Entry tags:
September in 2000
September sits in the corner with a book. The others don't pay any attention to her, few people do, but she's very aware of them. She doesn't bother trying to read her book, she's read the same page six times so far, and not absorbed a bit of it. She's too distracted, too restless.
Eventually, she gets up and leaves the house. It's night and, overhead, the constellations are like flecks of ice, gleaming in the black sky. The moon is hiding behind clouds.
September knows how it feels.
No one ever notices her. Not really. It's not that she's plain, just . . . forgettable. Until she decides not to be. Until she decides its time for Summer to fuck off and Autumn to arrive. Or for Summer to stay a while longer, leaving Autumn to shiver by the gate. That's when the others notice her, that's when people tend to think of her, complaining about how warm it still is or how cold it's gotten.
September takes a kind of perverse joy in the complaints. After all, any attention is better than none. Right?
She walks through the garden, stepping off the carefully laid out paths, onto dew-wet grass. September walks into the woods, passing wells and fountains and artfully crafted grottos. She makes her way to the lake, behind the house, where she sits on the shore and stares into the black waters. She hugs her knees and thinks about hurricanes and typhoons. Lately, she's developed a real affinity for violent weather. September's not sure why. Maybe because she's just so tired and so angry about being tired and overlooked and ignored.
She wonders what would happen if she walked into the lake and sank to the bottom. She wouldn't die. It would take extraordinary circumstances to kill her. How long would it be before anyone noticed she was gone? That she wasn't there to pass on control and responsibility to October?
October would notice. She'd notice and she'd throw a bloody fit. Then the others would probably go right to Father and Mother and demand that Something Be Done. She might be replaced. It's happened before, with some of the others.
September doesn't want to be replaced. She doesn't want to be remade into something else. She let Autumn come on time this year and saw Summer off without a word. She's only got a few more days left and then she'll have eleven months off, to do as she likes.
She could leave the house and go out into the world. She could travel and eat and maybe meet someone lovely who would see her and fall for her and think she has pretty eyes.
Most likely, though, she would just wander, alone and ignored, like always.
Fuck it, thinks September.
She stands and heads back to the house. Her time is almost up, but she'll have a whole year to plan something big and bold for next year.
Something that will make her unforgettable.
Eventually, she gets up and leaves the house. It's night and, overhead, the constellations are like flecks of ice, gleaming in the black sky. The moon is hiding behind clouds.
September knows how it feels.
No one ever notices her. Not really. It's not that she's plain, just . . . forgettable. Until she decides not to be. Until she decides its time for Summer to fuck off and Autumn to arrive. Or for Summer to stay a while longer, leaving Autumn to shiver by the gate. That's when the others notice her, that's when people tend to think of her, complaining about how warm it still is or how cold it's gotten.
September takes a kind of perverse joy in the complaints. After all, any attention is better than none. Right?
She walks through the garden, stepping off the carefully laid out paths, onto dew-wet grass. September walks into the woods, passing wells and fountains and artfully crafted grottos. She makes her way to the lake, behind the house, where she sits on the shore and stares into the black waters. She hugs her knees and thinks about hurricanes and typhoons. Lately, she's developed a real affinity for violent weather. September's not sure why. Maybe because she's just so tired and so angry about being tired and overlooked and ignored.
She wonders what would happen if she walked into the lake and sank to the bottom. She wouldn't die. It would take extraordinary circumstances to kill her. How long would it be before anyone noticed she was gone? That she wasn't there to pass on control and responsibility to October?
October would notice. She'd notice and she'd throw a bloody fit. Then the others would probably go right to Father and Mother and demand that Something Be Done. She might be replaced. It's happened before, with some of the others.
September doesn't want to be replaced. She doesn't want to be remade into something else. She let Autumn come on time this year and saw Summer off without a word. She's only got a few more days left and then she'll have eleven months off, to do as she likes.
She could leave the house and go out into the world. She could travel and eat and maybe meet someone lovely who would see her and fall for her and think she has pretty eyes.
Most likely, though, she would just wander, alone and ignored, like always.
Fuck it, thinks September.
She stands and heads back to the house. Her time is almost up, but she'll have a whole year to plan something big and bold for next year.
Something that will make her unforgettable.