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writingonthemoon · 5 years

Text

Old Clothes Part 4

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3

Word Count: ≈ 2116

Warnings: Mentions of death, murder, fear of failure

Author's Note: Okay, so I accidentally started previously that Odette first Burned when she was nine. That was incorrect as she was much younger. Also, this isn’t exactly what I wanted for this part, but I think it sets up my plans for the next part nicely.

Old clothes are always a little strange. Someone once loved them—cherished them—and now they’re nothing more than a mask. The quality vanishes with the donation bin. Dresses for the rich are now for the poor and those for the poor are falling to pieces. Those stitched by mothers have a different energy about them. The love that holds the fabric together never quite fades and it always remains soft, even after the countless storms and attacks of nature. The items warmed your soul whenever they were held and the rush of emotions was overwhelming in the most brilliant way possible. My sister missed the opportunity for that feeling.

My mother used to make my clothes for me. She would buy the fabrics and spend an entire Sunday making me a new outfit. They were my favourite things in all the world. We only kept one when we first left. It was the one I was wearing, but it wasn't the same when it was handed down to Clara. Ashes had woven their way into the seams and the smell of fire lingered no matter what we would do. The warmth of love carried the burning of a fire. Delicate lace that lined the edges were rough with hardened emotions.

I sighed and motioned for my audience to sit down. Jack and Davey pulled chairs out from my table, still staying quite close. Albert grabbed a seat for Crutchie and himself, while Buttons plopped himself on the ground with his legs crossed. "Before I say anything else, you have to promise you won't tell anyone. Not a soul. I shouldn't be telling you any of this since it puts more people than just me in danger, but I think you deserve to know. Promise." I made eye contact with every one of them and they all nodded in reply. "Great. Fantastic. Brilliant." I ran my hand through my hair once again.

"I was born in London, I believe, in 1791. My father's name is—was James and my mother's name was Lilijah. At least, that's what their names were while I was growing up. The Burn existed long before I was born, probably back when the first monarchies began. It was never meant to be a way of life. The Burn... it was always a safety procedure, a cautionary plan if you will.

"Say everything goes wrong. You're being framed for murder or are being chased by the police or mafia or it's anything else that's basically the end of the world for you. Well, in my family, that's the end of the world for whomever you were. Then, you are reborn, so to speak.

"It's simple enough, really. Everything you once owned, your clothes, books, anything that could identify you, would be taken out to an empty space. There, you set a match to it, lighting everything ablaze and erasing all evidence of you ever existing. It worked exceptionally well when I was little since towns and cities were so spread out and people just died suddenly, but people would notice if you just disappeared since there were so few people living in the area. Today, it's easy to vanish, but harder to locate a burn spot.

"Once the ashes lay at your feet, you build yourself again. New name, new place, new story. Of course, this plan wasn't meant for frequent use. So you have to get creative sometimes. I can't even tell you how many people I've become. My name is Odette Davenport, though. It's the one thing I've always known. I don't know my birthday, where I'm truly from, how I prefer my tea or if I even like tea. At this point, Odette is just another character I'm to play before I move on from this place."

My gaze met the ground as I paused, not knowing how to go on. Two of these boys were related to me. They have a right to know, but should they? Who knew how many times Clara and Elijah had Burned before settling down and washing the ash from their nailbeds. Did they even share the family shame with anyone or was it the secret that killed them? No, they should know. They should know why.

Jesse. No, he's not Jesse. Jesse is gone now, he doesn't matter. This one does. He's different, better than Jesse. In his eyes, I'm a person. A real person who feels the same as others do and thinks the same thoughts. I'm just older, suffering a long-lasting curse, just as he is. His leg was the poison that was crawling through his body and killing him slowly. The water rushed through my veins, stripping away any sign of illness or death, keeping me alive. How I wished I could switch with him, feel sickness and pain and worry about mortality instead of harbouring the fear of my past coming up behind me and pushing me over the edge, only to fall forever.

Jack and Davey must think I'm insane with my tale. That or they're calling into question what they knew about life and the universe. Perhaps it was both at once. The two need not be here, listening to my woes, yet they sit in anticipation, awaiting my next breath. But why? This has no consequence upon their lives. I’m merely a single person in a list of thousands that they’ve met just in a day. Compared to the years they would exist, it’s an interaction that means most nothing. Yet they are content with sitting and giving me their attention as if I were the Queen during a time of war. An odd comparison since my actions would lead me down a far less noble path where I would abdicate the throne and flee the country.

"I was four when I first Burned. I had accidentally stolen food and my parents feared the worst. We weren't living in a town known for forgiveness. We packed up in the middle of the night, brought everything out to the field. I still feel the scorching heat on my face sometimes, when I’m at my lowest. The smell of burning memories in one you never think you'll know, but you’ll never forget it either. We kept very few things from my first life. My grandmother's ring," I held up my hand to show off the flat gold front with worn initials carved into the front, "some money, the clothes we were wearing, and our names." There was a small gasp from Buttons and Albert. The family trait for worry and fear of failure seemed to run deeper than I thought.

"My brother Elijah Burned when he was five and Clara was only one at the time. Once again, it was all my fault. My mind escaped me and I wandered to follow it. I was only ten and they shouldn’t have blamed me for what I came across." I huffed and shook my head, clearing the daunting image from my brain, "It was a body, what I found. I...They thought I killed him. Me, a ten-year-old, killed a fully grown man. I was going to be arrested, put on death row, for something I didn’t do. So we Burned. After that, it became frequent. The five of us carried matches on our person just in case we had to leave in a hurry. We no longer controlled the burn. It controlled us."

"Wait, you was four when youse did this?" I nodded to Jack, confirming the answer he knew, "But you was just a kid! That ain’t right!"

"I lived in different times, Jack. Very different times. I was British in America not eight years after the War for Independence. They would do anything to get rid of us. It was like we were a plague when we wanted out of England the same way they did." I glanced out the dingy window, seeing the onset twilight, "Oh god, I best be going." I pushed myself off the table I was perched on, "Thank you for the supplies to fix myself up and I guess for listening to part of my life story." My mouth met the cheeks of each boy in thanks, something I had picked up in my travels. I started backing out of the room when Crutchie’s face caught my eye. He was crestfallen, the corners of his mouth turning down as he sighed and kicked lightly at the ground. I couldn't just leave like this. Not after what I had told them all. But I needed to. "Do one of you think you could walk me to my hotel? It is quite dark and I don’t want to be in any danger."

Before anyone could respond, Jack stepped forward, "I'll take ya. I know dese streets betta than anyone else." He led me out the Lodging House as I waved at the boys in a final goodbye. I uttered the address of my temporary arrangements and we stalked the streets in silence, becoming long shadows that extend for miles around sharp corners. I watched Jack more than the path ahead of me, trying to piece together the mystery I wanted to know. He and Davey... what was it about them?

"You know, if ya wanna look at me, starin' like that ain't too covert."

"Davey," Jack's posture straightened and I could tell his breaths were shallowing, "there's something about him you like, isn't there. More than just a friend perhaps."

"I don't know what youse talkin' 'bout. Dave is one a my best friends," I saw the slight fall in his expression, turning to sadness and bitterness, "Why would there be anything else to 'im that I like? It's not like I'll just listen to him go on hours 'bout nothin'. And it ain't his pretty eyes or soft hair or anything. Definitely not." He shook his head and met my gaze, a pleading look on his face. Nobody could know. Even if Jack couldn't help himself when it came to talking about his counterpart, no one could know.

"Definitely not." I winked at him and we chuckled. A quiet followed afterwards until Jack broke the invisible barrier

"You ain't gonna leave us, right? Not yet?"

I stared him dead in the eye, ready to avoid making the real decision, "Of course not. There’s still so much you all don't know yet."

"Great. I think Al and Buttons really enjoy having you here. Crutch too. He doesn't trust many too much. There's only a few of us he’s real close to. Somethin' about you is different. I could see it in his face. I think he really likes ya." I blushed at the thought of Crutchie liking me. It wasn't a concept that was foreign to me, but I didn't expect it from this boy after hearing I was immortal.

The middle-class building loomed above us, beckoning me towards the room I had booked, "I guess this is me." I shrugged and thanked Jack for walking me. he stole a hug before running back into the night. My fingers found my hair as I entered the building, climbing the stairs. The room I had booked was tiny, a single bed crammed against the wall and a trunk placed at the end. A window was across from the door, leading to the fire escape, and there was a cracked mirror mounted by a closet that would fit only a child.

My fingers found their way around the room, collecting my things as my mind ran around the world, searching for a place to run to. The checklist was losing empty boxes and the panic inside me wasn't reflected on the outside. This was normal. My footsteps were almost nonexistent as I floated out of the room and to the empty bathroom shared by all the guests on my floor. The lock flicked shut at my will and I carefully stacked my items within the confines of the bathtub. I opened the window to filter the air into the black night.

But the boys. I couldn't do this to them. My family. Crutchie. It wasn't fair that I was leaving them in the dark, no idea of the end or middle of the story. then again, life was never fair either. Certainly not this one. The moment I started this, it went downhill. I studied the pile across from me, spinning the historic ring around my finger. My hand found the box in my pocket. A snap of the wrist later and my face was illuminated with the soft glow of the burning match. Ashes were always the beginning, but what was the end?

#ooo cliffhanger #old clothes

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