Wet Weather Woes

It was a heinously grey and dismal day.

Gem concluded that nature must have been feeling particularly charitable to indulge her with such pathetic fallacy.

Closing the gate in her wake, she sidestepped the waterlogged drain. Its gurgling chased her around the corner, a gasping, grasping sort of sound.

She knew she was going to be early, but she’d rather be doing anything else than standing around, staying put. She felt as if someone had poked her with an electric prod and the discharge was still rattling around her bones, the currents trapped to ricochet back and forth. Gem wanted to kick something, or punch something or just break something into a million pieces and roll naked over the sharp shards.

Her umbrella popped upwards and got caught in the gust running down the street. With cold hands she grabbed at the handle, teeth gritting and grinding.

Between her struggles with umbrella-kind and mind-kind she didn’t see the other sidewalk occupant, barely avoiding a collision.

“Oh!” Said the dark figure, silhouetted against the dawn-day sky.

“Sorry” Gem replied and quickly made her escape, eyes trained to the ground, feet pattering in tempo with the rain.

“Gem!” The disembodied voice called. Gem turned and lifted her umbrella up.

The day could not get worse, but it had, and it would, and Gem would be dreadfully surprised by the capacity to which it could.

“Hi, Belle,” Gem said, attempting a smile. Attempting. Failing. Settling for a tight-lipped grimace.

The girl rushed up to her in a flurry of overcoats, scarves, gloves and rainbow-patterned socks.

“God, it’s so cold I care barely feel my fucking fingers,” Belle said. As if to demonstrate, she held out her woollen-clad hands, clenching them with a certain degree of animosity.

“Yes,” Gem replied warily, “Fuck”.

“Right?” The other girl nodded. Belle looked down towards one end of the road, and then squinted at the other. “Are you heading to Swain’s?”

She wasn’t going to the regular haunt, but given that was in the entirely opposite direction Belle had been walking, Gem nodded quickly. “Yes, I have to, ah, go- I’ll see you at class?” But she was walking before she got a response.

“Oh, sorry, isn’t it closed today?”

Feet stumbling over one another in her haste, Gem fumbled and bumbled to a pained stop.

She laughed languorously. “No, really?”

“Yeah,” Belle called across the street, “It’s Sunday.”

“I guess, um, yeah,” Gem shrugged, “Well, I’ve got a few errands to run, so-”

“Can I come with you?”

The question is so honest and sad that she has to stop herself cringing. She’s a bad person, isn’t she? When did she become such a bad person? What series of events preceded the utter dissolution of her character?

She knew the answer but it tasted too bitter in her mouth, so she countered the acidity with something sweeter.

“Yeah,” Gem called out to Belle, “If you want.”

With Belle at her side Gem walked down the dawn-drenched village road, towards the worst day of her life.

It wasn’t as if Gem disliked Belle. The other girl was a curiosity to all in their small college history class - a little bit odd, a bit too enthusiastic. Gem had never met such an enthusiastic person. One could pin that down to the fact that, as a rule, she generally went out of her way to avoid them. But Belle was different. Belle exhibited an enthusiasm for life that should be illegal. No one should be so happy. It was the kind of happy that made everyone else sadder to be around.

As they shuffled through town, Belle exclaiming at every single remotely remarkable thing that crossed her peripheral view, Gem steeled herself for what was to come later.

The truth was, she didn’t know how to tell him. Or what to tell him. He was waiting for a response and she didn’t have one and he was going to hate her and then -

“So-o-o,” Belle said, prodding Gem in the side (to which she had to restrain herself from hissing at the other girl like a feral cat drowned by a bucket of ice cold water), “Have you done the essay?”

“Which essay?” Gem said softly, trying to breathe, trying to not fall to her haunches right then and there, tear her hair out and shriek like a banshee.

When Belle didn't reply, Gem stole a glance at the girl. She found a pair of concerned eyes looking back. It hurt her heart, that compassion. Damned Belle.

"Are you okay, Gem?"

A breathless laugh in response. Gem bit her lip and managed to get out a clipped, "Yep."

Belle nodded, for longer than was necessary, giving the annoying impression that she was brooding over the nature of such a tense reply.

Gem prayed to whatever Gods were listening, or whatever divine force that exisited and determined providence or to just what ever thing that had some sort of ears that could listen to her pleas to take her, then and there, she was done - where was the resignation form? She was ready.

Belle came to a stop.

Gem kept walking.

"Gem," Came the call, "Have you seen this shop before?"

She took a couple more steps before cessation. Then turned, summoned the last strands of her willpower and asked, "What?"

Belle looked up at the old franchise. She was right though. Despite the crumbling, cruddy exterior, Gem hadn't seen the sign before.

Madame Clarissa's Wares and Wonders

The sign creaked in the breeze, an image of an eye above the curling cursive script. Gauzy cloths shimmered in the window and a faint tinkle of chimes signalled the opening of the door.

A young woman stepped out, nursing a cigar from the buffeting winds. Standing at the top steps, she looked down at the two girls. She dragged a puff, blew out smoke and asked, "You girls want a reading?"

Belle looked at Gem, face animated. Gem looked at Belle, with only a thin veneer of disinterest hiding her dismay.