Photograph [Invite] Jan 19, 2019 14:50:44 GMT -6
Post by Deleted on Jan 19, 2019 14:50:44 GMT -6
May's PL: 14,000
The faint aromas of burned sage and beef stew overwhelmed the senses upon first entering the front door. The herb was to be expected, given how it had almost become a signature scent the household over the years. It usually told May either one of two things. Either the folks had just finished another long winded argument, or someone had died. Naturally the notion of either would fail to cross the girl’s mind when she entered, as she nonchalantly tossed the keys to her motorbike into the usual silver tray by the door. Some chatter from the radio could be heard in the kitchen, none of which was distinct enough for May to care. The news that came over the air was usually as bad as the music these days. There wasn’t an inkling of a desire inside of her bones that wished to hear either. Instead she would make a beeline for her bedroom, hoping to escape another evening of feckless parenting. May would shut the door with a nonchalant kick of the foot, tossing her jacket across the room to land on a mountain of laundry, which had effectively overtaken the love-seat couch in the corner. Stretching with a sigh, having effectively survived another boring day at the coffee shop, the teen would seize the nearby remote to her stereo system.
With a click to power on the device, Mayze would strum a few of the opening chords on her air guitar, falling onto her bed with a finalizing plop as the song kicked in. Humming along to the rhythm, she would bob her head as she attempted to escape the needless aggravations of another eventless day. Thoughts would drift casually into a daydream, which mostly consisted of deviated events from her unexpected meeting of a high school crush. There was a rush of adrenaline with how the song perfectly described how she was feeling, how perfectly it tied into the fantasy of turning a warehouse bust into a full blown rock concert. In this fantasy she rocked the lead on stage, the crowd filled with anyone that ever mattered to her in school, whether good or bad. Friends, family and foes alike all dominated the crowd, surrounding the only face that the May in the fantasy would care to acknowledge with eye contact: Terryn Yaki.
The real May continued to bob her head contently, sitting up in the bed as she listened on to the fuel of her daydream. The one in the daydream would pour her heart into her performance, which eventually began to spill from her real counterpart’s lips. The volume went up as the solo came in, as did May whom began to jump around the room as though a guitar player would upon a stage. She pointed and sang to an invisible crowd, as though they were eating up the performance of a lifetime! They certainly were! In her mind this was a sold out show! Everyone was here, and she needed to pour her heart into every note! They had paid a fortune for those tickets, and just look who was staring back at her from the front row! The fantasy May stomped around the stage, singing and pointing to all the fans that had come out to see the band, and her, perform the show of a lifetime.
Then came a loud knock on the door, followed by a timely ”May! Would you turn down the noise!?” It swiftly prompted the daydream to dissolve around the disgruntled girl, whom was left alone inside her bedroom to give a defeated sigh near the end of the track. Typical of Mom to ruin yet another session of stress relief, despite how much protest was given in the name of freedom. It did little good, as May felt the woman barely understood or listened to her at all. Naturally the disturbance of her euphoric musings would warrant a roll of the eyes, followed by several obnoxious faces made at the closed door. With a huff she would exchange pants for pajama bottoms, then fixate her locks with a hair tie before deciding to exit her sanctuary.
Dad was watching old WMT footage on the sports classics channel, while Mom was using the distraction to capitalize on finishing the stew for dinner. May said nothing, but merely plopped on the couch opposite her father as a younger Masked Arcosian would take a suplex from the then reigning champion. She knew well enough by current events that the footage was old, given one of the fighters was now retired, and the date indicated the bout took place years ago. Still from the way her father seemed so nonchalantly glued to it, would tell her that he had seen the fight more than once. It held her interest long enough until commercial, before the girl found herself wandering into the kitchen to find some variety of snack. Though as soon as the fridge was pried open, May felt the hot stare of her mother on the back of her neck. ”What?” she would ask with an exasperated sigh. May wouldn’t turn to meet what she guessed to be an incredulous stare, instead waiting for whatever smitten answer she was sure to receive. Naturally it came like clockwork.
”You’ll ruin your appetite. Stay out of here until dinner’s ready.”
”Ah, right. Well…we wouldn’t want anything else in this house ruined. Would we?”
May would let the fridge door slam with its own weight, spinning on her heel to give her mother a very insincere salute before marching out of the kitchen. Finding little reason to mingle with anyone at home, May would retreat again to her bedroom on the far side of living room, once again shutting the door in her wake. ”Not like that’s hard to manage,” she quipped under her breath, clicking on the television on her dresser. A news report flashed onto the screen, which prompted May to instantly change the channel to something less sincere, and more scripted. Sitcoms were a guilty pleasure when one’s social life, or the weather failed to provide an allowance of escape. It wasn’t as though she had anything better to do this evening, and quite frankly she was not foreseeing that to change.
The funny thing about life though, was that it never adhered to one’s expectations.
Another knock came at the door, as did another roll of the eyes into the back of May’s skull. ”What!?” she would call out, her tone of irritation. There was a pause, which the girl took as a sign that she was probably needed in the other room. Mustering a scoff as she climbed out of bed again, May would trudge across the wood floor to crack the door open, peering through it to meet her mother’s gaze of disinterest in her daughter’s attitude. ”Yes?” asked May with feigned politeness, opening the door another inch.
”Mail is here. Go fetch it before it gets wet.”
”But it’s raining…?”
”That’s why I’m asking. Throw on your boots, and go get it.”
The door would slam with an irritated growl, before May would go about changing her pajama bottoms for the pants she came home with. After she was practically redressed, she would seize the jacket off the edge of her mountain of laundry, then set off on a march through the living room out the front door. A faint ”Thank you!” could be heard on her way out the door, amidst a torrential downpour that could probably drown a sea full of fish. It was hard to see, the water from the sky being so thick it formed a veil of greyed haze everywhere the teen would look. It was only just barely, with a strain of the eyes, that May managed to catch a glimpse of the mailbox at the end of an otherwise average sidewalk.
”Tch- you have got to be kidding me!” she yelled, her voice drowned in the roar of the rain. This was downright ridiculous, no wonder Mom didn’t want to get the package herself! Always stuck with the dirty work. As usual. With a deep breath of aggravated air, May would step from the dry shelter of the front porch, and begin an agonizing run for the mailbox. Two thirds of the way down the concrete path, May would feel her feet slip out from under her, seconds before she would land face first into a puddle. Pushing herself slowly out of the water with a growl under her breath, the girl’s amber eyes would wander upward to glimpse a package sitting at the base of the mailbox. How her mother knew it was here was anyone’s guess. Though from the looks of it, the integrity of the box wasn’t going to hold out much longer.