A Boy and His Guitar

Clarity had broken her promise to her mother about being back by dinner. Niall and clarity were on their backsides, looking at the navy blue night sky.

"I always wonder if a girl would come here and eventually see me as me, and not an infected kid," Niall said, to himself more than Clarity. Niall turned on his side.

"I don't know a lot about you," he stated. She curtly nodded. "Tell me about yourself."

"There's not much to know," Clarity said, reclining back into her shell. She was always a turtle, new or uncomfortable things scared her. Clarity sighed. "I'm not ready for that, Niall."

She didn't dare look into those eyes, oh, those radiant eyes. He would look at her the same way the kids in America did.

Pitiful, horrid in their eyes.

The kind that made her want to just lock herself in her room until she was thirty and forgotten.

"Why not," Niall pressed. Clarity turned on her side, now.

"Curiosity killed the cat," she reminded him. Niall rolled his eyes.

"You realize I am and speak Irish mainly, so I do not understand that saying," he says, rejecting her reminder.

"We have a saying here, and I will say it in English: 'Get out of your shell, live a little.' " Niall smiled at his attitude.

Clarity sat up, wrapping her arms around her knees.

"I don't want to talk about it, Niall," she demanded crossly.

Niall sighed, and got up.

"I knew it would be like this," he said and glared down at her. She looked up, concerned.

"Huh?"

"They're always like this. Everyone I tell, and then they go off and find new friends. I thought you were different, Clarity! I thought you would care," he said, standing in a weird way.

"Go home, you don't have to pretend anymore," he said, tears welling in his eyes. "Go home."

"No, Niall, I-"

"I said go home!" He yelled and waved his hand. "Not to that house," he said and pointed to her new house.



"Back to America where you belong!"

Notes