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rebelsplaygroundsaga · 5 years ago

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𝐑𝐞𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐬 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝

(PART ONE)

Camille Monfils

To the ones who stayed in the darkness with me.

I will destroy you in the most beautiful way possible. And when I leave you will finally understand, why storms are named after people.

- Caitlyn Siehl

Part I:

Sad Eyes☽

ONE

‪October 31st,‬

It’s been said that small towns are like black holes. Nothing changes, it’s impossible to leave and in the end, you’re just a part of it. A popular opinion among the teenagers in this small town. Being born in the same hospital as their parents and graduating from the same high school, that was inevitable. Their biggest fear though, was still living there afterwards and becoming actual victims of the black hole effect like they’d seen their parents do.

Deadwood, a town that supposedly got its name from the dead timber near the town’s creek banks. A place where the population was smaller than the amount of students who attend most universities. Granted, to most people the abundant forests and farmlands it seemed like the ideal place to raise children or to live out the rest of their days. However, for the youths who craved adventure and excitement, the history and splendour of a small town was anything but satisfactory. There were no arcades, malls or movie theatres to keep adolescents busy, but the creative ones always found something to do.

A 100 acres of land graced by a secluded white dutch colonial home with green shutters overlooked the main road. There was little about the house that gave any clue as to the kind of people who lived there.

Inside, Magic’s bedroom wasn’t quite in harmony with the rest of the house’s vintage decor. The glare from the neon pink woman’s body shaped light bounced off the lavender coloured walls covered in erotic drawings and paintings of nude women. The room combined modern trends, a bit of punk rock, goth and festival fashion reflecting her rebellious spirit and attitude. She hadn’t changed it

much over the years, she just kept adding to it as time passed.

Magic was curled up next to the open casement bow window smoking a joint. Her hair tied in a messy bun in a beautiful undone look that said “I-roll-out-of-bed-cool”. She wore a tank top tied into a lush knot just over her navel with a pair of high waisted retro fleece shorts, fuzzy pink socks and signature tattoo choker. Her style was very much a throwback to when Tumblr was all the rage, and 90s aesthetics were combined with soft pink materials and Lolita-esque doe-eyed attitude.

Her dark gaze focused on the moon. There was a certain drama about her eyes. The colour of hot chocolate on a cold winter night. Those deep pools of chocolaty swirls seized the depth and heaviness of a thousand untold stories. I’ve always been different, she thought reaching for the heart-shaped ashtray next to a collection of vintage horror movies.

Her childhood was pretty normal, maybe even happy at times, but that changed when she grew into her looks as a teenager. By the time Magic was fifteen, she went from being the kind of girl who didn’t get noticed to the kind of girl who got almost too much attention.

Exhaling a large cloud of smoke, she reflected on her past, reminding herself of all the worst things she did and that happened to her. She was pretty and smart, but she had a dark mind with a tendency to romanticized depression and engaged in acts of self-mutilation. Yet, that day something was different. Magic woke up with an incredibly peaceful feeling. Usually, her mind moved at what felt like a million miles a minute. She would remember all the things she had to do, and would just want to hide under the covers. That morning it was as if she had finally woken up well-rested.

Squeezing the joint between her lips, she unraveled her hair tie revealing the most amazing head of hair. Thick strands fell onto her cheeks all the way down to her elbows flourishing into voluminous ringlets in a rich chestnut. She brushed her fingers through her long soft curls radiating an untidy and rebellious style.

She opened the mirrored closet doors and pushed the clothes on the hangers to one side, uncovering a photograph of a misty lake with a large cross emerging from the water pinned to the wall. Wax streamed down to the face of the shelf from a set of melted candles. Each item placed in a precise manner. On the left, there was a cat skull and on the right was a large amethyst crystal. A black dagger was placed horizontally before a calligraphy pentagram painted on the face of the shelf.

Magic slid the doors shut when she heard footsteps coming from the hallway. She made a half-hearted attempt to hide the joint by cupping her palm behind her hip.

Mrs. Jones walked into the bedroom. Her caramel coloured hair pined up in a neat French twist with a fringe that she used to hide the aging lines on her forehead. She waved her hand as if it would push the harsh herbal odour away.

“God, it reeks in here.” A hint of southern accent when she spoke.

Born and raised in Louisiana, she learned all about cooking and Catholicism from her mother’s mother, interests she wasn’t fortund enough to pass down to her own daughter.

“I was just burning some sage,” Magic said.

Mrs. Jones rolled her eyes while making her way to the vanity cluttered with makeup products. It was beyond disappointing to her that Magic engaged in such acts of witchery, then again there wasn’t much she didn’t find disappointing when it came to her daughter. In retrospect, Magic always thought it was hyporcritical of her mother to go to church every Sunday when she was clearly breaking her vows.

“I thought you’d already left,” Magic said.

Mrs. Jones set her wool trench coat down on the vanity chair. “Where are those earrings you borrowed last week?” Her hands already riffling through the jewellery box. She moved a few things around until she spotted the pair of emerald earrings next to a rack of lipsticks. “Never mind. Here they are.” She looked herself in the lighted makeup mirror and put the earrings on. “I fear they’re too ladylike for you,” she said expressing her well hidden inner cattiness.

Magic didn’t even care what came out of her mother’s mouth anymore. She understood that there came a hard time in life when a child had to realize their parents were not perfect. That they’re human, and humans are barely more than monkeys in shoes. Her mother started seeing another man a few months ago. Either it was an affair or maybe her parents had agreed to an open relationship, but kept it quiet to avoid stigma or talking to her about it. All she knew for sure was that it wasn’t her job to police her parents marriage.

Mrs. Jones fixed the neckline of her wrap dress and smirked. “Do you really think I can’t smell what you’re doing in here?”

“Oh that, must be the sage,” She fretted.

“Mhmm.”

A sudden stinging sensation manifested itself in the palm of Magic’s hand and she let out a small ouch.

Mrs. Jones turned, extending her arm. “The entire upstairs reeks of marijuana. You think I don’t know when you smoke.” She brought the joint to her lips and took a long drag, letting the smoke fill her lungs for a moment. “At least you’re not getting cheap shit,” she exhaled.

Magic was relieved her mother wasn’t going to give an hour lecture about the dangers of smoking weed.

“You’re lucky it’s your birthday.” Mrs. Jones spoke through a furrowed brow when a honk came from outside. “Now with that said, I’m already late.” She took one last look at herself in the mirror, tucking in a loose strand of hair. “Your father is downstairs watching tv. There’s leftovers in the refrigerator if you get hungry.” She put her coat over her shoulders, then looked her daughter dead in the eyes. “You do not leave this house,” she said in an uncompromising tone. “I don’t want you hanging out with that homo friend of yours and pulling the same shit as last month.” Mrs. Jones held up her woven clutch, pointing her index finger at her daughter. “No leaving the house. I mean it. I don’t care if it’s your birthday. You don’t know what kind of horrors await a girl like you.”

“Yes, mom.” Magic would say anything to get her mother to leave. “Your ride’s waiting.”

Mrs. Jones slipped out and the door shut behind her. In one quick motion she leapt onto her bed, looking out the window where she saw a strangers vehicle in the driveway. She watched her mom get into the silver Eldorado, keeping an eye on the vehicle until it pulled out of the driveway. A sudden ring pierced the silence and the iPhone on her nightstand lit up with a new text message.

Magic flipped her hair back and shuffled over to her vanity, facing the mirror and thinking about what colours would work best. She quickly regretted not having tested her make up before. Her friends would surely go all out and she had to look fabulous if she wanted to keep up with them. Fortunately, she had already tweaked her eyebrows to flawlessness. Her face and neck had already been contoured and highlighted, and her clear almond-shaped nails had been filled earlier that week. This was her 18th Birthday after all. Still, there was much to do and little time.

She prepared all of her products and began the makeup process. First, applying black liquid eyeliner, a crucial part of her everyday look. Second, she applied mascara making her eyelashes wispy and cat-like. To really pull her makeup together, she applied a shimmery shade of dusty rose coloured lip stain that made her lips look extra plump and pouty. For her hair, she straightened it with a flat iron for a neater look making the strands even longer.

Magic tossed her clothes on the floor in front of the laundry hamper which was already full of clothes. She slipped into a white mini dress full of whimsy with an intricate paisley lace overlay and nude lining. It had an open scalloped neckline and sheer sleeves. On her feet, she wore Dr. Martens platform boots another critical aspect to her everyday look. Lastly, a set of delicate wings that were so realistic, turning her into a bejewelled angel.

By the time she’d finished taking a few selfies hoping at least one would be profile worthy, the rumbling of a truck engine could be heard outside. Magic looked out the window and saw the old red Chevy pickup. The young man in the driver’s seat smiled and waved.

Ricky was pubescent looking, but tall with black hair long enough to be swept back. That night, he wore a black and white skeleton onesie as a costume with the sleeves pushed back revealing his tattooed arms. He was a well established bad boy known for his tattoos, playing the drums and being a descent skateboarder.

“One minute,” Magic mouthed before shuffling over to her laptop. She put an extensively long playlist on and turned up the volume, making it easier to slip in and out of the house more subtly. Then, she cautiously crawled out of the window and they drove off.

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