Walking With The Outcast

Chapter 1 - Lucilia

I suppose that I should be used to this by now. The silence of the room surrounds me as my thoughts resound through my head. The wooden floor poses as the ceiling as I hang upside-down off my bed. The wall opposite me displays the inverted bridge mural, and one of my three bookshelves hangs from the floor. I move my eyes toward the direction of the bathroom, which is directly opposite the bed, and then on to my second bookshelf, positioned between the closet and bathroom. Ah, my kingdom.

Trying to flip my legs over my head to perform an amazing landing, I end up squashing my nose into the oak floor and then slamming my knees to the ground. My groans of pain echo in the room, and I curl into the fetal position. It's a good thing no one was here to see that. I laugh at my thought, ignoring the sorrow that threatens to choke me with the truth.

Uncurling myself, I stand up and try to moonwalk to my bedroom door. I exit the room at breakneck speed and head to the descending stairs. By my own request at the age of ten, I had asked my parents for a room on the top floor. They, like loving parents, granted my naive wish and now I have to go down three flights of stairs just to reach the kitchen. I've long since determined that my younger self was too moronic for her own good.

When I reach the bottom, my breathing is only slightly out of rhythm, but don't worry, that will change when I go back upstairs. My feet beat against the wooden floor on my way to the kitchen. The sound, my only companion, echoes in the deserted house.

"What shall we have to eat today, mother and father?" I muse. "Ah, of course! I could give you a slice of tears and pleadings, while you serve me a portion of loneliness full of desperation and abandonment. How does that sound?" The silence answers me. It's not like I was expecting someone to respond; that would be bad, seeing as how my parents are in a foreign country.

"Yeah, I guess you're right. Chicken noodle soup sounds better, a lot less soul-crushing." Talking to yourself is a bad sign, Lucilia. Oh, well. No one's here to see me doing it anyway.
I heat up the soup, twirling the spoon in my hand as I dance to some nonsensical pop song stuck in my head. Once it's ready, I pour it in a bowl and head to the living room for an afternoon of swooning over attractive male cast members. I turn on the television, pleased to see that there are some shows on that I actually like. However, instead of watching them, I put on a movie.

After eating my chicken noodle soup and finishing the movie, I go to the kitchen and deposit the bowl into the sink. Then I turn around, exit the kitchen, and situate myself at the bottom of the first staircase, its steep incline glaring at me, challenging me. "Bring it on!" I challenge back with my own ferocious glare. My chest rises as I take a deep breath. And then, I run. Taking the first staircase three stairs at a time, I reach the top quickly and dash for the second set of stairs. I take this one three at a time, also. My muscles burn with the expelling of energy, and once I reach the top, my body heads to the final staircase. My legs shake as I sprint to the bottom step and jump to the third. I continue going up, my pace slowing drastically halfway. My legs don't go as high, and they catch on one of the steps, sending me tumbling onto the stairs.

"Ow! I almost had it this time!" Ever since my family and I had moved to this house, I've tried to go up all three staircases without stopping. I had begun by going step-by-step, but that soon progressed into two steps. After that came three, which I haven't accomplished yet.

Once I recover from my failure and shame, I crawl up the stairs on hands and knees, all my energy spent. Upon reaching my room, I drag myself to the bed and sink under the covers. Considering it's a Saturday and I was home, my pajamas have been on me all day, and I refuse to change them now. So, I pull the covers up to my neck, wrap the bottom of the blankets around my feet, and drift off to sleep.