Dark Horse

The cool afternoon breeze swept my curly hair into my face. A group of seniors were playing football nearby. I sat alone, headphones on my ears, staring at the face I had sketched in my sketchbook five years ago. A face I liked to stare at to fuel my anger and hatred for people.

    Closing the book, I twisted a strand of grass between my fingers. Five years ago, I lost my father in a burglary at our house. It was a well planned event and was carried out efficiently. Two days before the incident,  I had drawn a face I had seen flashes of in my mind. I hadn't been concerned because it was just one amongst others.

    I laughed drily remembering how those sketches had helped greatly in my father's murder investigation and other cold cases, when the police finally believed me and stopped thinking  I wasn't crazy.

    Standing up, I arranged my bag and walked past the footballers. One muttered "freak", under his breath. I didn't reply or even spare him a glance. I was used to it.

    I knew it wouldn't change or stop. No matter how many schools I attended, how many times  we moved or how many times I tried to justify myself. Life would never change.

    Just my first week at my new school, Harrington's high school, a bully had decided to make me her point of interest. This morning, my mother had said to me, "don't worry Ann". She tried for a smile, but failed woefully. "Things will be different." I just nodded.

    I never said much, taking solace in my books,  music and my sketching. No matter how much I detested it.

    I never bothered staring at a newspaper, knowing my name would be a headline. Murderess, freak, evil child and so many other names I'd been called, both openly and quietly. Someone even told my mum to get rid of me and adopt a cat!

    I glanced at my watch, it was 4:30pm and I still hadn't seen my mum. I bit my lip, scrolling down my playlist and selecting a song I'd fallen in love with. The sweet sad lyrics of 'down like silver-broken coastline' normally brought tears to my eyes. Today, my eyes were dry, hollow in their sockets.

    A sleek black Volvo stopped in front of me. My mother, in the drivers seat, held two smoothies in her hands. I opened the door, sat down and took the smoothie, muttering a half hearted "thank you."

    My mother paused, she hesitantly turned in her seat, saying "Adrianne, please look at me." I had been staring at the seatbelt that was digging at her breast.

    I raised my eyes to meet her green gaze. Her eyes were pleading, pained. " I know our relationship is rocky, I haven't been the best mum these last five years and I'm sorry." She sighed. " it's just that... " , she whispered,  " your dad's death was so unexpected. I didn't know what to do. And your gift.. " she turned her gaze towards me again. " I'm glad you're my daughter. I don't regret that, not even a bit. You are a proud Perez and Perez's do what they do best."

    Despite this heart warming speech that might have melted another normal child's heart, my frosty heart refused to thaw. I said nothing.

    She turned, started the car and drove of while I loosed my tie, my face expressionless.