I awaken quite early. My notebook is closed and beside me on the bed once I wake up.
It seems like I fell asleep.
I open the book, but all that is written within it is "Dad."
Scratching my hair, I disappear into my bathroom to get ready for today. When I have cleansed myself, I take a look at myself in the mirror. I cannot forget my purpose for today. I must focus on the task at hand.
"Daughter," my mother calls my name from the foot of my door. She has a dress and a pair of heels in her hands. I sigh within myself and make a mental note in my head to carry a pair of flats with me in my bag.
"Wear these, dear," my mother walks over to me and hands me what she picked out. I look at her and force myself to smile.
"Thank you, ma." She smiles at me and exits the room.
I hesitate to put on the clothes she had given me. I look down at them in my hands and sigh out loud this time.
It's amazing what it takes to please the people of this town.
I put on the clothes my mother brought to me, leaving the shoes off for a reason. Leaving the room in my socks, I head downstairs for my meal.
"Morning dear," uncle Jerry greets.
"It's morning all right," I say back to him in a mutter.
I look in the oven for breakfast, but it's not there. Neither is it in the microwave. My next thought is to check the fridge, but my uncle eyes me suspiciously and abruptly stops my train of thought.
"We're fasting."
I look over to him. "What?"
"Have you forgotten? We fast every Sunday."
I recall the rule. It's not particularly for my lifestyle, just for the given church, we attend.
I look over to my uncle as my stomach gurgles in pain and agony. He smiles at me before exiting the kitchen and entering his room.
I am left in the kitchen alone. I could steal a croissant or quickly gulp down a small bowl of cereal. But I do not. I cannot. I just take a glass from the cupboard and down a cup of water to start off my day. That should be able to fulfill my needs for this morning.
"Oh darling, you look so stunning!" I hear a squeal from the hall. I almost choke on my water, coughing in the process. I roll my eyes back until it nearly reaches the back of my head.
"Don't you just love it? "Don't forget to wear your heels. They look nice. Even General Jackson will be pleased."
It seems like my whole life is planned out for the liking of General Jackson.
I nod and slip on the painful shoes that soon imprison my feet in its tight grasp.
"We'll be leaving in 5 minutes. Make sure you have all you need," my mother calls from the staircase.
I take a seat at the dining table and look through my bag.
Notebook? Check.
Slippers? Check.
Orange? Check. -- a small snack.
I head outside to the porch once I finish. It's 9:30 am. Church starts at 10. The streets are cleared and barren. Not a single hollow leaf dares pass in fear.
The house next to us, which I believe is Mrs. Caroline's, opens and releases a boy from its midst.
Jeremy.
I smile and begin to walk over to him.
"Morning," I greet.
He looks at me suspiciously. "You too. Good morning."
"You're out early," I say, trying to spark conversation.
"I woke up earlier than usual," he replies.
"Stella-Rose!" my mother calls.
I wave to Jeremy and walk over to my mother. "We should be on our way."
We load into the car once my mother has finished greeting Mrs. Carol and Jeremy.
"Stella-Rose, I want you to be on your best behavior," she informs me as if I am a 5-year-old.
"Yes, ma."
"You shall not speak of your father."
"Yes, ma."
When asked a question, all I can do is answer the closest to the truth I can without giving any information about the life I lived before returning to town. I sigh and close my eyes.
--
Once the service had started, we were led to the front of the church, where we would be attended to.
And out he walks. General Jackson. Now the service has truly started.
"Good morning, all and welcome back!" The crowd bursts in exasperation and we begin.
The same drill as always. The same, "Let us turn to the scripture of…"
"Let us pray that…"
Nothing has changed in this town.
Soon enough, intermission rolls around. My mother heads to the lady's room and my uncle chats with some friends. I sit in my seat and watch the crowd. My stomach begins to gurgle and growl like the lion it is, so I force myself to stand up and exit the premises.
Limping in the heels that have completely swallowed my feet whole, I finally make it to the back of the church. I take off the feet killers and slip on the slippers I brought from home.
I then take a seat on the floor and open my bag once more to eat my orange, snuck from home.
I am halfway finished with my orange by the time the bells begin to ring, marking the end of intermission. I quickly swallow the rest of my orange and put my shoes on. Swiftly, I begin to walk back to the premises through the back-- a place not many people take.
Smoke is in the air. Cigarette smoke. In all life of this town, smoking is prohibited and great punishment will be given to those caught.
Whoever it may be, I fear for their sanity. Mine as well, for I have to walk through it.
"Who-" I begin to cough. And that is when I see him.
And his eyes meet mine. The son of the man I despise.
Dylan Jackson.