Hmm Hot Chocolate

Owen hands a mug of hot chocolate to me, and sits down next to me. I face him, curled up on the couch, my knees tucked underneath my chin.

“Thank-you.” Owen nods at me and searches my face, an unasked question upon his lips. I hug my mug and look down at the creamy drink. Hot chocolate is a delicacy. I’m surprised Owen even has any.

“Iryssia.” The use of my full name forces me to look Owen in the eyes. “We need to discuss what happened back there.”

“I have no idea what happened back there.” I mumble, and look back down.

“Were they–” Owen stops, unsure how to continue. After a moment of silence, “Were they talking about your dad?” He asks cautiously.

I have never seen Owen so unsure of himself before. I can feel his worried eyes on me. It has been ten years since my dad passed away. I don’t know exactly what he did for a living, some sort of businessman. He did a lot of travelling and I didn’t see him much. When he came home, though, he spent nearly every moment with me. I was his world, and he was practically a celebrity in my eyes. I would count down the days until he came home again. He showed me everything I know about the city. Every morning he would take me out of the city, which was the only time I ever left the city walls, to see the sun rising. I would laugh as he spun me around and around, the sun coming from behind the city wall and glowing orange in the distance, spreading out beyond the horizon from every direction. I remember his face so clearly in those moments. His booming laugh, his deep laugh lines, and his bright grey eyes. His smile spread across his entire face, framed by his brown beard with specks of grey. I remember the light of the rising sun behind his face, making each of my favourite features of his stand out. I felt so safe in his arms. It was us against the dangerous world that lay beyond the wall.

Quite the Fall

Owen’s strong arms come around my waist, and he presses me against him. I hiccup and turn my face to the side, glancing up at Owen, whilst pulling myself together.

“Ready?” His voice is calm, but his whole body is tense. We need to move, whether I’m ready or not. I nod my head, feeling my legs quivering underneath me. I push myself out of his arms, and take a shaky breath.

“Let’s go.” I grab Owen’s hand tightly in my own, and we race down the alleyway. At each intersection, we turn. The more we zigzag, the more likely we can escape. I haven’t heard footsteps behind us for a while now, but we keep on running.

I can barely feel my legs as we run. I feel like we have been running forever. I hardly remember why we are running in the first place. Why did we run? What did we witness? With my mind focused elsewhere, I became my clumsy self again. My feet hit the ground, one after the other. Until one doesn’t. Instead, my left foot hits my right heel, full force. I swing my arms to try to balance myself out, but my right foot is kicked forward, and my legs become tangled. I slam into the ground, hard. I managed to get my arms up to protect my face, but I wasn’t able to catch myself. I roll twice over, before I settle in a pile of dust and blood. Owen screeches to a stop ahead of me, and runs over to the tangle of limbs I have become. He picks me up, and dusts me off, examining the raw skin on my arms and hands.

“I think we have run far enough.” He says, and puts my arms down. I examine the damage myself, and see the nasty road burns, but for the most part, I am still in one piece. The sting begins to settle in, as the adrenaline from the fall wears off.

“Agreed.” I reply. I limp ahead, Owen trailing behind me. “Can I crash at your place for a while? I don’t think it is wise to go home yet.” I say to Owen. My mind travels to my mother. I hope she will be okay without me. I’m not even sure if those men will go to my house. If they really were talking about my dad, then chances are they know where I live.  

“Yeah, of course you can. Your mom…” Owen trails off. He drags his hands through his hair, his face distressed.

“She’ll be fine. She knows how to take care of herself.” I reassure Owen, and myself.

RUN!

I glance over at the other man, but his face is hidden behind the bodies of those beside him. A few broken phrases reach my ears.

“I gave you time . . . the city is . . . Mr. Velde can’t save you now . . .”

My eyes widen at the sound of the name and I gasp out loud. Could he mean my father? I sense Owen glancing at me and then squinting back at the man, trying to decipher who the man is. Unfortunately my gasp echoed off the walls of the alley and right to one of the man’s ears. He glances over at Owen and I. I try to duck my head back behind the doorway in time, but he definitely sees me. He is shouting at us, telling us we shouldn’t be here. I feel distant. It is too surreal, I can’t grasp what is happening. Owen grabs my arm and yanks me out of the doorway. I see my feet running beside his, but I don’t hear our footsteps. The man is still shouting at us, shouting to stop, but we keep going. As we round the bend and run down another alley, all my senses come back to me like the force of a thousand bricks falling on top of me.

“STOP! CITY POLICE!” I glance back, my heart now in my throat. That man is not a cop. Cops don’t dress in suits.

“MY ASS YOU’RE A COP!” Owen shouts back and picks up the speed, practically carrying me as he surpasses my maximum speed. My feet are clumsy beneath me, and my breath is coming out ragged, each breath more difficult than the last.

“Owen!” I croak. My throat is too tight.

Owen glances down at me seeing my wide eyes, tears streaming across my ghostly face. He says something under his breath and whips me around a corner. We crash into the wall, his body pressed tightly up against my own. I grab his jacket with tight fists, and shove my face into his shoulder. I cough and sputter in breaths, trying to muffle the sound. I know the men will catch up soon. We need to run again. 

Lost and Found

After winding through the streets from the City Centre, I finally speak up. “Owen, do you even know where we are?” He pauses before answering me.

“Yes. Sort of?” Another pause. He sighs. “No, okay? I lied. I got distracted and this city is built like a maze! Who designed this place?!” He raises his hands up in the air, gesturing at the city walls. He lets them fall back down to his sides.

We keep on walking and he glances down alleyways as we pass them. Owen glances down another, passes it, changes his mind at the last second and grabs my arm as he swings me around toward the alley.

“Ah! Owen!” I giggle and steady myself as I skid to a stop beside him.

“Sorry! It’s this way, I swear.” I give him a look and he squirms underneath my glare. “I’m sure this time!” he says and grabs my arm. I groan as he drags me along.

The snow has mostly melted already with the afternoon sun, and Owen and I have peeled off our winter jackets, stuffing hats and mitts into the sleeves so they don’t get lost.

We walk for a while longer and just before I’m about to blame Owen again for getting us lost, he smacks a hand over my mouth. “Shhh.” He whispers and shoves me into a small doorway, hiding us from whatever is up ahead.

I peek out from behind Owen’s large frame and the doorway, trying to get a look at what he saw. A little way s ahead of us is a group of men that are surrounding another man. The man is backed p against the wall, his posture emanating anger, and he points an accusing finger at one of the other men.

I glance over at the other man, but his face is hidden behind the bodies of those beside him. A few broken phrases reach my ears.

Drama Queen

Owen shoves his face in front of the chain, blocking my view. “Whoa.” With a frustrated sigh, I push Owen with as much force as I can muster and manage to make him take a step to the side so I can see again. “Where did you find something like this, Isabella?” Owen asks, talking to her as if they were old friends.

“All my rarest pieces are from a good friend of mine who travels the world looking for trinkets like this. This specific item is from a small village south of New City located in one of the hottest deserts this world has to offer.” She smiles up at Owen, moving her smile to me when she notices that I am the possible buyer.  

“My father was from New City.” I say, my eyes still on the necklace. “How much?” I glance up and meet her eyes. I am uncharacteristically eager to buy this necklace. I don’t usually wear jewelry, but there is something special about this piece that I have to have it.

After a bit of haggling, and a significantly lighter coin purse, Owen and I walk away from the stall. I touch the necklace that is now around my neck, resting lightly on my collar bone. Owen is pouting beside me as we browse the rest of the stalls. I glance over at him, “What’s wrong with you?”

“I didn’t find out where she is staying while she’s in town.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and kicks the dirty snow. My face scrunches up as I try to hide a smile and a snicker of laughter.

“You poor thing. Whatever are you to do? And you were going to confess your love and everything! Such a shame. I guess you’ll just have to wait until next month when the next sellers come and hope that she’ll be there again!” I sigh dramatically and place my hands over my heart. “Owen, you must go back! Confess your undying love before it’s too late!” I smirk as he rolls his eyes at me.

“You’re a drama queen, Sia.” My eyes widen as he attempts to hide a smile.

“I’m the drama queen?! Owen! Seriously? You just met the girl, and she was using you to make a sale!”

“Yeah, well it didn’t work. I didn’t buy anything, did I?”  He gives me a look of victory, which makes me laugh out loud, startling a nearby man at a stall. Owen slaps a hand over my mouth and gives the man an apologetic look. I snicker behind his hand. “Come on; let’s get out of here before you cause a scene.” He cautiously removes his hand from my mouth, and then grabs my hand, leading me down the nearest alleyway which heads out of the City Centre. 

Owen Is Always In the Way

“Why, hello there, beautiful.” I look up to see Owen leaning on the table, his eyes locked on to the lady behind the stall. I roll my eyes at him, but then continue to gaze at the shiny objects on the table. “The name’s Owen, Owen Grey. I’m sure with looks like that you have a name to match.” He gives her a goofy grin and winks at her. I pretend to gag.

She glances at me with a smirk, then smiles back at Owen, flicking a piece of loose hair off her shoulder. “Isabella.” She says. She stretches out her hand towards Owen, and he takes it in his own hands and places a kiss on it. I try to hide my grin from Owen. She is playing him like a fiddle.

I clear my throat and say, “These are so lovely Isabella, but do you have something more… unique?” she looks over, studying me. I suddenly feel very self-conscious, and realize that I’m properly dressed for the weather, but she is hardly dressed to be out in public. A shiver runs down my back as I immediately get a feeling of distrust.

“Ah, a treasure seeker I see. I may have something you are looking for.” Her eyes glitter in the morning sunlight as she bends down to reach for something behind the stall. She pulls out a small black box. Isabella opens the box slowly, revealing what appears to be a plain silver chain at first. At second glance, I see more detail. Each link in the chain has been carefully formed into a small snake biting its own tail, and then linked into the next. The eyes of the snakes are small red jewels.

Owen shoves his face in front of the chain, blocking my view. “Whoa.”

So Shiny!

“Ah, yes. A rare find.” The man’s eyes gleam with the prospect of a buyer. “That there came from,” the man pauses and looks around as if checking to see if anyone is eavesdropping. “from beyond the waters of the East.”  His face is so close to Owen’s that their noses nearly touch. Owen leans backwards and glances over at me, giving me a look that clearly says this guy is crazy.

“Right. Um, I’m just going to put this back. I probably wouldn’t be able to afford it considering it comes from beyond the waters of the East.” Owen mocks the man’s voice, and I slap a hand over my mouth, trying to hide my giggles and grin. The man gives Owen the most deadly glare I have ever seen, which he proceeds to shoot at me as well as my giggles turn into outright bursts of laughter. Owen grabs my arm and pulls me away from the table as quickly as possible, snickers of laughter threatening to escape from his tightly sealed lips.

“That was so rude, Owen!” I try to keep a straight face as I scold him for mocking the man, but my smile breaks through. As much as I think that was uncalled for, I still have to laugh at Owen. The man was definitely crazy, and Owen’s mockery sent it over the edge to hilarity.

“What did I do wrong?” Owen plays the innocent card, and I punch him in the arm whilst glaring at him.

“Come on let’s just check out another table.” I grab his hand and drag him over to another seller. The lady behind the stall that catches my eye is tall, and lean. Her hair is a deep red and flows in waves down her back. She wears a headpiece of jewellery that sweeps down onto her forehead, and then back up just above her ears, going around the back of her head. Her dress looks of lavender silk, and loosely clings to her figure. She smiles lazily as Owen and I approach.

Gazing down, I look at all the intricate pieces of gold and silver jewellery on the table in front of me. My fingers hover above each piece, teasing me, tempting me to pick it up and try it on.

“Why, hello there, beautiful.” I look up to see Owen leaning on the table, his eyes locked on to the lady behind the stall, a grin on his face. I roll my eyes at him, but then continue to gaze at the shiny objects on the table.

Oooh Nicknacks!

We walk in silence for some time, our breathing the only sound around us. The snow is deep, but the closer we get to the City Centre, the more travel worn our path becomes which allows us to increase our walking pace and makes for easier travelling. We round the last corner of winding streets that form the maze of houses from Owen’s place to the City Centre. The space before us immediately opens up to a very large circle. The center of the city is an opening where at one time, before it was impossible to grow plants, there used to be a garden and rows of green houses. Now, the City Centre has been formed into a giant market. Rows upon rows of stalls are set up that are selling things from all over the world. Each week these stalls change, with new and rare items to be discovered.

A few people mill about moving from stall to stall, the early risers looking for good trades and rare finds. I grab Owen’s hand and tug him towards the nearest stalls. I move between the rows, browsing the stalls waiting for something to catch my eye. Owen follows suit, his eyes also focused on the items up for sale. A table sitting in the shade of a nearby building catches Owen’s eye, and he taps me on the shoulder, motioning towards the table. We shuffle through the packed snow and rows of stalls to the table. I smile at the man behind it and he nods his head in return.

“Something catch your eye, sir?” the man says to Owen.

“Not really sure.” He replies, “What exactly am I looking at?” Owen picks up a peculiar piece of wood and metal. Gears and rods of all shapes and sizes stick out of an egg-like center. Owen turns it around in his hands, his eyebrows furrowed.

“Ah, yes. A rare find.” The man’s eyes gleam with the prospect of a buyer. “That there came from,” the man pauses and looks around as if checking to see if anyone is eavesdropping. “from beyond the waters of the East.” 

Flashback!

My breath is laboured by the time I finally reach his house. I stand at his doorway and take a small breather. As soon as I catch my breath, and the burning in the legs fades away, I knock twice and then open the door. I kick off my boots at the entrance and walk over to the staircase directly across from the front door. I yell up the stairs, “Owen! Get your ass in gear!” and then head over to the kitchen. I open the fridge door and look around. After some scavenging I find a slightly bruised apple and place it on the kitchen counter. Opening the cupboard doors and finding no clean glasses, I pick one out of the sink, rinse it off, and then fill it with water. I take the apple and glass of water to the dining room table and sit down across from it. “OWEN!” I yell again, and waiting a few moments, I hear a mumbled response and a loud thump. Heavy footsteps resound above me and quickly make their way down the staircase. A very large, young man stands in the doorway leading to the kitchen. He stands near 6’7”, broad build, all muscle. He has short dark brown hair, and even darker eyes. First time I met him, he intimidated me. He was so tall and big, and I just assumed the worst of him. He proved me wrong. First time I talked to him, I was eight years old. I was on the swings at the park. He had walked over to me and asked if he could use the swing beside me. I had only stared and numbly nodded. He smiled at me, sat down and began to pump his legs, back and forth. He continued to swing higher and higher, until he was almost parallel with the top bar of the swing. He then leaped from the swing seat and flew through the air, landing on the ground in a heap. My eyes were as wide as my mouth at the time, hanging open in shock. I leaped off the swing to his aid, afraid he killed himself. I pushed him over onto his back and stared down at him. He peaked through his eyelids, and attempted to hide a smile. “Ugh I think I broke my body!” he groaned and rolled over, right onto my lap. “Hold me as I die. Don’t let me die alone!” he swooned. I scrunched my nose at him and placed my hands on my hips. That little faker. I pushed him off. “Don’t scare me like that!” I punched him in the arm hard and he laughed at me. I don’t really remember what happened after that, but ever since we have been best friends.  

“Took you long enough to get ready, Owen.” I say, and smirk as he rolls his eyes at me.

“You have got to be kidding me, Sia.” He says, calling me by a nickname that only he has ever used. “I was down here in less than five minutes!” he walks over to the table and sits on the side where I have placed the rotting apple and the dirty glass of water. He looks down at the miserable food in front of him and gives me a look of incredulity. “Seriously? You cook all the time at your house; you couldn’t get me something a bit better to eat?”

“Not my house. You either eat it, or go make something yourself.” I cross my arms over my chest in defiance. He snorts at me, and takes a bit from the bruised apple. He cringes, but continues to stuff the apple into his mouth.

 “So we going to the City Centre?” he says through a mouthful of food. I nod my head in response.

“Yeah, I figured we could go to the market, see if anything new came in from the eastern cities.” Owen responds by placing the apple core on the table, and proceeding to chug the glass of water, placing it back on the table when he finishes.

“Well, better not waste any time then. The sooner we get there, the more likely we will get there before anyone else and get all the good stuff.” He smiles at me and then sprints to the door. He slips on his boots, a jacket, and a thin pair of mitts and toque. I tug on my boots, hopping on one foot, and tip over and hit the wall in the process. Finally getting them on, I look up to see Owen yawning and looking at his wrist. I glare at him and punch him playfully on the arm.

 “Let’s go.”

It's Winter Again?!

I finish up the necessary steps which require the bathroom, and then head back to my bedroom. I walk over to the window and open the curtains wide. The sun’s rays push the shadows into the corners of my room, and I squint against the brilliance. Outside is a sight that I see now and again, but very rarely this late into the morning. On the ground there is at least two feet of snow. The roads are no longer visible and the landscape has been replaced of all its imperfections, neatly filled in by the white blanket of snow. The sun shines off the white surface, and quite nearly blinds me. I turn away from the window and walk over to my closet. Gazing in, I look around for the necessary equipment for this weather. On my top shelf rests a pair of sunglasses, which I place on my dresser beside the closet. I then proceed to pull out a pair of warm pants, a t-shirt and baggy sweater and a wool scarf. I examine my pile of clothes on my dresser, and then leave the closet and open the top drawer of the dresser to pull out a pair of fuzzy warm socks. That should suffice for a day like today, I hope.

After getting dressed, I trot down the stairs and then slip on my warmest jacket that has fur lining, grab my insulated rubber boots, a hat and some mittens. I wobble on one foot as I slip on one boot and then the other. I shove the hat over my head, and slip my mittens on, tucking them into the sleeves of my coat so that no cold air touches my skin. I reach out for the door, and before I leave, I turn and shout up the stairs, “I'm heading out mom!” I hear some shuffling and a muffled response, which I assume to be a farewell, and then I open the door and head outside.

Immediately after setting foot onto the front steps I am greeted by a strong cold breeze that knocks the air out of my lungs, leaving me attempting to try to breath. The cold bites at my face, and I grab my scarf and pull it up to cover my mouth and nose. My boots are tall, and when I step into the two feet of snow, they are just high enough to avoid getting my socks wet with melted snow. I shuffle through the snow, shoulders hunched as I protect myself as much as possible from the biting wind. It is going to be a long walk to Owen’s house. 

Rat's Nest

I watch the fire burn for a while before turning away towards the kitchen. Grabbing some eggs and bacon from the fridge, I start up the stove and begin making breakfast.

           

My mother joins me shortly after the food is done, probably woken from the smell of the bacon wafting through the house. We eat in silence, and I take the plates up to the counter when we are done. I wash them quickly and set them on a drying rack. We both silently go back up the stairs. I drop my blankets off in my bedroom, now warm from the fire.

I head over to the bathroom and wash my face. I look up in the mirror, water still dripping down my face and into the sink. My eyelashes stick together, drooping low from the weight of the water. Bright green eyes stare back at me, now wide awake from the ice cold water. I drag a hand through my golden brown hair, pulling it back from my face. My mother was right about the knots. I tug at the ends of my hair, a full rat’s nest burrowed at the nape of my neck. I shift my eyes away from the mirror and shuffle my hands through a drawer filled with bathroom supplies. An old toothbrush, floss, hair pins, elastics, and finally I find what I am looking for. Stuffed in the back of the drawer is a brush. I pull it out, tugging it as it gets caught on something. I finally get it released and then firmly close the drawer. Bringing the brush to the rat’s nest, and dreading every moment that is about to occur, I yank hard on my hair, attempting to comb out the mess. My eyes swell with tears as the brush threatens to make me bald. Finally, and not a moment too soon, the knot gives way and my hair is free. I rub my scalp. I bet there will be a bruise there; I should have listened to my mother. 

Cold Mornings

*****

            Light peaks through ragged curtains, sending a path of light across my face.  I can see the light through closed eyelids. Groaning, I roll over to face the dark side of my room. The air is cold on my face. The temperature must have dropped considerably last night. I bundle the blankets closer around my body, suddenly aware of the lack of heat in the house. Wrapped up in blankets, I lay like that for a few minutes before daring to get out of bed. A pair of slippers lay neatly by the bedroom door. The floor is made of wooden boards, which means my toes are going to freeze when I walk over to my slippers. Groaning again, I sit up in bed keeping my blankets tightly woven around me. I cringe and then leap out of bed, pulling every blanket with me as I run across the room, nearly running into the wall as I wedge my feet into my slippers. Prancing around my room, I attempt to warm up my toes. I should have invested in an onesie that covered my feet. Instead I’m stuck with one that ends in elastics, so that I can roll it up if I get too warm. Great idea for the warmer days, terrible for the colder ones.

            Still wrapped in blankets from my bed, I trudge through the hall and down the stairs to the living room where our fireplace sits, cold. I grab some pieces of wood that lie beside it, and place them in the middle of the fireplace. The pile of wood is getting low, and I worry that it may take a few days yet for the next supply of wood to be shipped in from the cities on the coast. I place the wood on a bed of ashes, the remains of previous wood that had lived and died to fuel a fire. Crumpling up some old newspapers, I strategically place it within the fireplace, then take a match from the matchbox and light the fire. 

***Exam time for SnowKitty***

Sorry everyone, but there will be no new post this week!

Unfortunately, part of being a university student requires me to do these exams at the end of the semester that are worth 40% or more of my final grade.

SO, I need to focus on my studies right now, which means that I am taking a break from working on the upcoming plot. At my school, exams last 2 weeks, and as I have 3 back to back next week, that week is also off limits for a new post.

HOWEVER, I have an entire week after that until I need to do my final exam, so I may be able to squeeze a post in there somewhere.

So my estimate is between mid to late April for a new post.

Stay classy,
SnowKitty

Another Scene

She smiles gently back at me, all hair business aside. “I'm going to head to bed now. It’s late and a storms coming in, which means there’s really nothing else we can accomplish today. You should go to bed too, Iris.” She grabs a candle off the table and walks over to the staircase that leads up to our bedrooms. She slowly makes her way up the stairs, one hand on the railing beside her the other holding the candle in front of her body, so she can see where her next step will go.

I hear the faint shuffle of her feet above me as she gets ready for bed. Walking around the inside of the house, I blow out every candle that is lit, but one. Taking this candle, I grab my belt off of the kitchen chair and make my way up the staircase to my own bedroom. I open the old rustic door, its hinges creaking. Walking over to my bedside table, I place the candle down and then sit on my bed. The corners of my room are dark, still hidden in shadow. I sigh and rub my face, now aware of how exhausted I am. My goggles still remain on top of my head, so I take them off and place them on the table beside the candle. Dragging myself off the bed, I walk over to my dresser and grab my nightgown, decide the night will be too cold for it, and reach for the onesie instead. I place my leather jacket on the door handle, and strip off my jeans, t-shirt, bra and socks, leaving them all on the floor, content with picking them up in the morning. I slip on the onesie and fall backwards onto my bed, my arms outstretched beside me. I could fall asleep right here, with my legs dangling off the edge of my bed I'm so tired. I drag myself up into a sitting position, my legs crossed. I scoot backwards until my back hits the head board and then I snuggle down under the blankets, my head resting on my pillow. I roll onto my side facing the candle, and blow it out. Closing my eyes I let myself fall asleep, warm under my blankets. 

Meeting the Mother

The house immediately opens up into the kitchen, so I am greeted by a waft of warm air carrying the faint smell of the dinner that my mother and I had eaten earlier. The faint light of the candles shadows a flickering figure on the wall, dancing in and out of the darkness around it. I kick off my boots and shove them into the hallway closet to my left, my keys still in hand. I turn towards the large wooden table. Three candles stand alone on the table top, the wax dripping onto the candlesticks. There is a small pool of wax from the middle candle that has dripped onto the table. I walk over to the mess and pick away the already dried wax. I place the pieces of wax in the trash bin beside the sink and then shove my keys back into my bag. Unclipping my belt, I lean it across a chair and look up to see my mother in the doorway leading to the living room.

“You were out late.” She says. Her eyebrows are drawn together, her mouth set into a deep frown. During dinner, my mother had been in one of her moods. She had counted out each pea on her plate to make sure that she had an even number. When she was about to eat two of them, she had dropped one on the floor. She had picked it up, stared at it for a long moment and then swore. She then proceeded to toss all her food, meat, peas, and potatoes, out into the garbage, saying that it was all ruined. She then grumbled as she sat in her chair, her arms folded over her chest, her shoulders hunched. She had watched me eat my peas and potatoes, all mixed in together. She mumbled quietly, “Mixing food, that’s wrong, ruined, and wrong. Wrong. Wrong.” She continued to watch me eat, making me uncomfortable. I offered to make her some more food, but she just kept on repeating “Ruined, ruined, ruined.” After that I had quickly finished my meal and then headed out the door and went to the hill just outside of the city.

“I went out to get some fresh air. It was nice out, until just a few minutes ago.” I reply cautiously to the unasked question, unsure what mood she is in currently. I watch her as she moves towards me. She shuffles her feet, her shoulders hunched over as if protecting herself from something. Her eyes are a light grey, with large dark bags underneath them. Her lips are cracked and she licks them often. Her hair is still a dark brown, although streaks of grey are beginning to peek through. Her frame is small; she is almost as skinny as I am. She is a few inches shorter, although we would almost be the same height if she stood up straight. I walk over to her and grab her hand. “You should stand up taller, mom. You look so pretty when you straighten your back. Like a sophisticated business woman.” I poke her back gently with two fingers and she straightens up slightly. “Much better.” I give her a reassuring smile, and I see a light in her eyes that hadn't been there earlier this evening. She looks around the room and then stares at me.

“You didn't bring a hat when you went out did you? You know that the weather is unpredictable, Iris. Look at you. You look like you got run over by a street car.” She pulled at my hair as she tries to comb out the knots. “There could be animals living in here and you wouldn't even know.” She tugs hard, and I wince as she nearly pulls the hairs out of my head.

“Mom, stop it! It’s just hair!” I grab her hands and push them away from my head where she can do less damage. I keep a firm grip on them to make sure she doesn't make another beeline for my hair again.

“Tsk. At least brush it out before going to bed, otherwise you’re going to have a hell of a rats nest in the morning!” She raises an eyebrow at me, waiting for a response. I nod my head in compliance and place her hands back at her sides. 

Journey Home

The streets are empty of people as they are preparing for the possible blizzard coming through. I walk in the middle of the old cracked road, where weeds are peeking through. Grass can’t grow in this type of environment, but somehow weeds can. How the hell does that work? I kick at a loose piece of pavement and send it flying ahead of me, its echo bouncing off the walls of buildings around me. I shove my fingerless gloved hands into my jacket pockets. Within just a few minutes the temperature has dropped dramatically. I reach an intersection and turn left onto another street. The farther I walk up this street, the nicer the houses seem to get. Nearing the end of the street, I turn right. This street slopes up dramatically, a hill seemingly forming from nowhere. I walk up the steep hill, and at the top I stop. The road continues on, remaining flat for a while before sloping down again. To the right of me is a big, old stone house. The door is made from old wood with a large brass handle. The windows are boarded up, which I assume is for the storm coming. As I get closer, I can see a few candles flicker in between the gaps between the boards on the windows. My mother is still up then. When I reach the door, I pull out my keys from one of the bags hanging from my belt. I slide the key into the lock, and swing open the door. 

Some Character Detail and City Descriptions

A light breeze blows and tickles my chin. It’s getting cooler out. I look out over the horizon and see the sun is already being swallowed by the Earth’s edge. Grabbing my leather jacket that I had earlier thrown onto the ground, I turn and start walking towards the city, putting on my jacket as I go. My golden brown hair lightly caresses the collar of my jacket. It is starting to grow out, last I had noticed, it had been chin length.  

I kick at the dirt on the ground beneath weather-worn combat boots, the dust flying up around me caught in the ever quickening breeze. My sand goggles remain atop my head and I realize that if this wind picks up even more before I get home, I may have to use them. A small flashlight and flair gun sway on my belt around my hips as I walk. I look to my jeans and see that they are more worn out than my boots. The wind teases the old and newly formed holes in my jeans and threatens to pull the seams apart. I feel tiny grains of sand against my exposed skin on my legs and face. I reach up and slide the goggles down over my eyes before it gets worse out. The last thing I want is grains of sand stuck in my eyes. Not pleasant.

I pick up my pace as I reach the outskirts of the city, the buildings becoming more visible with each step. The houses are all made from the foundations from an old city. The attempts that were made to make the city look new failed miserably. Northern Pass lacks the funds and therefore we pay the price by having to use old cement blocks and bricks for walls, and for those who can’t afford it, use scrap metal for doors. Glass is rare, and many people took scavenged pieces of glass and melted it down to make windows. The result is yellow-brown windows that you can’t see out of, and very little light is let in. My house is one of the nicer houses. My mother married wealthy, or wealthy enough that we could afford windows that may be yellow, but they had the ability to open so we could get fresh air into the house. The best part about our house is that we are attached to the electrical system that runs through the city. There are only a few dozen houses that have this luxury. We can have a total of two lights on at once, any more and their light fades so much that they don’t even make a difference in brightness, even in the tiniest of rooms.We could get more power if the city didn't spend so much of it for the gates and other areas that "concern our safety" as the mayor put it.  As for water, we have a natural hot spring located underneath the city that everyone gets hot water from. The cold water comes from the nearby lake which has to be filtered and cleaned. Mother boils that water and lets it cool before she drinks it. My father always joked that she was paranoid. I've seen the way they filter the water here, and I'd say my father was right because they do a good job keeping our water clean. Father said that in the Ancient Days, the cities had huge systems to clean the water, and that the cities had so much light, that you could see some of them from space. The city now seems so old and tired, merely the phantom of a great city that once was. Northern Pass may be the remains of an old city that existed before the New World, but it does have one thing it can be proud of. The fences and barricades are new, keeping the dangerous animals and unwanted people out. The one area that Northern Pass has spent most of its people’s money on.  

I reach the outer gate of the city and am greeted by two night patrols who are on guard for anyone who does not have a pass into the city or papers to that will let them through.
“Pass or papers, please.” The man who spoke was tall and dark, his features barely visible in the dwindling light. From his voice he sounded tired and bored, and was probably nearing the end of his shift. I shove my hand into the small bag that I keep attached to the side of my belt that carry keys and my crumpled, overused pass. I grab the pass and hand it to the man. He smooths it out and gives me a quick one-over. He glances at the picture on the pass, and then at me again. “Iryssia Velde?” I nod my head and give him a quick smile, bouncing on my feet and folding my arms around my chest as the cold breeze begins to creep beneath my jacket. He eyes me one last time before handing my pass back to me. The patrol that is standing beside him turns and heads toward the entrance of the gate. He pulls a small card out of his pant pocket and swipes it in front of a tiny red light that is located where you would normally expect to see a key hole. The gate beeps, and I hear a  faint click. The patrol men both grab one gate and swing them open wide enough for me to walk through. I shove my pass into my belt bag and walk quickly through, the doors closing behind me with another faint click.

More World and Character Building! Woo.

Cracked concrete lies within the neglected city behind me, with rusting buildings and chipped, peeling paint. I live in one of the more northern cities, where the sun has less strength during the day than it does in the south. The days can still be blistering hot, but we can also get severe winters. When you do see grass, it is in balding patches which die almost as quickly as they come. They die easily in the unpredictable weather. One day may be sunny and warm, the next a blizzard. This prevents wildlife from venturing so far north. Birds are seen occasionally, but they rarely stay for long. Most of the animals that we do have are vicious and sickly. If you go farther east you reach the oceans. There is an abundance of wildlife there. My father used to travel there from time to time. He said that the buildings were being choked by vines, and the people had to carry machetes with them to create paths in the every-growing grasses. He told stories of large animals that could wipe out entire armies, you wouldn't even be able to see them coming because they could hide so well in the grasses. That’s not the case here. It’s flat, so on a sunny day you can see for miles. The only time you can’t see anything is either when it’s a blizzard, or when there is a sand storm.

My city is called the Northern Pass. We get a lot of travellers through these parts because it’s based off the main road that travels from the south to the north. There is another main road south of here, just two days walk. It heads from east to west. I've travelled to that road a couple of times when I was younger when my father was leaving or when he came back from a long business trip. I haven’t really left Northern Pass since he died. Ma says that it’s too dangerous for a girl to go off on her own. I fought with her for a while, but honestly I don’t know what I would do outside of the city anyway. At least here I have a warm bed and food. I think I only fought her about it just for the sake of fighting.

A Bit of Character and World Introduction

With each turn the world takes, it moves towards darkness and death –falling away from the sun and towards the depths of Hell. They call this the New World. People say that back in the Ancient Days the new world would be one of peace and that illness would be no more. They weren't even close.

I spin around; my head held high towards the sky, my arms open wide. I take a deep breath and close my eyes, feeling the world spin beneath my feet. When I was young I used to think that if I spun really fast and closed my eyes tight enough, I could go back to the Ancient Days. Go back to the time when the grass was green and the sky was blue. Each time I tried I would spin faster and faster until I would fall down hard onto the ground, dust picking up beneath me. I would cough and open my eyes to find that the sky was still grey and the grass still dirt. One time, I even went home and cried to my mother about how unfair it was. She told me that dreams were for fools. You won’t make it in a world like this with thoughts like that. That was the last time I fell down while spinning. Now I always stop myself before I fall, before I can crush my dream, and to convince myself that mother was wrong. I think there is some small part of me that still believes that if I can just spin fast enough, I can go back. But still, I stop myself and look up at the grey sky, and the dust that flies through the air carried by the wind. I realize it seems silly for someone who is nearly eighteen to have dreams that obviously can never happen. But for some reason, I just can’t stop doing something that I believed in so heartily when I was younger. Without the spinning, I feel like I will get dragged into the world that my mother has been consumed by. My father didn't even want to live in this world any more, a man who always tried to see the positive in any situation. 

This is the Beginning...

Hey readers, I'm new to this blogging thing, but I figured I might as well pick up a hobby. Unfortunately, I have this nasty habit of never finishing something I've started. So the idea behind this blog is to help me try and start a new habit of finally finishing something! Another problem, like most new writers, artists, and anyone who does any type of work in general, is the fact that it's difficult to share your work with other people. You become afraid of what they might think. But I am creating this blog to say, "Hey, critique me!" I want as much feedback as possible, no matter what you have to say, I want to hear it (although I may cry myself to sleep some nights).

I guess I should probably tell you guys a bit about myself shouldn't I? My name is Danielle Kennedy and I live in this tiny town in Ontario, Canada that probably no one has ever heard of before. I am currently in my second year of university and totally don't know what I want to do with my life. So basically I am hoping I don't change my mind about my program at the last minute and end up wasting a ton of money! Oops.

Random facts about me? I have double jointed thumbs, I hate feet (especially my own), and I am an extremely visual person, so whenever I come up with a new story concept (which believe me, is way too often... probably one of the reasons why I never finish anything. I'm always coming up with something new)it seems to come to life right before my eyes. So if you ever meet me in person and I stop paying attention to what your saying. Sorry, it happens. Patience is your best virtue? Yeah, if we are ever friends or are friends now, you are just going to have to suck it up.

 So the reason for this seemingly pointless blog so far: I want to create a story (or multiple stories) that you, the readers can help me stay motivated with. The idea is that I can get excited to share my work with people, and to hear what you have to add to the storyline, and what you think I should fix or keep the same.

If you want to help direct the storyline, please, let me know! I would love to hear your ideas about the concepts and different theories you may have as the story enfolds. Who knows? Maybe I will use a part of your ideas in the story (I can even cite it if you want!)