Perfect eyes

(Vermont, 2018.)

The air in the library was cool and fresh. It was like taking a big gulp of clean air compared to the temperature outside. Most kids would rather stay outside in the heat than come into the library. Nellie didn't understand why, though. It was the library, after all. The sole place you could lose yourself from reality in an adventure. For Nellie, at least.

"Ten more minutes, Nellie. Only ten." Nellie's mother called from the seating area or the library.

"Okay. If you need me, I'll be in the classics aisle." Nellie called back to her mother, knowing even then that it would most likely not be ten minutes, as Nellie always become interested in more than one book and simply had to read a few chapters at the least. Nellie trailed her fingers lightly across the book spines, dust collecting on her fingers from the untouched books, her eyes scanning each one. Maybe the book with the velvety-red cover and gold trim was worth looki-

Nellie tumbled forward, something hard digging into her shin. Her arms were burning a bit, and there was a scrape or two exposed on her legs. But other than that, she was fine. Quietly, she pulled herself up and brushed off her overalls, wincing as her hand ran over a cut on her knee. Nellie then looked down at what had decided to trip her. Her bangs made dark brown streaks in her line of vision. The thing she had fell on, or, had made her fall, was a book. It was a very fat book, it had hundreds and hundreds of pages from what it looked like. Nellie bent down and picked it up for a second, after deciding it was too heavy to stand and look at. Instead, she sat on the ground and balanced the book in her lap, taking in the cover. it was orangey with white lines streaking across it. The words “Gone With The Wind” were printed in all capitals, the words the color of dark brown terracotta. The font looked like it had come from western times, the letters big and bold and important looking. Near the bottom of the book, there was what looked like a few trees and houses, accompanied by a few people. It was hard to tell, considering the fact that Nellie’s glasses had been smashed by the school bully this morning. At the very, very bottom, there was a name. The name of the author, Nellie knew at once. Margret Mitchell. Huh. She was sure she had heard of the name, between endless book tube videos and nonstop recommendations. In one motion, Nellie swept over the pages, taking in the smell. Each book had its own smell, a unique thing that belonged only to the book. Leather, coffee, Vanilla, mulch, and adhesive, to name a few. But this one was different. It was a strange, complex smell. This particular fragrance made all the other books Nellie had smelled seem ordinary. First off, it smelled metallic. Like an expensive ballpoint pen, but less strong. Ink, Nellie decided. Weaved through the ink, there was a flowery scent. It was a little overpowering, like a kid who thinks their presentation is better than the others. It smelled like the perfume Nellie’s mom used when she went to important business meetings. Lilac. That was it. And, last but not least, there was a hint of citrus. unlike the fake dish soap citrus, it smelled natural. Like a freshly zested Lemon or lime. Idiosyncratic, that was the word Nellie liked to use. It meant it was unique, that it was different from the rest. 

“Five minutes, Nellie. Five only.” Nellie’s mother called, interrupting Nelli’s chain of thought. Nellie ignored her other, too endorsed in the book smell. Near the end of the pages though, something caught her eye. It was writing. Well, there was writing throughout the book, of course, but this one was in a different font. Not a font, exactly, but handwriting. Script, like the old days. Curly and round and almost never leaving the page. 

Rey, it began, the words sticking in Nellie’s mind. I’m not scared. I bet you would expect me to, with all the confusion and chaos. But, I’m not. I’ll be gone one day- just like you. I’m awaiting that day, the day your life will end. I’ll be celebrating, I might even buy a cake. I’m Ellie McKay, after all. I celebrate the un-celebrate able. Back to matters in our hands: Did you think I would be scared? Because if you did, I’m not scared at all. You would….

(Vermont, 1960)

Expect me to, probably. It would be your lucky day: Ellie McKay’s death. On headlines, on the radio, in everyone’s conversations. But, you know what? I don’t care. And that’s the thing that will probably drive you crazy. You crave reaction. You want people to be hurt, but not for their sins. You want them dead for the reaction. The reaction isn’t what I crave. I crave detail. Perfection, like finely polished brass. Smooth, flawless plans, like a five-second kidnapping. That’s why I left you. You weren’t a flawless detail, you had holes and slopes. You weren’t smooth polished brass. You were rigid, rough rock. You weren’t even the ideal plan, you were loopholed and cracked. If you were the gun, I was the ammunition. You used me, knowing my power. If you were the dynamite, I was the fire. You had me in a second, with that smile. Those eyes too. The darkest waters and stars couldn’t outshine them. What I would give to see them one more time, to wrap you around my finger. But, I can’t do that. I’m trapped, and you know that. It’s hot in here, scorching hotter than the sun. Hotter than the desert from when we killed that little girl. Hotter then All those nights after we went drinking and stumbled to the bedroom, our bodies tangling into one under the sheets. Not two people, just one. Like when we started the crimes. I planned, you picked the people. We were one, Killing and robbing and stealing. We were one until You trapped me in here. It’s hot as hell, you know. But I don’t care. Because when I die, I will die knowing I was better. The better planer, the better thinker. I was perfect, My charm was so quick and smooth I was like a walking miracle. You might have had a little charm, but not much. Like that time you failed from stealing the knives from West armed. But you succeeded on this, killing me. I’ll give you that, my darling Rey. Congratulations. Once again, You succeed. But in a way, I won too. This book’s title, “Gone with the wind,” Has no meaning to me whatsoever. No meaning except for one. I have never read this book, never heard of it, never thought of it. But the title, it intrigued me. Gone with the wind, like we all are going to be one day. Dead and lifeless and gone. 

I hope you die soon, Ray Smith. My darling, my killer. 

Ellie 

Ellie McKay finished her note quickly, her script better than she had ever seen. Maybe it was the fact it was her last chance to make her mark on earth. But whatever it was, Ellie was glad it was like that. A few beads of sweat fell on the page, expanding like blooming flowers. It was hot in the Freedman-Gord library. All of the windows were bolted shut. The door was locked. Ellie was stupid as hell to forget her knife. She was dying, after all. Ellie never expected herself to die like this. Ellie McKay, Dying in a library? Ha. You must be insane. But no, It was true. And she was dying from the heat. It was boiling in the library, exhausting. Burning and hazy. Ellie wanted it to be over. She wanted to accept death, to lie down her head on the library floor, and never wake up again. She wanted death to carry her up. The air would be cool and nice, she told herself. Imagining that took her mind off of the headache she was currently experiencing. It was as if her skin was boiling off of her, melting and disintegrating away. The headache was like the rapid waters, powerful and overwhelming. Still, Ellie Wasn’t scared. She lay on the floor, Imagining Rey’s eyes. Blue, star bright. The cloudless sky, blooming flower. Specks for gray, like pepper. Idiosyncratic. Unique, those eyes were. Any girl would fall for him in a heartbeat as Ellie had. Ellie’s vision blurred, but She just focused on these bright, shining eyes. 

The bluest ocean, 

The Grayest sunset. 

Those perfect, perfect eyes. 

Note: Soooooo, what happened was my computer was at three percent. And I didn't have time to edit. Or else my computer would die.

Sorry guys...

._.

~Nessie