Today was no different than yesterday.
Yesterday was identical to last week.
Last week was the same as last year.
Sydney woke up to the sound of silence. She turned over to look at the time on her phone: 5:23 AM. Knowing that she would be unable to fall back asleep, she slowly got up and sat on the edge of her bed.
She had one hour and thirty-seven minutes to enjoy the silence before the other inhabitant of her small apartment arose. Sydney would spend half an hour scrolling through recent news stories before turning to Tik Tok for some mindless entertainment.
“Looks like there was another suicide.”
Sydney mumbled under her breath, aware that raising her voice even one more decibel would bring her peaceful silence to an end. The headline story she was referring to was on the front page of a few big newscasts. Recently, it seemed like bullying was at an all time high. This new story was only one of many within the last couple months. Sydney didn’t really care about that though. She only cared about what a certain member of her residence might think of the new report. Ironically enough, they hated bullying more than anything.
As time dwindled down, Sydney slowly got ready for school. She went through the slow and methodical process of applying light foundation to her neck and a section of her collarbone, making sure that anywhere one might see would be free of the purplish brown splotches that graced her skin daily. After she was sure everything was covered, she began to apply dark eyeliner and mascara around the brown pools of her eyes. Next, she applied a light blush to her cheeks to draw attention away from the dark rings under her eyes that were not a part of the ensemble. Finally, she slowly dragged pastel violet lipstick across her full lips to finish.
After her makeup was done, she put on the outfit that she laid out last night.
She didn’t bother swapping out the underwear she had worn to bed the night before and just put on the tight long-sleeved black top and dark bell-bottomed jeans. With a pair of socks and a light spritz of a random perfume, it was now time for Sydney’s least favorite part of the morning: doing her hair. Carefully, oh so carefully, she grabbed small groups of strands and began brushing them. This in itself was almost a half hour process. It was like a continuous cycle; brush, pick out the loose hair, check for blood, brush.
Over and over again, she weaved the slim brush through her gradually shortening hair ever so gingerly. Finally, after a generous pile of blood flaked hair was set aside, Sydney tugged on her favorite beanie from some band to cover up the random bald spots and scabs.
Wow she might have made a record last night.
Sydney threw the record-breaking pile of hair into the trash next to her bed and checked the time. 6:59 AM. Here we go again. Sydney thought humorlessly to herself. She walked to the kitchen full of dirty dishes and random trash before grabbing the least mushy apple. As she sat down at the nearby birch table, she watched as the clock struck seven and the light in her mother’s room turned on.
Today marked Day 1,036 since mom realized Sydney’s father wasn’t coming back.
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“Sydney Ranks, please report to the front office.”
A buzzing voice interrupted the World History lesson Sydney was currently dozing off in. Sydney snapped awake with a confused grunt before making her way down to the office.
What did I do this time?
She arrived within a couple minutes and was waved over by the secretary. Sydney stood in front of the desk while she waited for the pudgy woman to finish her phone call. “Thank you honey, I will make sure to tell him.” Soon enough, she hung up the phone and turned to Sydney. “All righty dear, I called you in here because we got a call from your mom. She told us to tell you that she will be picking you up after school today.” Sydney was mildly surprised at the news but mostly annoyed.
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“Did I really need to be called to the office for something like that? Couldn’t you have sent a note or something?”
The fat woman just sat back in her chair and gave Sydney one of those ‘You are just a kid, and I am the adult’ looks. Sydney rolled her eyes and walked back to class.
If mom is picking me up, she must be in a good mood. Thank god.
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It was finally the end of Sydney’s last day of school. Ironically though, this was not even on her mind as she strutted out from the building and towards the lot where her mother was parked. Sydney’s tunnel vision was overpowering as she moved toward the red Prius. It was so strong that she didn’t even notice the growing crowd on the far side of the lot, nor did she notice the yawning boy sitting on a bench not even ten feet away.
Soon enough, she was at the vehicle and quickly opened the door to sit in the passenger seat. Sydney muttered a greeting to her mother without ever taking her eyes off her shoes. It took almost five minutes before Sydney realized the car wasn’t moving. For the first time since she got in the Prius, Sydney looked up at her mother’s stern face. She found that there was a familiar yet terrifying frown plastered below her sharp nose as she looked on behind Sydney.
What’s she looking at…
Sydney’s thoughts trailed off as she saw the large crowd surrounding a few guys. It looked like Jack Hynneg was yet again beating up --What was his name?— Leo Reinan. This scene alone was not something very interesting to her until she figured out why her mother had that horrible frown. The woman behind her beat Sydney to the punch.
“They are bullying that little boy.”
Sydney flinched instinctively as the car started and Ms. Ranks began to pull out.
“And you just walked by.”
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Sydney stood in front of the transparent door, staring listlessly at the rows of drinks inside. Fresh, warm blood slowly began tickling the back of her neck. She silently went to pull up her collar when a spike of pain erupted from her rib. Sydney numbly pushed past the pain and fixed the collar before dropping her hands to her side.
She continued to stare at the contents of the gas station fridge until she realized that her face felt wet. It took a moment before she realized that she was crying. She quietly wept in the empty Circle K, alone.
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A soft jingle brought Sydney out of her down spiraling thoughts. She quickly wiped her eyes and refocused on why she came there in the first place. She thought for a moment before grabbing her favorite drink and turned to go to the register. A figure caught her eye and she recognized a familiar guy from school trying to hide behind a shelf.
Of course he is here, goddammit.
Sydney knew exactly who the guy was. His name was Seth Shrike. Although he didn’t command any attention at school, Sydney was always aware of his presence. He didn’t have friends, he wasn’t incredibly smart from what she could tell, he didn’t put a lot of effort into his looks, and he basically was a nobody in the eyes of the student body. The only reason Sydney knew this loser’s name at all was because of a specific run in that she had with him almost ten years ago.
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They were in elementary school at the time.
It was a simpler existence, for Sydney especially.
Seth had arrived late in the day. The teacher had stopped class when he walked through the door. It seemed he was about to go take his seat when the teacher —Mrs. Whentworth—grasped him in a tight hug against her bosom. The whole class was confused at the display until one of the kids overheard her whisper something to Seth. Of course, an outbreak of murmuring erupted afterward because they were all children and had no real idea of what kind of secrets should be kept out of respect for another person.
Soon enough, the news spread to Sydney.
“She said ‘I’m sorry about your parents and am here whenever you need me.’”
“What the heck does that mean?”
“Did his parents die?”
Sydney sat amongst the whispers with a bewildered expression. She wasn’t especially mature, seeing as she was only eight, but the idea of her parents dying made her incredibly sad. Mrs. Whentworth finally unclasped the boy and he made his way to the seat on Sydney’s left. It was odd to her though, looking at him, it didn’t feel like anything was different. His clothes were still normal and unruffled, his hair was neatly brushed, and his face was pale and uncolored; totally opposite from what she expected of an emotionally unstable and grieving child.
Regardless of his appearance, she understood that he could be in shock or something, losing a parent, much less both, was horribly traumatic for anyone. As the class hesitantly resumed their lesson, Sydney leaned over to Seth to give him her condolences.
“I’m so sorry about your parents.” She whispered to him while patting his cold hand.
The boy started to turn to look at her, and where Sydney expected to see the fragile and vulnerable look of a heartbroken child, she instead found two dead, emotionless fish eyes looking back at her. It was so completely chilling and unexpected that it had stuck with her ever since. She even watched him for weeks after that, never seeing any real look other than disinterest coming from Seth.
Even now, almost ten years later in a gas station, his face, although stretched into a picture of surprise, did not look any different than that day.
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After that short confrontation, Sydney stomped over to the register, paid for her drink, and walked outside.
Within less than a minute of Sydney turning onto the corner of her street, a wide, brilliant, white crack ripped into existence right behind her.