"Should we go check it out?" Someone in the crowd idly suggested.

They were all aware of the tears still making their way down Cynthia's face, and so waited for her to give the command. She hated how she only had control when she was like this. Any other time and she might as well disappear. "Oh. Um, not now. maybe tomorrow, or next time we meet up, I think." Her voice was barely a whisper, burned out from the crying. Kindness like this was mortifying. Still holding Esmae's hand, they all made their way back through the dusted rooms and wired jungle, until their not-so-elegant entrance revealed itself.
Cynthia was the first to go through, then Esmae, and then the rest of the group. From here they backtracked through the fence and over the walls until they were safely back in the laughing embrace of suburban Blossome. Esmae reached the bottom of Cynthia's drive,and waved her goodbye, turning back only when she saw Cynthia's bedroom light turn on.

Cynthia flopped onto her bed, not caring about the fact she still wore her jacket. It turns out having a stupid breakdown is exhausting, and something told her that the embarrassment only made it moreso. She contemplated the book on her bedside table, some funny fantasy novel she'd found in a charity shop, but the consensus was that she needed to conk out for a good while.

*

That damn humming wouldn't leave her mind. She couldn't sleep. all the excitement she was supposed to have felt hours ago crept up on her now, leaving her restless. Inside her mind, she fought a bitter battle. On the one hand, she needed some sleep. On the other, what on earth could it have been? It called to her. She needed to know. No. She could go tomorrow. that's what she said she'd do. We're going tomorrow and that's that. Still. What could it have been?

Cynthia tried to sleep that night, and maybe she did for a few hours, but it was impossible to tell.

In the morning, or at least when Cynthia deemed a normal time to get out of bed, her mind had been made up. She'd return to the factory without her friends and figure it out. Her mother barely noticed Cynthia's absence, and whilst this made Cynthia assume her fellow trespassers would do the same thing, she chose to walk through the quieter parts of town, where she knew her friends wouldn't be. In the morning glow, the factory looked slighly less foreboding, more like an ugly box than anything else. Inside, the air was just as cold as it was the night before, and their footprints were undisturbed in the dust, a clear path to where she gave up.

A crystal. Towering and brilliant, only partially refined, yet still clearly powerful. It glowed a deep, deep red, and against the abandoned backdrop, put Cynthia in mind of a poppy in No-Man's-Land. She shuffled closer, to the point where she could nearly touch it. Then, she noticed something very strange about her reflection. It wasn't her.
Or it was, but she looked way, way older. and her hair was done completely differently, in little space buns. they were a lot cuter than her current ponytail. This grown-up Cynthia laughed, and smiled. And then other people appeared. they were grown ups too, but they seemed so friendly and full of life.

She had spent the whole day staring at it. At the woman's face, beaming and content. She was only brought back to her senses by the pounding of rain on the roof above her. It was dark, she would be expected home soon. She could come back tomorrow, try again to figure out what she was seeing. Oh, her friends were probably pissed at her for ditching. Great, she thought. Another awkward battle to have.
The thought of having to stand up to the group firmly solidified her presence in the real world again, and she promply dusted off her knees and crept back out of the factory.

The rain was coming down hard. The water in her jacket felt like the weight of the world, she thought. Cynthia had elected to walk by the perimeter of the island, peering through the glass walls at the world below. The woman in the crystal was with people from the ground. She knew that but couldn't place why. She swore she didnt recognise any of them, but they weren't from Blossome, that was certain. They all seemed so content.That was herself, in the crystal. Herself, laughing and living and existing. Her friends seemed genuinely interested in what she had to say. they didn't wait until she had cried herself into hoarse command. Of course, getting to the ground was a different matter. It seemed the only possible way was to jump off and hope for the best. She couldn't do that! She'd die! Or maybe she wouldn't. Maybe she'd live. It wasn't unheard of for people to land in the ocean or something. She might live. And then she'd find the people from the crystal. She'd find a home.

What about her family? Haley couldn't care less. Mother might be worried, but she only gave a damn when it best suited her. Boohoo! My darling daughter is gone! If only I had cared for her more! Yeah, but you didn't. and the second that Cynthia returned home, it would all go back to normal. like she'd never bloody died. There were two people holding her back. Esmae and Belle. How would Belle cope? they were sworn allies. maybe she ought to write Belle a letter, telling her that she's not dead, but she's flown the nest, so to speak.She could do the same for Esmae. The rest of the group wouldn't care, but her and Esmae were proper friends.

Cynthia watched through the glass wall a little longer, letting these thoughts dance through her mind, trying to corral them like butterflies. There was a post-office a little while down the road. She'd write the letters there and then sit a little longer. But it would be awkward if she wrote them and then didn't follow through. but if she DID follow through without the letters, she'd never forgive herself. Cynthia had never experienced any dichotomy like it. The second she came to a conclusion, another point came in and made her dizzy. In all her frenzied thinking, she walked by the post office and stopped. It was still open, she could write the letters. get it over with. The crystal came back to her mind, visions of coming home to Mother and Haley, both ready to tear into her. Visions of a grown Cynthia, beautiful and strong.

She entered the post office. The lights were a lurid yellow, clashing painfully with the dim purple sky outside. There were some small writing booths by the desk, and she sat down at one and addressed the letter to Belle. Inside she documented her love for her sister, and the promise of coming back. To Esmae she complimented her beauty and bravery, and her kindness and patience, before thanking her for her warm hands.
She sealed them both and had them sent. They'd arrive first thing tomorrow morning, meaning she had to go now.

*

This story is being rewritten!
This is a first draft intended to help myself solidify aspects of the story! It is clunky in places and the characters are very shallow, so soz in advance B)