Cuz Naomily is the rizzle dizzle! Thought I'd try switch it up a lizzle in hizzle! And fail.. miserably. Based on The Five People You Meet in Heaven by Mitch Albom izzle.

     I awoke in ashes. My eyes were fixed to the greying sky above me as my nails clawed into the remnants of the blaze that once danced here proudly. I sat upright swiftly, too swiftly, my head reels and my breathing quickens as I comprehend my surroundings. The back garden lawn. It had been scarred by the unusually hot summer, with the grass blades worn thin by the relentless abuse from the energy of us three children. I realise too late that it suffered mercilessly at the hands of hopscotch and Skip To My Lou. I glance across to the shed, it's covering of grey, grazing pebbledash maintaining it's threat, even after all of these years of me becoming wise to the world and developing the ability to balance. The uneasy silence has become apparent now, surely there should be something or someone making a racket. I'd give anything to hear my childhood again; little Bailey from next door threatening me with his spud gun, Doreen's incessant hollering coupled with the yelp of her geese, anything, the general noise of the life I lived. I hear nothing but my ragged breaths.
     My discomfort forces me to stand, I dust myself down half-heartedly and decide to take in more of the environment. I take a step away from the ashes of bonfire night 2003 and towards the home that held me for sixteen years making sure I really took notice this time. A regular semi-detached, split level, council house half covered by part peeled yellow paint signifying what was just another splintered promise from my Step-Father. Only the bathroom window was open, the window of the kitchen and two bedrooms remained shut, sealed tightly; I know now these were the early tell tale signs of my mother's OCD. The shabby guttering hung loosely, threatening to spill it's impressive accumulation of soggy, decaying leaves. I took a deep breath, preparing to seize my thoughts for one moment of simplicity, but even that was too much to ask as a sudden shift in the warm light reaching my nape stole any chance of normality. I turned my head to see what had caused the alteration. My eyes winced against the harsh brightness of a sun that laid far from the horizon as I squinted to try and decipher the figure that moved towards me steadily. And then I saw her. Winding neck and peroxide hair, flip-flops and shorts that she claimed the weather demands. And I should've expected it. And I should have known it would hurt this much. It was somewhat akin to the gut-wrenching realisation that Santa isn't real. Everybody told you that Santa wasn't real and you remained adamant he was; leaving the mince pies and the brandy, the carrots for the reindeers. And then that one christmas eve you decided you wanted to go down early. And you saw your Step-Dad affixing the faux beard. Then that part of you died. And she made me remember everything.
     "I saw my Mummy and Daddy kissing today," Naomi whispered to me, her sticky hands resting on to my shoulder to stop her dropping off of our favourite bench in the whole wide playground.
     "Ewww! That's yucky! My Mummy and Daddy never kiss. Your Mummy and Daddy are icky" I replied to Naomi, swinging my legs and sticking my tongue out at her.
But then she looked sad and I didn't want Naomi to look sad. Her eyes looked a little bit watery and I didn't like that, I liked Naomi to be smiley and my Mummy always said that if I caused the problem then I had to fix it. My Mummy is very clever.
     "Only kiddin' Naomi. Your Mummy and Daddy aren't icky. They just love each other lots and lots." I smile really big and screw my eyes shut to show her that I really mean it. 
     "Really?" She looked at me when she said it, her eyes looked different, but I dont really know enough words to describe how it made me feel.
     " Of course." I said and nodded my head up and down lots and lots.
     "But what's love Emily?" Naomi asked me, she looked confused.
     "Oh well erm. My Mummy said she loves my Daddy but I don't know why, he's icky and has a furry chin." I replied
     "My Mum has a furry chin and a furry lip. I don't like it. My Mummy said she loves it when Daddy touches a special spot or something." She paused. And she looked like he was thinking hard because she wrinkled up her eyebrows and bit on her bottom lip."But I don't think that's good, spots are nasty and red and shiny and if I had a spot I wouldn't like someone to touch it I would run inside and cry because everyone would laugh at my big red spot," she rushed out in one big breath, I think Naomi has big cheeks to hold all that breath.
     "I wouldn't laugh if you had a spot Naomi" I smile at her and try to look like I mean it because I do mean it I really do.
     "I wouldn't laugh at you if you had a spot either Emily," she says and she did that thing with her eyes again.
     Then I look down, because all I can feel now is her sticky hand in my clean hand. And I don't care that Mummy will tell me off for getting mucky. I think I like it maybe.
     My memories are swept aside by that all too familiar voice, reminding me that I should stop admiring the past and focus firmly on figuring out the present. I take the time now to really look at her, how much she's changed since that first time we held hands in the playground, and I can't quite comprehend it. Naomi is beautiful. A delicate jaw adorned with matching pout. Her small but slightly crooked nose; afflicted by her heroic Tarzan impression on the second day of high school. The straight white teeth I caught sight of between words showing the world her attempts to impress her hot dentist. Pale skin, feather soft to the touch and sitting beautifully against her eyes. Her eyes. The ice blue pools that had given me my first love. My only love.
     "What in God's name are you doing in my garden Naomi, and more to the point why the hell am I here?" I question, now slightly angered as I start to churn more bitter memories through my mind.
     "Well you would know if you'd listened to what I was just saying instead of checking me out." Unaffected by my anger; her voice oozing the playful ego she had developed over the years.
     "Not my fault you're so buff big man. You off the 'roids yet?" I ask as I slap her arm coyly.
     "Emily, what on Earth are you talking about? Why would I be on roids?" She cries in confusion. Confusion, ever giving of much needed power me thinks.
     "I think the lady doth protest too much. And by the way Naomi is that the roid rage kicking in? When did you get so tetchy?" I smile widely, relishing the upper hand.
    "Oh haha. Well I believe it was some point between hmm let's see," she over emphasises every syllable then pauses to look at her watch, "ah, noon and your time of death".

Fin
izzle.


Inspiration for steroids comment...




Naomily for Queen!