🌠 Emma

"Write about one fear and turn it into a character."

Everything started a cloudy morning in March. Moisture around the place provoked me to sneeze and wake up. I was sat in an enclosed room. Perhaps it was the living room. I got rid of the humid bindings covering my eyes. Nothing seemed to have life inside that negative space until the sound of two flies flying around gave me the notion of freedom. Somehow their movements were rhythmic symphonies. I still don't realize how I got there. The floor was jammed-packed with untied boots, and the walls were all coat-colored. For a moment, I thought I was dreaming. My weak back felt the pressure of gravity more than ever. 

    And Emma was there, leaning forward, looking strong, alive, persuasive, and also, methodical. Hatred was the first sentiment I experienced the moment I looked at her black-in-black eyes. Her right arm placed over her right knee added to the way she was staring at me, paralyzed the time. 

She pointed to a chair with long and healthy fingers. Those full lips didn't move at all; however, I felt the decisiveness she embedded in every movement.  Alright, she wants to talk, I thought. I rushed to follow the order.

    She was wearing a black tank top stripped in the middle by a yellow line approximately seven centimeters wide. Four centimeters long was the wound sewed over her left eyebrow. A bare thought told me that her nickname once was "pine nose." I confirm the beauty of that portion of her body. 

"Yes, such a unique straight nose."

    Emma's watchful behavior immediately makes you realize she has been through challenging situations. You could see her inner personality just by the way she opened her eyes. Without any doubt, you can note her beauty eradicated on the physical aspect. 

    Her shoulders show the same signal as those high-performance and muscular athletes without diminishing her slender figure. According to her sister, she never had the habit of eating correctly. Maybe after the event, getting strong became her goal. 

    The faint light crossing from her broken window lit the all-pink tattoo designed in the neck's left side. The legend reads, "MA."    

    For about five minutes, neither she nor I said anything. The incorruptible expression, combined with thoughtful traits, made her gaze like a burden. Then, she spoke.

    "So here you are," Emma said. Her mezzo-soprano voice highlighted the cold atmosphere. The moment she enunciated that, I discovered what fear was.

    "Are you scared?" I somehow dare to ask. My useless words bounced back my ear after touching each small particle within the studio. No answer was heard. I pissed her, I thought.

    "You should ask yourself that question, lad," Emma replied after straightening her position and showing a subtle smile.

    "Are you coming, Emma?" I said. The previous smile relaxed me.

"Call me, 'E,'" she chuckled.

    "As you wish, 'E, Let's go.'"

    "And that scar in your elbows and eyebrows?" I questioned.

    "I'll tell you what happened after getting out of this ghost city." Emma finished.

Onward...