Crimson Tears Solo Finished

Date: 22 April 2013
Location: London, England
Time:  2:45 PM

"I almost gave up, but a power that I can't explain, fell from heaven like a shower now."

Naive six-year-old Emma was rapturous, that is, around her family. Only a week from her seventh birthday remained and not a singular day of preparation had gone to waste. Every new day was a day closer to living her father's legacy. As an only child, loads of pressure had built on her shoulders. Though she couldn't feel it, that didn't exactly mean it wasn't there. Sketching out miniature replicas of her family, elementary school friends, and of course, a gigantic three-tiered cake had occupied all of her time unlike before. There were her cousins Tyler (who insisted on being called Ty) and Taylor, her mother, and her grandmother, Andrea, in the center to honor the peculiar death she didn't quite understand. It was needless to say, she was determined to expose the cause. Andrea was going to be at Emma's birthday party, she had to. Emma didn't care if she could see her or not, her grandmother was going to be there and she was going to make sure of it. One way or another. 

She wasn't an exceptional artist in school, that was obvious, but still, a vivid imagination continued to morph the girl into a blossoming witch. Only a few months ago had she gotten into trouble at school for a mere 'prank' pulled on the teacher. It was a tale she could unmistakably describe to anyone, but she didn't object to being suspended from classes. Simply, it was more time she used to prevent herself from causing another occurrence from happening to someone she loved.

Beaming with a huge toothy grin, the thoughtless child dashed around her residence as quick as her feet could support her weight with an illustrated picture on the page. Racing through her grandfather and her dad without acknowledging them, she made a beeline straight for her mother and skidded to a stop, her feet sliding across the smooth wooden flooring, eventually losing balance and collapsing to the ground with a small thud. A small ripping noise echoed throughout the kitchen. It was a small and delicate home, but there was no place like it. She had witnessed both happy, depressing, and completely confusing times in this house and despite those times, she could never give it away. Not now, and definitely not in the future. At least, she assumed so. Too many memories had been deposited into this home to retract them now. The system was corrupt. As she stood up and brushed off the dust remained on her purple and aqua colored onesie, she held up the slightly torn drawing as proudly as ever.

"Mira mamá!" Emmaline beamed at her mother. Spanish was her only language, she wasn't the best at English, but that didn't mean she hadn't been trying. For now, she let her mother and father do the talking for her and stuck to the shadows, sometimes hiding behind their backs in public. Emma's mom was quite busy socializing with a friend she'd brought over, but who didn't have time for their daughter? That was not her mother, and it never would be. Just a simple glance wouldn't hurt. Mariah's attention turned to her magical child and a small smile appeared. It wasn't much, but it was still an accomplishment in her eyes.

"Es hermosa, bebé. Muy." In response to her reaction, she sprang a foot off the ground and ran for the stairs, up to her room to pin yet another memory to the walls of the house. Looking up at the ceiling covered in glow-in-the-dark stars, all differently sized, she began to count them. In English.

One. Two. Three. Four... This process continued until she reached the number twenty-nine. Twenny-nine... umm.. She let out a sigh and kicked the mattress underneath her in frustration. She was never going to get it right. Never. You didn't need complex numbers in the first grade, so why worry about it? Emma absolutely loved math and science, in fact, she liked every single subject they provided in school. It was needless for her to study, she was a natural fast learner, but learning English was a struggle for her and she didn't understand. At least some of the students spoke Spanish at her school. They were the lucky ones. As for Emma, she had to be put into a different classroom with a completely different class. At least she wasn't alone.. and didn't give that teacher a minor concussion. 

Already changed into Mickey Mouse red tee and matching shorts, she plucked at her mother's acoustic guitar she had managed to smuggle into her room. There was nothing wrong about it, she hardly played it anyways and it was only a matter of time before the wood began to rot. That's how wood worked, didn't it?

"Emma!" called a familiar female voice from downstairs. Her eight-year-old cousin, Taylor. The rush of frustration and boredom clear as a smile immediately came to her face as she stood on her bed and jumped from it, landing on the ground feet-first and her hand coming in contact with the ground, almost like Spider-Man. "Let's go outside and ride our bikes! The weather is perfect." Great. She was speaking English. However she had managed to learn both languages was a mystery she was willing to solve. Besides, couldn't she just ask her father to cast a spell on her? There was a spell for everything, so why couldn't she learn with a flick of his wand? Though cheating, it was still the easiest way to go and there weren't any consequences besides being looked down on by her father. She spoke in English on purpose, but she didn't care. It was as if she'd demanded her to understand her words. Every particular word that emerged from her mouth was foreign, but still, she poured down the stairs with the energy of a juvenile puppy.

"¿En español?" Emma said, rolling her eyes a bit, her lower lip puffed out more than usual. Taylor merely shook her head and briefly pointed outside before jogging around the house, her arms in front of her at all times. "¿Bicicletas?"  Taylor nodded and ran for the door, pushing and running out of the door in one solid motion without effort. Emma and Tyler ran away her and the three of them began to unlock their bikes chained to the fence that separated the sidewalk from the house. Their placement was a bit peculiar, but they had nowhere else to put them. After all, there was no room inside the house, the Hills didn't even have a garage. With mud covered wheels and unstable chains, the three were practically asking for a death wish, but it was merely a part of their everyday life. If there was one thing Emma do properly, it was riding a bike. She'd been doing it since the age of three.

Bright red, aqua, and black were the colors used to identify their bikes. Emma's bike imitating the color of an apple, covered in dried dirt and peeling paint. Taylor's resembled the vast ocean that stretched around the globe for thousands of miles and Tyler's? His was just black because he was 'too old'. He was only ten years old, but that didn't matter in his eyes. With matching red shorts, she gestured to the bikes before speaking. Besides, bikes didn't matter now. In a year, he'd be heading off to Durmstrang or even Hogwarts to start his second phase in education.

The youthful girl mounted her bike and began to bike down the street, trailing behind her two older siblings. There weren't exactly her brother and sister, but she had never spent her life with somebody as much as these two. She wouldn't have traded them for the world. Emma traveled down the street. Not the sidewalk, and definitely not in the growing turf. The rocky, unpredictable streets. "Try to keep up Emma for God's sake! It's like you're not even trying, aww, you can do better."

"Shut up!" Emma barked back at him as she increased her speed. If there was one thing she remembered how to say in English, it was the insults. Everywhere from 'stupid' to 'go to hell' she had memorized like the palm of her hand. Her legs pumped her bike's petals until her front tire collided with the rubbery tire that belonged to the aqua blue bike. She felt her lips form a small smile, shifting over into the middle of their bikes as her cousin let out a mix between a wail and a groan. Taylor was definitely her sister by heart, not by choice, and definitely not the cousin she knew. Small jokes and pranks were always played throughout the house. With Emma's help, Taylor pulled lots of pranks on her family but her favorites were always against Tyler. She simply just felt bad about putting Nair into his shampoo, at least it wasn't her. It was hard to imagine life without her hair come to think of it.

Three blocks from her home, she rid happily, dodging the cars that threatened to run over her family. Only five minutes had past but it felt like thirty with the wind blowing at an unsteady pace. Every now and then, a gust of wind threatened her rusty bike to veer off course, but it was no big deal. She had worked with the wind before but this was different. Perhaps it was just her wild imagination. She'd never experienced a tornado, she wouldn't have known about them if it weren't for her grandfather's tendency to watch the worldwide evening news.

Suddenly, she found herself plummeting to the streets, desperately reaching for her cousins' tires. Her brown frizzy hair covered her eyes and face as she felt her knees scrap the dry concrete, letting out a small wail was only the beginning. Emma let out a high-pitched scream that pierced her vocal cords leaving her mouth dry as she felt her head hit. Her vision blurred, but that didn't stop the pain from traveling through her limp body. Lying on the concrete, she forced her head down and attempted to shout in agony, though no sound came out this time as tears and blood streamed down the side of her face. She didn't dare look up at her cousins as her breath continued to speed up. With her blood leaking on to the streets, she lifted an arm up to crawl towards the sidewalk, ignoring the wails and yells of her cousins. She was going to be okay, at least, that's what she had to tell herself into order to remain conscious. Unfortunately, that didn't last long. Catching one sight of the red-stained street, she let her head fall brutally to the ground without any sign of struggle or attention, scarlet tears flowing down her face and on to the street as her bike stood there peacefully on the ground.

 ❯❯ TWO HOURS LATER ❮❮

With a startle, Emma awoke in her room and immediately reached for her face. No blood, no scars, and no pain. It was a dream. At least that's what she told herself. It wasn't real.. but I remember going outside. She argued with herself, sitting on the edge of the bed. She looked down at her clothing, her shorts remained the vibrant red but her shirt had been changed to a white and red polka-dotted. Anything red in her sight had been already blackened with a sharpie, along with her clothing. She was sure to keep her footsteps light and her scribbling even lighter. One thing was for sure, red was going to stay out of her life. Permanently.

The friend was gone, every door in the house was sealed shut, and she had somehow transformed back into her furry onesie for some odd reason. Magic. She didn't dare try and open the door, for her father knew many more spells than Emma herself. Only four more years and she'd be hiding off to Hogwarts. Sorted into Gryffindor or maybe even Ravenclaw just like her grandmother. That would make her proud, undoubtedly. 

Edging her way to the door, she paused, listening to the conversation erupting from the open door. Her parents arguing once again, though this time it was different. They had to get along, but she didn't care. They had to marry each other at some point.

"You're a fool! She's too ignorant to be out there alone. What on earth were you thinking? She could have been killed if it weren't for that young man. Leaving our child with those heathens, it's an embarrassment, Arden!" The entire house had gone silent, but Mariah didn't notice. Emma had never heard her use such a tone. Agile, sharp, and fiery. Emma was the problem in this house, and would always be. She was going to be in big trouble, but she kept her ear on the wall, monitoring every harsh, foreign word that emerged from her mother's mouth. This was not the same person she saw in the kitchen two hours ago, nor was Emma. It was then her father's turn to attempt a rebuttal. It wasn't going to get far.

"Mariah. She has never gone this far, it was one time. She's not going to do it again. Trust me."

Emma's mother let out a yell of exasperation and a loud thud sounded against the wall. Promptly, she retreated from the wall to look up at her trembling mirror. "You assume witchcraft is the solution to everything, don't you? It's not. Have you ever once envisioned what life would be without that silly stick of wo-"

"Silencio!" Emma let out a gasp and immediately capped her mouth using her hands, her eyes widening and a few tears building up. She wasn't going to cry. Not twice in one day. She let her existing tears fall and forced the rest to stop, inching her way back to the bed. The one word she understood. Silence. Her own father had used magic against her mother. She didn't know who's side she was own. It was amazing the small things she doubted as a child. Being an only child sucked. She was the youngest and the oldest. Expected to mend her errors and make them, she couldn't understand. No one expected her to ride a bike at the age of five, no one expected her to learn English, and no one saw the emotional fight she'd begun due to her clumsiness. Sure, curiosity was one fatal flaw she'd acquired, but who's to say recklessness wasn't one as well?

This wasn't her mother. This wasn't her father. The people in the room next to her were complete strangers morphed into her parent's figures. She didn't want to believe what she heard. She didn't even want to live out her father's legacy anymore. ¿Dónde estás, abuela?

"It's so hard to look up when you've been down... sure would hate to see you give up now"

Translations:

"Mira mamá!" ~ Look mom!	"Es hermosa, bebé. Muy." ~ It's beautiful, baby. Very.
"¿Bicicletas?" ~ Bikes?	¿Dónde estás, abuela? ~ Where are you grandma?