Page 22 of Songbird: Black Kite
I’d let Victoria get the better of me once before. She’d have to work a fuck of a lot harder at it if she wanted to win this time.
Chapter thirteen
Wren's Letter
Hey,Hawk,
It’s me again. I’m not sure if you’re getting these letters, but for the sake of expedience and my sanity, I’m going to go ahead and assume that you are.
It’s been a while since I’ve written, but that’s because life has kind of...stalled.
I graduated last year. Yay me, right? And after all the shit these last few years have brought, I have never been happier to have been done with something in my life than I was to be done with high school.
To hell with that place.
I thought that finishing school would, I don’t know, set me free? That’s what they tell us, right? Graduation is this massive finish line that we are all racing for, and crossing it is supposed to be the start of some incredible journey into adulthood.
I guess for most kids it is. They finish high school, and they get to go to these amazing colleges all over the country, having all these experiences; meet new people, see all the places we’ve only ever seen on TV before.
They get to fucking live, you know?
But that’s not what happened for me. Graduation was just another day on the calendar. Fuck, I didn’t even go to prom. Can you believe that? Not that it was high on my to-do list or anything (the music would have sucked), but it was one of those experiences that are supposed to be a part of the fabric of our youth, and I didn’t go.
Not because I didn’t have a date—trust me, I wouldn’t have said yes to any one of the Neanderthals from my class even if one of them had the balls to ask me—or that I didn’t have a dress. I would have put together akilleroutfit.
No, I couldn’t go to prom because I was working a double shift to make sure we had enough money for both groceries and the water bill that month.
I live a charmed life, hey?
So now here I am, almost two years later, and nothing has changed. I’m still working doubles. Still in Grand Rapids.
Still going nowhere.
And I’m so fucking mad about it I could scream.
You ever feel that way? Like you’re so unhappy with the direction of your life, and the shit you can’t control that you just feel like you could explode? I get that way a lot lately. Like I’m so full of rage and hate and fucking teenage angst that I can hardly recognize myself anymore.
I’ve started writing. Mostly shitty poetry—which is cheaper than therapy—but some songs, too. I picked up a used guitar and I’ve been teaching myself to play. I’m not great or anything, but I’m not total shit, either. It’s basically all I do with my free time these days. Playing somehow just feels right. Putting all that hurt and anger into words feels like the right thing to do. Theonlything to do. I can’t change much about my life right now, but I can do that.
Is that how you write songs? Do you take all the feelings that you don’t have room for and don’t know what to do with and do you put them on paper?
I like to think it is, and that’s why I relate so much to your lyrics. Because you and me? I think we feel the same things, and that honestly helps. It lets me know that what I’m feeling, the things that are tearing me up inside, that they aren’t mine alone. That you’re out there, feeling things like this too.
And if you can take that anger and turn it into musical magic, then maybe there is hope for me, too.
Because if something doesn’t change for me, I’m not sure what I’ll do.
Your fan,
Wren
Chapter fourteen
Wren
Sixteen Years Ago
“Yo,Wren.Orderup!”
