Cole has Sumara, a girl ten years his junior, hidden in his basement. a blanket for cover and a shell, of many decades old, for luck, is all that is really her own. But how much luck will she have, however, when Cole's family are about to sell their house, and a poster appears, requesting any information about a couple's missing young girl?


5. Pansies and a Picture

That afternoon, after school, I was feeling angry. No, I was feeling furious. Many words were in my mind. A thousand pictures of the day. The day that began fairly well then began to disintergrate in value. The day that Soldier had gotten to me. Lately was my feeling of contentment and happiness. The couple did not return, and Mother resumed her powder padding in the mirror and reading over Father's shoulder. Addie was in my room, everyday, searching for what I had no idea. One time a scent of flowers. Another time a very thin lock of hair. But then, material was not hidden in my room, and the scent and hair vanished without a trace. Then came that day. I was in the changing rooms with the other boys. P.E loomed upon me like the shadow of an evil tree. There was the beginnings of Sumara's name on my arm, from classtime when I found it difficult to concentrate. At times imagining her waiting for me, or whispering my name, and other times she was lost, hurt, unconscious, afraid. I nearly got up and left the room. and I could hear it too, the pounding of my heart, the scrape of the chair, the noise.  the S was doodled, carved in fact, and embellished with the expressions of me and touched, with an imaginary kiss form my heart.

so I was changing, and it suddenly sparkled in one of the lights form the ceiling, seeming greatly flowered and coloured, when Soldier exclaimed. As sooned as he had spoken, i immediately wondered what made me do it, in such an obvious place, like I was purposely looking for comment. And from someone like Soldier. Soldier was built like the soldier you would imagine but never really saw. squared shoulders, muscles, big but accurately proportioned. With a voice thick and low. He did not stand like a soldier, but his uniform was pristine, starched and straight. To me, at the worst times, he was frightening. While I was pulling up my shorts, he grabbed my arm, moved it closer to the light. "Woah" he muttered, after several seconds. By now, everybody was watching, especially Soldier's best friend, Deed, who was gawping, waiting for Soldier's explosion. I didn't try to move my arm, I didn't do anything, I just stood. I wasn't afraid, just scared, scared of what he would make of this. And I knew I had right to be scared. "Sex" Soldier murmured. A little spit fell onto my arm, covering a small part of a vine, curling around a leaf. Then in a much louder voice, "hey, guys, Coley's written 'sex' on his arm"! "An it's in bold letters" "entwined with leaves an everythin"! Soldier smirked down at me, with Deed smiling over his shoulder. "Hey, Coleman, you plannin on anythin ya haven't told me"? Deed was laughing hysterically, everybody in his wake. My shorts weren't up yet. it felt like they were clinging, stock-still like the rest of me, to something in the distance. I did not move my arm at all, and the spit falling upon the carving rained, on every part, in every direction. Made it wet enough, so it could be wiped away easily, like it was never there in the first place.

I felt a seething throughout, and pulled off pansies from their exotic-looking stands, forced them to come with me, a part of my world. I thought, unhappily, only if the memory could be pulled away like the pansies. I wished, most of all, not to remember when the teacher came in. That was the worst part.  

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