Chatterbox: Inkwell

The young girl runs across the sidewalk, panting as her sneakers hit the concrete. She strains her hazel eyes to see ahead, long pale fingers fumbling to put in pink earbuds.

Taking a long gasp, she stops for a second. The tween adjusts her loose teal shirt, and makes a few calculated clicks on her golden phone.

Soon she’s back running, mouthing along to the words she knows by heart and nodding along to the rhythm. Then those dark eyes notice a familiar form, tall and brunette with a dark blue t-shirt.

She puts on a new burst of speed, arms flailing in an attempted wave to her best friend. The figure seems to recognize her, but with none of her normal peppy energy.

“H-hey Seal-chan!” She pants, skidding to a stop and gasping for breath. “What’s going...on…”
Her eyes take in the whole scene. Besides Seal, two other figures are there. I (name removed for privacy reasons) the other walking girl, looking down with a solemn expression on her dark face and an older boy the girl has seen, but does not know the name of. He runs a hand through messy dark hair, furrowing his brow.

And there, on the ground, it lays. Frozen stiff, almost like one of the toys her dog plays with. But this is not a toy. The girl exhales slowly.

“Poor squirrel.”
I holds a long stick. Carefully, she pokes the corpse, making it shift slightly.
“I wonder how it died?” She asks, pursuing her lips.
The girl takes a closer look.

No scratches or wounds as far as I can see...old age or disease then.

Seal’s eyes are slightly wet. “It looks too young and healthy.” she says quietly, her voice carrying the haunted tone of loss. It’s something the girl has heard before, during quiet conversations by the poolside, when confessions are uttered into the air and the two can look each other in the eyes and admit the demons inside both of them.

But today, she sighs with the loss of something else.

“Disease.” The girl announces. The boy nods his pimple-spotted head.

“We should go tell the coach.” He says matter-of-factly. The three girls stay silent.

She doesn’t want to. She wants to bask in this moment of silence as long as possible. Sunlight beats down from overhead, casting a dream-like aura around the area.

Soon, four becomes three as he leaves, not wanting to be late. The girls stay. They’re always late anyways.

The girl brings out her phone, then pauses.
“What’s its name? What’s a good squirrel name?”

Seal smiles slightly “Chippers?”

Chippers. It’s such a cheesy name, but somehow it feels right.

“Rest in peace.” The girl mutters, sorrow filling her chest.

Seal fidgets anxiously, anxiety filling her wide eyes. “We should be heading back guys. I don’t want to be late.”
I reaches forward without making a sound, grabbing a handful of loose leaves that lay on the ground ahead. She throws them on the lifeless body, now pushed to the side. The girl realizes what’s going on, and puts her phone back in the pocket of a fuzzy pink hoodie.

“”Guys…” Seal whines slightly.

The girl’s eyes narrow behind dark glasses. She joins I in covering the body, a slow hollowness spreading through her.

The girl doesn’t cry. But if she did, she would.

Instead she lets that emptiness carve out her heart.

We don’t know anything for sure. Not a single certain fact about this animal. It’s just a faded story on the ground.

Will I become that someday? Just a memory, tarnished by time.

Will I be remembered as a hero, or as a villain?

Will I be remembered?

It lays covered, and the girl turns on her heel to walk silently ahead.

Seal attempts to make conversation, to change the topic. The girl stays quiet, committing every bit of the story to her head.

Then her fingertips move, without thinking, to brush her face. They touch the marks that will never fade as long as her heart keeps beating.

On her left cheek, the right side of her neck, and finally on her lips.

Her fingertips long to remember the happiness that filled her on those moments. Moments that will come again in the future.

But right now, she’s still empty.

Then Seal’s arms wrap around her.

The girl looks at her best friend, and lets an awkward smile whisper across her face.

She’ll be remembered if she tries hard enough.

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A true story.

R.I.P Chippers.

I spent a week writing about a dead squirrel. Help me. I need more hobbies.