Chloe Writes: "Faces"

Chloe Writes is a #GS&NS blog series featuring the work of our very own Design Assistant, Chloe Glass. From her notebook to your screen, Chloe shares her writing, photography, and art with our creative readers. 


They filled the room, these faces. Faces she didn’t quite remember. They talked to one another with sad smiles written on all their lips, nibbling on cold cut sandwiches and sipping water from paper cups. The scent of lilacs filled the cold room, and she only knew that because she could see the flowers, everywhere, decorating every surface. And she knew of the coldness not when felt it on her skin but when she saw her reflection in the shiny floor. As she looked down, she noticed the color of her daffodil yellow dress had faded, become the yellow of an old banana on the counter, and an ugly tear had split halfway up the skirt. She frowned and looked back up at the faces, her corn silk hair tumbling over her forehead. It didn’t bother her like before. 

Shyly she glanced up at the legs and bodies that towered over her with their snacking and voices almost too quiet. They all seemed sad, she wondered why. How could anyone feel sadness when such pretty flowers surrounded them. Lilacs were her favorite flowers, they were purple and little and they smelled just like magic and her mother’s perfume. Maybe her mom would be able to tell her why no one laughed, she thought. But she couldn’t find her mother, not in this sea of sad, sad smiles. And when she called out, when she tugged on sleeves, and even when she yelled as loud as her young voice could yell no one would listen to her. She ran circles around the cold room in which temperature she could not feel, looking. She ran and ran as fast as her white sandals could carry her. And she skidded to a halt when she finally saw a familiar face. A face not much older than her own attached to a head of long corn silk hair. The only thing unfamiliar was the thick white bandage that covered her sister's leg. And her sister’s face was wet with tears, the kind of tears she’d only seen the time she cut the hair off of her favorite barbie doll. But she didn’t remember the last time she’d stolen her sister’s barbie. 
She couldn’t stay there, she realized.

She couldn’t stay and watch her sister cry. There was nothing that she could do to help. Her sister’s barbie doll was gone for good. She began to ran again, ran so fast that she ceased to feel her legs. Ran straight through the crowd of sadness and until she was out the door. She couldn't feel the tears she knew were sliding down her freckled cheeks. She didn’t understand the confusion that flooded her mind. She sat down on the ground right where she was outside, and studied her toes. Painted hot pink were her toe nails, done at her cousin’s seventh birthday party. They still hadn’t finished drying when she was lifted into her special seat in the car, and she’d studied them with fervor, willing the color to dry, until the car had stopped. She didn’t look back up from her pink toes until she felt a soft hand on her shoulder, and smelt the sweet scent of lilac. Above her was another familiar face, one who had a smile like vanilla ice cream and hair just as light, who had lifted her into the backseat and told her and her sister that she’d make them chocolate chip cookies when they got home. She remembered this face. This face was peaceful. 


 

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