Visits

• Mikaila Warren, Grade 9
• Short Story
• 2015

He remembers the first time she visited. Her hair hung past her shoulders in magnificent curls, her eyes sparkled, but her smile was non-existent.
The next time she visited her hair appeared to have been tossed up without the mercy of a simple thought, her eyes were duller and the sparkle was dimmer, as if it was being smothered by darkness but was still fighting to be known, finished off with a slight smile spread across her cheeks.
The second time she visited her hair was neat and pulled back, two small curls framing either side of her face, her smile was magnificent, but her eyes were like two raging storms.
The third time she visited it was almost like the last, her hair was neat with the two curls framing her face, the smile still gracing her features, she appeared okay to those who didn’t delve deeper, to those who didn’t take the time to notice or those who simply chose to believe what was easiest. But her eyes…her eyes told a different story. They were practically screaming ‘save me from myself’ but yet no one said anything. Of course they didn’t, what would they say?
She visited one last time, her hair still neat, her smile still prominent and he realised she wore her smile like a knight wears his amour. Her smile she used to divert attention from her eyes. The eyes that no longer contained raging storms, or a sparkle or even a plea from help- these eyes contained nothing but numbness to the world. They were dull and seemed scarier than the raging storms.
That last visit still flooded his mind every chance it could. Everyone else he noticed wore a frown and so did he. But he didn’t wear his with the purpose of displaying the sadness of not being able to see her magnificent curls again, or the sparkle that slit up her eyes, or even the smile she wore as amour. He frowned because he didn’t try. He just watched her descend further down and down and did nothing.