UPDATE: Word Prompt "Forget"

"All That Had Been Forgotten"

Originally posted on Tuesday; December 13th, 2011

It’s easy to mistake that she’s meeting someone there, as she sits on the bench alone. But as she raises her chin up--it reveals black mascara smeared beneath her eyes, and a streak down her cheek. The thin brown jacket and jeans that she’s wearing, does little to protect her from the rain and wind that’s whipping at her body.  

Her expression is one of torment, which holds the pain inside of the recent events in her life that she wishes to forget. Her shoes are deeply damaged—as if they’ve been worn year after year—having run in the fear that possesses her every day.  

People walk right by her. Some uncaring; others thoughtful, but not knowing quite what to say. The rest were seemed like they were in too much of a rush to take a moment to care.

So she bows her head once more, before her stringy, black hair covers her face again. With her hand griping the side of the bench, she allows her cheek to rest against her hand. She’s uncertain about how long she’s been out here, while not wanting to believe she’s been ignored by the world at every considerable angle.

Letting her eyes flutter closed, she grew tired of waiting. And just as she was sinking into a dream-like state, was when she heard his voice; felt his fingers brush her hair aside with muffled words that sounded like:”She’s still breathing, but it’s shallow.”

By then, she’s aware that of a growing crowd of people, even with her eyes still closed. And for the first time—within that momentary window—she felt like maybe she wanted to be saved from all that had been forgotten.

There’s a brilliant spark in her eyes as the voices rise in alarm; so green like the grass that surrounds her for what seems like miles. They fluttered open to see the world and its beauty, and the people who surrounded her.

Who was she? She heard one whisper. Where did she come from? What was her story? The questions they had were more direct and moving, as a man sat beside her.

He had a brilliantly handsome face; blue eyes and a caring smile. “You had us all worried.” She recognized his voice from earlier. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine, really.” She held up her hand weakly, looking around at the crowd. “I just stopped to take a little rest, and I must have fallen asleep.” Her voice sounded so meek, with her made up story.  The man however looked taken back slightly, and the girl reminded herself that it must have been something in her voice that had given her away.

Sitting up slowly on the bench, her words were rushed and sincere. “I should go. Thank you for your kindness.”  

“You have a huge gash on your forehead.” He remarked, looking grossly intrigued. “How’d you get it?”

Lightly, she touched her fingers to the wound, wincing. “I . . . I fell.” Suddenly, she felt a loss of words. Even though his hair was practically plastered down; the rain that was now falling in brisk sheets, pattering upon the umbrella that was big enough to cover them both.

“That must have been some fall then.” He tilted his head, as his gentle eyes looked over her. 

She nodded her head, like she was on some wild ride at the amusement pause. “It was.” On second thought—maybe her nodding was a little too insistent. Suddenly she felt self-aware and her breathing increased double-fold. Tucking her hands into the folds of her legs for warmth, she stared out into the distance. “I should go.”

“I didn’t catch your name.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the corner of his lips turn up into a smirk. 

“Clara.” She mumbled, not willing to form her words into a sentence. She felt so numb and she wasn’t sure if it was because of the rain, the fact that for the first time in her life that she felt as if she had been noticed, or the sirens that were growing closer as she gave them a nervous glance.

“Well, Clara . . . it’s nice to meet you. I’m Doug.” He held out his hand, and she shook it lightly, before looking away.  Breaking her hand from his afterwards— or as if she had been burned— an ambulance pulled into the distant parking lot.

When their eyes met again, she glared at him. ”You called an ambulance?” 

“No.” He shook his head, rather not meaning to frighten her off. “Someone else called an ambulance.”

“Well, I don’t need it.” Clara insisted, standing up from the comfort of his umbrella.

 He looked at her rather oddly. “Okay. I mean, I beg to differ. You have a huge gash on your head . . . from that fall.” He elaborated on the word ‘huge’, while struggling to get out the last part of his sentence out, mainly because he didn’t believe that she had “just fallen”.  

Looking away, she found that staring at a nearby tree instead was better. “I can’t do this.” Her words trailed off, as she hopped off the bench and broke through the crowd; not looking back as time slowed down, and all she could hear was the sound of the pattering footsteps as she ran back the way she had come. 

Turning onto a secluded path of trees, was finally when she allowed herself to stop running. Across an unused road, she walked into another grove of trees and disappeared until she reached the middle of the forest, and a wooden house that had been patched up too many times to name.

The old wooden door, creaked as Clara opened it to reveal a woman with the same pair of green eyes, and black hair standing over the stove. “Clara.” Her voice was low with warning, as the girl stopped from walking by. “Where have you been?”

“Mother, I was gathering wood for the fire . . . when I slipped and hit my head.” The story was starting to sound believable, even with the rushing lies to her ears. In the warmth of her house—Clara felt unbelievably tired and collapsed into the rocking chair by the fire. 

“You’re soaked to the bone.” Her mother helped her get to her feet, and led her over to the steps.  “Go up and take a warm bath. I’ll go call to your father. He’s been out looking for you for the past hour.”

 Clara did what she was told—pausing on the steps, and feeling the cool rainy air drifting through the house, before making her way up the stairs. A fleeting relief coursed through her body as her shoulders fell. She almost didn’t notice that anyone was there until she found herself almost colliding with her sister in the hallway.

“You’re home.” Her sister had the same black hair that fell to her shoulders and was cut in layers. Even though they lived in the middle of the forest, you wouldn’t notice. She was dressed in a yellow shirt, jeans and brown boots. “Are you ever going to tell mom and dad what really happened?”

“I fell . . .”

“Save it.” Her sister held up her hand. “I saw you in the forest with him. The way he rough-handled you the other day, was just wrong. What happened this time? Did he push you down?”

“Shhhh.” Clara grabbed her arm and shut the door. “Do you want the whole world to know?”

“Sorry. But I do want you to tell mom and dad, before he seriously hurts you.”

“I will. I’m not going to see him anymore, I promise.” Clara promised her sister, with a new determination in her eyes. "I promise."