The Collected Accounts of June Bloomer

Across newspapers and television, seventeen year old June Bloomer is being shredded across the country for the cataclysmic events she caused in the quiet town of Johnston's creek. However months after the horror, in that forgettable village, June's only four friends are determined to tell the truth of June from the causalities they received first hand and nothing less.


8. Entry six:

It was two weeks until I spoke to June Bloomer again. The day after she’d dismissed me from befriending her, she hadn’t appeared on the same street as yesterday and when I arrived at the school in search for her I could only catch up with her shadow. Classical studies was after lunch and although I tried to find her, it was only at lunch that I caught her linking arms with the Sommer sisters. The notorious met the infamous on that bright day, where the clouds hung around the school and looked as lonesome as I did in the pale blue sky.

“Forget about her Michael,” Rose muttered, rolling back her neck to catch the sun with disdain. Her freckles were beginning to invade her face in little brown specks, and her darker-auburn hair was turning blonde at the tips. Even with her eyes closed, the annoyance was easily read off her face. Apparently so was mine. “Wipe the scowl off your face, she’s got new company.”

“The Sommer sisters, Rose. The Sommer sisters…” I pleaded, but the rest of the group ignored me. We were perched on the grass outside, ticking quick answers for late homework and with half of us taking cover until the thinning green tree. I sat in the shade, virtually invisible, and my skin was covered by the pattern of leaves that appeared blotchy and grey on my arms. My eyes, without any sort of self-control, wondered back again to the left corner of the grounds. From there I could only see a peep, but it was enough. Surrounded in their area, with the friends and awes and everyone in between, June Bloomer crossed her legs back and forth and back and forth again with what I hoped was with discomfort. However, there was a slapdash smile she kept on her lips that told me otherwise.

There was a Sommer sister for each season. Eve was spring; she had fine blonde hair three shades off June’s that was chopped and neat in a sharp bob. The boy who worked at the corner shop said that when he kissed her she tasted like morning dew. Eve was the oldest, just months from finishing school altogether, and was possibly the brightest academically. Delilah was summer and when she danced her hair glinted gold and down her back like rays of sun itself. She was the wild one, more so than the other sisters, and there was more than one boy who could have told you about their kiss. However, there was a true magic to her and her seductions. She was more like a velvet night in that sense than a blistering warm day.

The final two Sommer sisters were quieter, but you could argue it made them even more interesting. The third oldest was Aubrie, the copper-haired sheep of the family. She was the only to inherit her father’s red hair and she insisted to wear knit clothes the entirety of the year. Aubrie was our age, and was even in a few of my classes. She carried the same long thin nose, and curved eyes, but aside from that; you needed a microscope to note the similarities between her and her sisters. Aubrie was closely followed by Holly. Now, where do I begin with Holly Sommer? Somewhere that won’t take long I suppose, because trying to concisely describe the Sommer sisters is not an easy task. All I say is this: Holly Sommer was girlfriend number two, for the briefest and coldest late-spring of my life. She also had hair that frizzed to tight curls in the heat, and had grey eyes. Not blue, not green; but grey like snow when its slowly being corrupted.

Maybe that’s why I like June so much. In many ways she was Holly Sommer uncorrupted. But Holly was born corrupted; the ice sealed her heart in the womb. I even heard a nurse say, gossiping on the bus, that when Holly was born she didn’t cry.

Each sister prided themselves on the idea they were separated by originality from one another, but no matter what they wore or what or who they did, the result was always the same. They were startling and unorthodox, like falling wing-chipped angels.

You might be able to see now why I was pensive. These girls were beautiful, sure. But they weren’t sweet. Each was like a nightmare in ancient town legends. We’d all learnt, some the hard way that it was better to turn a blind eye to them then to be dragged into the world of the sirens of Johnston’s creek.

“Look, Michael. They’re sitting fire to the cans again.” Ky added. I dipped my head to get a better view as the aluminium was toasted, flicker by flicker by the boys currently fawning over Delilah and Eve. Aubrie sat a handful of footsteps away, off the concrete and onto a patch of grass, pouring over a faded Jane Austin Novel I’d seen her hold dear to her heart as she walked through school. Despite their differences, the girls didn’t seem capable of being apart and even Holly was yet more footsteps away but still in sight possibly ripping the wings off flies or something more devilish.

“You don’t know if there all that bad. You dated Holly but everyone says she’s the worst of them. If they make her happy... I don’t see why you’re getting pent up about it.”

“These girls will eat her alive. Seriously, when was the last time they had a pet? Everyone knows they only appreciate blood connections.” I found myself spitting in the eternal reservoir of good thoughts that Eleanor maintained, but she brushed it off.

“I know, I know. But it could be worse…” She broke off to find an example but obviously having failed, she pretended to swipe a bug off her wrist and continued. “At least she has friends, right?”

Friends… these girls didn’t know the meaning of the world. It wasn’t my place to be so protective of June but I owed it to someone who’d appeared out the bus window to be kind. Even if I was slightly smothering.

I saw him too then but I didn’t know. It’s amazing to look back, and see all the things your active brain dismissed. Fallen angels, I thought again, and the phrase fitted with a click of satisfaction. Even now I could only see them as a summer photo, blurring at the edges like that lunchtime. He was lurking somewhere, constantly waiting as just another factor that lead to what would start as just another day in his life. I can’t help but blame him, in my selfishness that refuses to take account for the fact I may be to blame. If he hadn’t of been watching them constantly, or maybe if he’d been watching close enough he could have stopped it.

That day was coming, but none of us foresaw it. Soon, there would be a day to bring June Bloomer back to me. But at a cost neither I nor the Sommer girls were aware of. I thought I saw something shift on the outskirt bush, near to Aubrie. It glinted like a crouched moving figure, but I shrugged my concern and moved back to June.

June, she wore little daises around her wrist this time, but the chain was fraying. Her hair was tied in a soft bun she’d stuck little star Kirby grips that glinted in the sunlight. Oh June, did she know what she’d walked into? Sometimes I wonder if she did, but then I remembered. She wasn’t a pawn in this chaos; she was the fair white queen and I was a knight bravely defending her, regardless of her tactics.

The wind is wailing outside, but it keeps me writing. There is something so comforting about the sound of my own howling being drowned out by a storm.

Rose’s edit: Good, Michael. You’re getting there. But the Sommer sister are creeping me out… You captured them perfectly. If this gets too hard… we don’t have to continue. There’s always a way out.

Michael’s edit on Rose’s edit: Thanks for the head’s up, boss. I can get through, though. Or at least I hope I can. Besides, we both know there isn’t.

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