nose on her sleeves again. She followed him to the pot. Jacob grinned and grabbed nearby bowls and a spoon, and attempted to use the ladle in the pot to scoop it out. A potato barely rose above the brim and then fell. Clarissa giggled.
"You have arms like kumquats," she criticized. "Here, let me do it." Slowly but gracefully, and despite being shorter, she poured soup as well as some other parts of the stew into the bowl Jacob was holding, intended for her.
"You have an unordinary brain," Jacob observed, looking over the ladle between them. "I think I like it."
"I think I like it too. I generally most of myself, aside from my old hair," Clarissa said, finishing getting the last of he soup in the bowl.
"Your natural hair?"
"No, my old hair."
"I generally like you as well." Jacob smiled as he handed her a spoon when she grabbed a stool and sat at the counter. He watched her as she attempted to eat the soup with her left hand, failed miserably, and then switched back to her right hand. "Even though you got my purpose of being outside entirely wrong."
"Hm. Just lonely?" she mumbled through her soup. Jacob looked to the empty, lifeless living room.
"Yeah," he said.
"I get lonely at two am too."
"Do you like soup at two am, Clarissa?"
She looked down at her now-empty bowl, and then looked back up. "I think I do. Possibly pumpkin pie, too."
"Well then it's settled. Pie and soup for everyone."
Jacob smiled at her, and she smiled back, and unspoken words crossed between them. Their hands found the other and it felt like they weren't just part of each other's world, that they had suddenly started a new world. A world only for the two of them.