[PREVIEW] Great Sage Above Brockton Ch 14

The snap seemed to echo down the hall, along with the last scraps of her heart. And all Taylor could do was lie on the dirty floor and stare.

“Aw, what’s wrong Taylor? Did you drop something?”

Every word was a stab in her ear, shattered glass raking over a chalkboard. She didn’t dare look up, not when cold eyes stared at her. The few students who dared to brave the halls at the time stood to the side, watching and unmoving. Teachers? As if. They always knew when and where to strike, away from anyone who might give a damn.

The same song and dance every day, though this one started tamer than usual. No hate mail, no sharp whispers, only the lone spitball in class. For a moment, she even dared to hope.

Maybe that was why the abyss felt deeper. It closed by a margin, and she’d latched onto the edge like a lifeline…only for the maw to open wide and swallow her whole again.

This time it wasn’t the mocking eyes full of cruelty of her former friend, nor the barbed words of the rest of the Trio, or even the apathetic gazes of her schoolmates that rent her innards apart. 

It was the little pieces of wood, once finely polished and admired by the light of a desk lamp, scattered across the filthy tiles. 

A blur came down and another snap rang in her ears, and all she could only watch, even as the new piece of wood rolled right into her face.

“Oops, was that important?” Madison’s voice raked the proverbial nail across her brain. A sob or a whimper would’ve been natural, but instead, all Taylor could feel was the abyss drowning her again, dragging her to depths she didn’t even think possible before.

It was stupid. She didn’t want to bring it to school. She knew this might happen. Their sole purpose was to ensure her life was as miserable as it could get. Nothing and no one was sacred. If her mother’s flute wasn’t safe from their hands, why would a stupid little brush be spared?

Why did she do it then? Why grab the brush from her desk and not leave it next to the inkstone? Why not wait until after school to read about calligraphy, to finally have the courage to put it to paper? It wasn’t anything special, hell, she’d looked up fancier brushes. 

“Wow, I didn’t think you could get more pathetic, Hebert. A brush? That’s all it takes to break you?”

Maybe…she wanted to feel it in school, where the demons came out to play and torment her. The warm tingling she got when she held the little piece of wood and hair. The greys of the world around her, blooming with a smidgen of color. The invisible chains dragging her limbs lost a few links.

She just had to take it out as she hid behind her locker’s door. Right as they saw it.

A silly little gift. 

Given by the first person who actually bothered to stop and help her.

It wouldn’t stop; she’d accepted it long ago. No one would help her, and she was powerless. Taking the blows was routine at this point. They gave her their daily dose of humiliation, she’d endure, pick herself up, and slog forward until the day ended.

Was it so wrong to feel that lingering warmth with her in that abyss?

But in an instant, it was gone. Scraps for a fire or the garbage. 

Like everything else.