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Beginning Of The End



The rain fell horizontally

Clouds blocked out the sun

Rory stood with her arms in the air looking into the storm

Head tilted back with her mouth open

The drops falling to rest on her toungue before sliding down her throat

Everything was happy in that moment

What Rory didn't know

Was that it was the beginning of the end









High School







Rory had grown up in Ridgemont, home-schooled until the age of fourteen. At that time she was transferred into a public high school by the name of Ridge High. She was a sweet girl with deep brown lively eyes and a smile that could melt even the iciest of hearts. She enjoyed reading and kept to herself most of the time but every now and then, when she was in a particularly good mood, she would engage in conversation with whoever happened to be around.

Don't get the wrong idea about Rory. Although she was conservative she was intelligent, among the top in her class, and even was on the honor roll a few times. She had a small circle of good friends she was always seen talking to by her classmates and she had more than a few acquaintances that she said "Hello" to when she passed by them in the hall. No one understood what happened when it did. I remember hearing a boy say, "But Rory was an angel. Who would do that to her?"









The Chameleon







Rory had no definitive style. You could not look at her clothes and label her with things such as punk-rock, emo, gangster, prep, or jock. Her attire usually consisted of a pair of faded jeans, a t shirt, and a hooded sweatshirt. When she entered the cafeteria at lunch she was never seen sitting in one place. She bounced between tables hugging certain people and laughing with others.

Rory's laugh was high pitched and as infectious as her smile seemed to be. One moment when you looked over where she stood with her friends they would be engaged in serious conversation and the next they would be bent over erupting in, practically insane, laughter. One time I heard a girl call her "The Chameleon" because she could blend in with every crowd of people and still look right where she belonged.









Punctuality







One of the things Rory was known for was always being on time. When the bell rung throughout the hall for the kids to go to first period class she would already be seated at her desk waiting for the lesson to begin. Every class was this way. No one had ever seen her come in the room a second too late or a second too early. She sat looking with her deep brown eyes through the cobalt blue thin rims of her glasses and twirling a lock of her sandy brown long hair between her dainty fingers. A pencil rested in her ear.









Storm Rolls In







One morning when walking the halls doing my rounds as usual I realized that Rory wasn't around. Figured she was probably seeing a teacher about an assignment or had gotten called down to the office to pick something up. A boy told me that day he had watched the door to his classroom waiting for her to show up a second after the bell so he could tease her about it. He said he sat and watched the doorknob until the bell rang for the end of class but Rory never came in.

At lunch people seemed to be a little down without Rory's sweet smile. I overheard a couple students questioning each other as to if they had seen her that day at all. That day seemed to drag on as storm clouds covered the sky and rain fell. The final bell rang and all the students got on the yellow buses to go home but still no one had seen Rory. Figured she was sick and would be in the next day to cheer us all up from her absence.









News







The next morning before the first bell rang for the first period class of the day I went and picked up the newspaper from the front office. After returning to my office at the end of the left wing I sat down in my chair, put my feet up, and opened the Police Beat. As my eyes traced the typed letters of the headlines my heart broke into pieces. Rory had been walking to school that day and had been picked up by a man in a car. The man called her family demanding a ransom and the cops became involved. After tracing the call they rushed to a dingy apartment to find the girl face down on a blood soaked mattress...dead.

That day was the saddest day I have ever seen in my whole career of a janitor. Pacing up and down the halls in the morning, in between classes, and after school words seemed to always float to my ears. Talk about Rory spread like wildfire through the small populated school once the brush was lit. I had shown the boy who had spoken to me the newspaper headline. After reading the article he rushed off to tell his classmates clutching his backpack for dear life as he careened down the hallways.

At the end of that very day when all the halls were empty and not a sound, aside from the vents springing to life from time to time, could be heard as I walked down the hall Rory's locker was in. Armed with a pair of bolt cutters and a heavy heart I cut the thick metal lock from its place and began to throw all that was not school text books into a garbage barrel located on the other side of the hall. Any clothes were to be put in a plastic bag and brought to the office to return to Rory's parents the following morning. After most of the locker had been cleaned I put into the top small compartment and slid my fingers around to see if anything had remained. I felt the corner of a piece of paper brush my finger so I pulled it out. Usually I didn't read the things I found. A lot of the things the kids said between one another was best left to the imagination. There was something that made me unfold the paper and read her delicate handwriting, though I do not know what it was even now.

After reading the note I smiled, folded it on its already made creases back into a square shape, and put it in the plastic bag with Rory's clothes to return to her parents. By the final period of that day it seemed the whole world and everyone in it each had a different story to tell for what happened. There was only one that would remain true. The words that were scrawled in pencil on a small piece of white lined paper. The words of a girl who found her way into the hearts of everyone around her just by being herself. The note said:





End Of The Beginning



There are lessons

Floating on words

Be yourself and never lose hope

When tears find their way to your eyes

There is always a way to hide

Look into the rain.







Closure







Rory's lesson became history. In classrooms internationally of all grades the children were taught about caution. The only thing that need never be said, for it was always understood, was to accept who you are and love the people around you each day because you never know when they won't be there anymore. For Rory death was just the beginning. What was the beginning of her end became the end of a whole new beginning.

This was for my Creative Writing class. Nothing amazing but I had to center it around a quote and some pictures I cut out of magazines. It was actually quite fun haha.





Claire. L. Moore 1967-1984







A pale hand searches around the pocket of a worn pair of green khakis producing a cylindrical tube with a clear lid. The lid is removed carefully and the bottom of the tube is turned clockwise by the other hand's callused fingers. Bright red lipstick rises to the surface as if walking up a winding staircase and is smoothed over strong lips connected to a squared jaw line. The cap is then replaced and the cylindrical tube is returned to rest against the teenage boy's leg within his pocket.

*Beep*

The sound of the computer whirring to life followed by the single second long audible beep emitted into the small dingy attic room.

Sage sat in a wooden chair eyes fixed on the "Log In" screen for a moment before his fingers tapped away at the keys, as if by a force of their own, to commence his escape from the judgemental world into the world where only Claire existed. In this digital world everyone knew him as Claire; a woman who wore ruby red lipstick, diamond rings, and flowing dresses. A woman whose words could be as gentle and beautiful as a dragonfly or they can puncture with sharp teeth and inject venom like a cobra. This was Sage's special sanctuary where no one could touch him and he could be who he wanted to be without being questioned. The lipstick was his only traceable secret and his deepest. He held it even closer than his black lab Razor who had become his main buddy when his friends were at home or busy. The only thing Sage didn't count on during this particular day was someone finding out his secret and him losing everything.

Every muggy summer day for the past month or so Sage's mornings started the same way with the computer world for an hour, breakfast, and then either out with his friends or a walk with Razor by the creek. After Sage combed his matted sandy brown hair he made a b-line for the kitchen his stomach already protesting because of the neglected dinner the previous night. Entering the kitchen at a walk, almost run, he plopped himself clumsily in one of the oak chairs and read the back of the newspaper that was held up on the other side of the table taking the place of his father's face.

" Here Sage. Eat it all this time and then feed the dog." The petite woman Sage reffered to as "Mom" placed a plate of eggs, bacon, and toast in front of him and then turned back to the stove. Glancing at her and then back at his food Sage lifted his fork and dug in until his stomach felt like it could take no more and then slid back his chair; the bottom of the legs making a high pitched squeak on the tile. At the sound the newspaper across from him fell flat to the table and an expressionless face met his for a moment.

"Damn it Sage! How many times do I have to tell you to start acting like a man?!" His father slammed his fist to the table and a plate teetered for a second on the edge before falling to the linoleum floor with a crash as the porcelain shattered. Grabbing a napkin from the table top with white knuckles and a reddened face his father threw the cloth in his face.

"Wipe your damn mouth off! Then go feed the dog and while you're at it become a real man!" The man stomped from the kitchen and Sage wiped the red from his lips as he figured the man probably retired to his study to read some more about the world wars. Sage's grandfather had been a military man and had brought his son, Sage's father, up to be the strong, rugged, testosterone driven ego trip he was.

"Sage. Honestly, can't you learn to be a little more manly for your father? He tried so hard to raise you for the military and when you said you wouldn't go it killed him." "Mom" had turned away from the stove and had her wrists poised on her hips with a look of concern mixed with pity residing on her face.

"Look Sage. I think it's time we talked about this business." She sat down in an awkwardly casual way and for the first time ever in what seemed like years she looked at Sage, cracked a little smile, folded her marble like hands over one another on her knee, drew in a breath, and tried to have a conversation with him.

"Mom y-," Sage started to stammer but his mother rose her finger to her lips and made a shushing noise.

"Sage it's about time you realized that wearing lipstick is not a usual thing for a boy of your age to do. Ever since you started hanging out with the Anderson's boy, Julian, from across the creek you've been acting this way. I even found ground out cigarette butts on your window sill and I know he's the one who buys them for you. If your father ever found those you'd b-."

Before the woman could utter another word Sage cut her off and raised his voice.

"I've had enough of this!"

The calm woman's smile had faded into shock at Sage's angry behavior and she could only stare at him for a moment and then set her expression to stone cold before saying, "Don't you raise your voice to me young lady! Is that what you want to be called? Young lady!?"

Sage, not knowing what else to do but stare at the woman with his jaw hanging slack, rose to his feet and pushed his chair in hard so the two back legs rose and slammed back down onto the floor. He then crossed the kitchen to the back door in three adrenaline filled strides and kicked the wooden screen door almost clear off its hinges. It swung and hit against the side of the porch and Sage stomped through the door and down the wooden steps. He could've sworn he heard his mom call after him about his other friend Will that would meet him by the creek every now and then by chance. Breaking off into a run towards the barn and whistling with his fingers between his lips Sage was only thinking about getting away from it all. If he had taken the time to listen maybe things would've happened differently.

The black lab came bolting around the side of the barn towards the boy and joined him in running down the path towards the woods with his tongue hanging out of one side of his mouth panting. Sage ran almost faster than Razor did and the thought gave him a momentary reprieve from the chaos to actually laugh a little as they reached the creek. Sage slowed down to a comfortable paced walk beside the running water bank's edge. Razor trailed behind him wandering over to the edge of the bank every now and then to drink the cold water and bark at his reflection. Sage pulled a pack of cigarettes and a lighter out of his khakis and lit one up and inhaled. Forgetting it was a menthol as he exhaled he coughed. The smoke didn't look glamorous like in the commercials but in large clouds that seemed to cling to everything they drifted up against as they rose. Sage stayed by the creek until he could no longer see the sun through the tree tops and then began his walk home with Razor sniffing the ground behind his sneakers.

As they walked up the path Sage stopped momentarily and pulled out his lipstick and smoothed it over his lips once more planning to show up to dinner wearing it proudly whether his father and mother disagreed or not. Why should he have to be what they wanted? As he walked around a curve in the path Sage didn't notice the boy walking towards him until he was two feet away from him.

"Hey Sage!" Will said stopping right in front of Sage so he had to stop in his tracks. Sage looked at the boy for a moment with a look of confusion on his face, realized who it was, smiled, and then opened his mouth to say something but was quickly cut off.

"Why you wearing lipstick, Sage?"

Sage, not knowing what to say, said the first thing that came to mind, "Because I like it, Will. That's why. And from now on call me Claire."

Right after the words left his mouth Sage wished with everything he had he could've taken them back.

"You like being a woman, Sage?" Will asked with a disgusted look on his freckled face.

Before Sage could say anything else Will ran down the path away from him and was around the curve. There was nothing Sage could do to stop him from telling his other friends about what he just saw and heard Sage say. His secret was exposed. There was no way of changing it. Now everyone would know he wanted to be a woman.

Sage ran home and up to his attic room with Razor immediately and ignored his parents when they called him down for dinner. He laid down on his bed and stared at the ceiling for a while before sitting up impatiently with a sigh and glancing over at Razor.

"What am I going to do, boy? I can't run from it can I?," He spoke to the dog while scratching behind his ears and then stopped and sighed at the horrible reality that the dog could never give him an answer. He pulled out his pack of cigarettes and his lighter. He lit one up and inhaled smoothly this time. It didnt matter to him if his parents caught him smoking on his bed leaning on his windowsill right now. Nothing seemed to matter anymore because he wouldn't have any friends left after Will got home and called Julian. Resting the cigarette still burning on the windowsill so he could fix up his bed a sound came from Sage's computer. He had forgotten he had left it logged on. He shut down the computer and laid down to go to sleep.

"Good night Razor." Sage murmured as he drifted off into sleep. The only thing he had forgotten was the still burning cigarette.



***One Month Later***



A petite woman dressed in a black dress with a bouquet of flowers in her marble hands stands before a grave stone and places the flowers along with a cylindrical tube of red lipstick. It has been a month since her son Sage passed away in a fire that was caused by a burning cigarette. After the accident Will went to Sage's mother and told her about his encounter with Sage on the path. As if to say sorry for the last words she spoke to him and against Sage's father's wishes the gravestone was inscribed:



R.I.P

"Here lies Sage L. Moore 1967-1984

Claire. L. Moore 1967-1984

"Dream as if you'll live forever, live as if you'll die today" ~James Dean'