The Tale of Daphne Halloway

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The Moon in exile

Outcast from the galaxy

Encounters the Earth

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I stared down at the pavement oh so far beneath me, haphazardly clinging to the railing. It wouldn’t hurt. Logically, I knew that. Or if it did, it would only be one excruciatingly painful moment and then... Well there lay the problem. What if the hereafter would be worse? What if it was some biblical Hell? Dante, in his naive, mortal wisdom had put those who’d taken their own lives all the way down on the seventh level. I didn’t remember the punishment, but I doubted it was anything optimistic. Maybe it’s just nothing. Maybe it’s nothing and when we die we finally get to go to sleep. That would be nice. I was just so tired. Sleep didn’t seem to do its job anymore, so maybe I just needed to increase the dosage. I liked that idea, the quiet nothing. But there was another option. 

What if it’s nothing, darkness, solitude, silence... but we still exist? But my thoughts and I wander around aimlessly in that endless darkness, and the two of us are trapped with only each other. Me and the thoughts I don’t want to think. My thoughts and the empty, exhausted me.

I shuddered, even in the midday, October sun. Stepping back over the railing I sighed, pulling my phone from my pocket. I was late for third period. Great. And yet, that wasn’t even the worst part, as I would soon realize. The worst part being, I wasn’t alone. 

“Hey, do you want to come sit with me?” The voice shattered my thoughts, and sent a rush of fear throughout my chest. Welp, that’s it. I’m going to be put in a mental asylum for the rest of my life. This was my chance, and I blew it. I contemplated all of this before I even looked at who had spoken. 

She had messy, blonde hair pulled up in an even messier bun. She wore a presumably once white blouse, now laced with paint splatters. Her torn jeans sported the same. But the part that truly caught my eye were hers. Her eyes, what color were they? They almost seemed to shift like a kaleidoscope, like broken glass, drifting from blue to green to an amber gold. 

“You have really weird eyes.” I felt the words escape my mouth before I could stop them. She stared at me with those tiny oil spills for a split second, before letting loose the most cheerful, snorting laugh I’d ever heard. 

“Gee, thanks. But that really doesn’t answer my question,” she finally replied, placing her hands dominantly on her hips, like an amused parent. 

“Right, yeah, sitting with you. But, I’m late for class.” 

“Oh, who cares? It’s third period, right? Mr. Kinsley is an angry old badger anyway. He won’t notice if you aren’t there.” She chuckled at her own joke. Admittedly, she wasn’t wrong. Kinsley was pretty similar to a small, angry mammal. 

“But,” I protested, before being interrupted. 

“Plus, I’m the Student Council president, and I give you my royal permission to skip Mr. Badger’s Chem class.” Hearing that, I gave up. I’d rather face the so-called badger’s wrath than that of the persistent student council president.  

“So,” she started, “Why’d you want to jump?” 

 Her nonchalant execution caught me off guard. “I…I didn’t.”

“Oh please,” she interrupted, beckoning me to sit beside her in the shade of the open exit door. “You’re not fooling anyone. At least, you’re not fooling me.” 

I sat next to her hesitantly, pulling my hood up even though we were bathed in shadow. I opened my mouth, before clamping it shut again. Am I really considering this? I wondered to myself, internally slack-jawed. She’ll report me. She’ll get me put in a psych ward. Who wouldn’t? I probably need it… 

“You don’t have to if you really don’t want to,” the president informed gently, though I could see curiosity skating through her like static. “It’s fine if it’s personal.”

“No. I want to.” What am I doing? “Well, I uh, I killed my best friend.” WHY DID YOU START WITH THAT? I feverishly glanced over at my upperclassman, expecting a look of disgusted terror. Perhaps 911 already dialed on her phone. Instead, I was met with that same look of persistent curiosity. She nodded, indicating I should continue. And to my surprise, I did. 

“Her name was Rachel. Rachel Smith. She always seemed super charismatic and popular, and whatever. But really, she was a social chameleon. She changed to reflect the people she hung out with. I kinda hated her to be honest. I thought she was fake, the way she’d manipulate herself to fit in more. Until I caught her eye sophomore year and I became her next passion project. I think she wanted to make me popular like her at first, but she eventually gave up. I don’t think she even wanted to be popular, so I ended up being her escape, I guess. We’d go on walks at night, swim in the river, talk for hours under the bridge. She really just needed someone to talk to, I think. Someone she could be real around. Someone that made her feel like a kid instead of a mannequin. I don’t know, I’m rambling, sorry…” I trailed off, my eyes glued to my tattered shoe laces as I realized I’d said too much. 

“Keep going,” the president encouraged, staring me down with her weird, iridescent eyes. I took a deep breath, my hood falling to further obscure my face. 

“She’d take me to parties once in a while with her popular friends. I liked getting drunk, feeling detached, almost like walking through life in third person. I liked feeling like I actually had a personality, I guess. Everyone seemed to think I was funny when I was wasted. It felt good, for a second there. But then one night her friends drove off to do something probably stupid and irresponsible without her, and I was the only one with a car. I hadn’t been drinking that night, not even one beer. I should have been able to drive. I was so fucking confident for once.  But I was exhausted. We’d been up all night. I drove us into a ditch, completely sober. I don’t remember how, but I know it was my fault. She was in surgery for ten hours before she ‘succumbed to her wounds’ or whatever.” I twisted the braided bracelet around my wrist tighter, my veins bulging against the skin. 

“Anyway, she died. Everyone she knew, every one of her friends, blamed me. They gave me this stupid nickname, 8-ball, because I’m bad luck or some shit. I think even my parents blame me. They never tried to get me therapy or anything. They never even talk about it. Everyone else does though, and they look at me like I’m a fucking serial killer. I just, I can’t, I…” 

A gust of wind whipped by, throwing my hood from my head. I stopped and looked over at her, releasing the band around my wrist, allowing the blood to flow back into my fingers. I half expected her to deck me right then and there, but instead she just stared at me with an expression I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Anger, frustration, sadness, I expected all of it, but none of them seemed to be directed at me. There was something else too, behind all of the explosive emotions, something akin to understanding. Understanding towards just how damn unfair it all was. 

“Would she want you to die?” That question turned me to stone from the inside out.

“What?” 

“Would she want you to die? Would that make her happy? Would that put her at peace?” 

“I don’t know. I don’t think so but…” 

“Look kid, I don’t know her, but if she was half the person you described her as, I’m sure she’d hate the idea of you doing something stupid. Something you can’t take back.” I was absolutely stunned by what I was hearing. I’d never thought about that. I’d never once considered how she’d feel. I was too wrapped up in my own emotions, my own self-pity. 

“I…” 

“Anyway, you’ve got to get to class. I don’t want you to get in too much trouble talking to little ol’ me.” She stood to brush the dust from her thighs, turned, and walked down the stairs, back to the world below the rooftop. I sat and watched her go, my tongue tied into a knot in my mouth. Just before she disappeared from view something occurred to me, and I willed myself to call out to her. 

“Wait! I, uh, I never caught your name.” 

She spun and looked back at me over her shoulder, a smile teasing the corners of her kaleidoscope eyes. 

“Nor I yours, kid. And I doubt you want me to call you 8-ball.” 

“Seth, I’m Seth,” I answered. 

“Daphne Halloway, but you can call me Daph.” 

As she turned away the wind seemed to blow the door closed behind her.