The Brilliant Divisions

This is going to be a fantasy genre story. They'll be five main characters, or a quintet if you will. We meet three in this chapter; Adalyn [the main character], Shay and Colden.

I admit the chapter is somewhat dull and an overload of description. The first chapter is a key for setting tones on characters, backgrounds etc etc. So it's half like an introduction chapter with less action than I would like in your average chapter. But you needed to know Addy's background & I like to help you create visions of characters with my descriptions.

I'm no J.K Rowling, so sorry about that. Just try your best to get through it. Constructive criticism is welcomed.




Chapter One

I lived on Bakerwell road, which was basically a lengthy line of desolate brick houses joined together, facing a slim road and further dull brick homes opposite. The road was worn and grey and only one line of cars could drive on it at a time, making weekday mornings a melancholy form of entertainment for me. Venturing down the road, on my way to school, watching the generic little people inside their generic little cars, pretending to ooze with a courteous manner as they waited for the car before them to trundle down the road before they could squeeze behind it. All they really wanted to do was yell at the other drivers to hurry the hell up so they wont be late for work. But that was concealed for the sake of an easy life. Who needs drama at 8:00am?

It didn't bother me at all though. I had my iPod, my mind and my legs that moved without my consent to occupy me as I journeyed to school.
It was a fresh Autumn morning. One of the last, in fact. There were only three days left of November, before December took lead role and we danced our way through our generic lives in flurries of snow, vigorous winds like whips of ice, carpets of white. It also happened to be my 16th birthday on the very first day of December. I was hardly exploding with excitement, but it was something to look forward to nonetheless.

As of now, however, I was pacing through a blanket of crispy leaves, dry, brittle and burned. Oranges, browns, reds, golds, yellows, like a hopeless fire failing to scorch your feet. There was a wind, more like a breeze, chilly but resilient, and a pale sun smiled, poking behind a candy floss cloud, looking tired but trying its best to glow bright.

I had eyes the colour of chocolate, and long, auburn hair that halted at my lower back, a sea of dark fire, thick, wavy and almost feral. Pale skin with a flatteringly smooth complexion – the only thing I really liked about my appearance was my skin. My nose and upper cheeks were sprinkled with faint auburn freckles.
My mother used to call them faerie footsteps when I was little.
'That's where the faerie's walk gently over your face at night while they're busy making you even more beautiful then you were the day before, until one day you're so beautiful you'll be the queen of all the faeries'. I really believed it, too. She made me feel like I could take on anything, be anything, do anything. The day she died was the day all my dreams and hopes died, too.

I lost my mother to suicide. Bills, my hot-headed father, the death of my little brother (who perished in a house fire we had years ago) – it all mounted into a staircase, every step she took leading her further to the edge. And one day, she made it there. She reached that last step and plummeted to nothingness. Suffice to say there was no will, I'd like to say she killed herself on a crazy impulse and didn't bear to think of what would happen to her husband and her daughter. I want to be angry at her, scream at her invisible spirit watching me always, but I just can't find it in me.

So my father and I continued on the land of the living, if you could call it that. We'd never had money, never been on holiday – I'd always wanted to walk on a beach, feel it running beneath my feet, sliding between my toes, blue oceans and burning suns. I was determined to go on a holiday – even if it took me until I was 90, and the beach instead became my death bed.

I resented myself for thinking about the past these days. I had already set myself personal rules. Don't touch upon the past anymore. Think ahead. Think about life after school. Becoming 18-years-old and having freedom handed to me in the form of lights, sun, laughter, atmosphere, exploration, dreams. Maybe then I could actually be myself again. Once I'd left my own generic fairytale, where I was too busy to even feel sorry for myself, where everything was desaturated, black and white like an old picture.

Every morning on my way to school, I'd meet my best and only friend, Shayla. She lived on the corner of Marristone Crescent, a particularly enviable estate boasting a host of grand houses, spacious and well-decorated, with back gardens bigger than my entire house, presenting neat flower-beds and well-kept hedges, water fountains and benches. Visiting Shayla's house was like visiting a different world. I never invited Shayla to my house, despite her numerous expressions of desire to see it. It looked worse than her attic, which they used to store old and broken furniture and boxes of memories in the form of photos. It smelled like mould and looked like it could do with a good, hard clean. My house, I mean - not Shayla's attic.

Shayla appeared quite the opposite to me. I was the fire and she was the ice, what with her head of silky blonde curls and those silver-blue eyes. She was undeniably gorgeous, possessing model cheekbones and long legs every girl in the world would swap their own for. Yet Shayla took it all in her stride, which was why I loved her – she didn't feel the world was over if she broke a nail or a hair found itself out of place, and merely laughed at the girls who found those sorts of things 'tragedies'.
Those girls, the 'popular' ones, they hated me, eyes alive with flickering distaste as they traced the outline my reckless hair. I was much too quiet, much too in my own world to lavish them with compliments and suck up to them like they were simply the most brilliant, astonishing things to walk the planet. Maybe if I did, they'd embrace me in a hug that would smell strongly like designer perfume and mould me into one of them. All because my best friend was Shayla, and Shay was in her own league of amazing that even the popular girls would lap up in a second.
Shay simply wasn't interested in being popular, materialistic and without layers. Shay was full of layers. That left the popular girls unable to decide whether they loved or loathed her, and often switched between both.

I pulled out my earphones and stashed my iPod into my bag as I reached the corner of the crescent.

'Hello, missus', Shay greeted with a white-toothed grin. She was perched on the front garden wall where she waited for me. Her 11-year-old brother Mason jumped down from the wall as soon as he caught sight of me.
'Hey, Adalyn' he smiled, as usual looking out of breath, as though he'd just ran to school and back again.
'Hi Mason. Walking with us today, then?'
'Unfortunately,' replied Shay, hopping from the wall and stuffing her iPod into her bag. 'Just don't talk about something boring like you normally do, Mason, and we'll be swell. No one wants to hear about cars or carpet fibres. Let's talk about ice cream flavours or Christmas. Or better yet, let's plan the awesome bunch of stuff we should do for you birthday, Addy!'
'Erm, excuse me, but when do I talk about carpet fibres?'
'You may as well do when you're talking to me, Mason, seeing as I completely switch off every time you open your mouth.'
'I have nothing to say to that. I have a lovely sister.'
'Yes you do. Thank you. Anyway. Addy? Birthday? Plans?'
She looked at me, her eyes round and swimming with excitement. She knew full well I'd made no plans for my birthday. Parties and fancy occasions didn't really appeal to me. Shay was my personal party planner. She'd never let my birthday pass by unappreciated. Sometimes I couldn't work out whether this was a good thing or not.

We left Marristone Crescent and walked up a short hill onto the main road.
'Erm... Shay. Why are you even asking? Shay, please, no parties this time. I don't even have any friends to turn up. It's not really a party when it's my best friend's family as the guests. I know you're trying to do good, but I really think I just want you, me, pizza and ice cream and a couple of good films for my birthday. Is that okay?'
Shay was not offended. I never expected her to be.
'That sounds like a plan to me. I love it. Let's do that. You choose a film and I choose a film?'
'Sure', I nodded.
Mason scoffed. 'I'm guessing I'm not eligible for film choosing?'
'Bingo', Shay replied. 'I need chocolate.'

We stopped off at the sweet shop before continuing our spirited walk up to school. This was the only time I let a smile plaster my face and laughter escape me. One look at the school building dulled my thoughts and punched me in the stomach with credible force.

The only people who talked to me at school were Shay, Mason and his two best friends Michael and Sean. Shayla once told me the three of them secretly held a fan club for me during morning break, where the trio would stare at pictures of me that Mason stole from Shay's room. I didn't know whether to feel flattered or absolutely terrified. Shayla found the whole thing highly amusing.

The school was uncomfortably warm and crowded. Mason bid his goodbyes at the school crossroads and pushed and shoved his way to his tutor classroom. Shay and I battled our way up the central staircase and onto the second floor. Whoever had built this school, about 80 years ago, was incredibly stupid. The corridors were ludicrously modest for a school that had always taught about 1,500 children. It was quite impossible to make your way to a classroom without banging you shoulder into someone else's, or having someone stand painfully on your toes.

Inside our tutor classroom, half the students were already lounging on the tables or sat on chairs. Chatting and laughing obnoxiously loud were the popular boys and girls. A couple of them were making out in a corner of the classroom, while two air-headed girls painted each other's nails in lurid pinks. A few students were settled with books, study books or fictional. Some were fiddling with their over-the-top fancy phones.

We settled in our seats at the front of the classroom. As usual, Jessica Sumner, head popular girl, and two of her robots, made their way confidently to our desk. Today they were in the 'we love Shay' mood. Admittedly considerably more pleasant than their 'we hate Shay' mood.

'Hey Shay! And Adalyn... loving your hair today, by the way, Addy. It's a good look on you.'
I stared at Shay. It was the same as it was every day of my life.
'Err....'
'You're welcome! See you two at lunch, yeah?'
Shay couldn't help herself. 'I'd rather see my own puke at lunch, and if I have to listen to you for one more second, I'll be seeing my own puke in about 30 seconds too.'
Jessica frowned.
'Oh, Shay. You're... you're a funny one. I almost want to laugh. Whatever. We're grabbing lunch up at Harper Street if you wanna come, anyway. Probably going into the chippy.'
Shay pressed her hands to her stomach and grimaced.
'Yep, yep, can feel breakfast coming up right now... 15 seconds... 14... 13....you might want to stand back, Jessica...'

At that moment, the tutor waltzed in, and Jessica and her robots scurried off to sit back down.

It turned out that Jessica took the insult hard, and was less than pleasant throughout the rest of the day. I was more than acquainted to being called names and laughed at, though I wished I could take it as lightly as Shay did. I supposed when you had a life like she did, with a perfect family in a perfect home with no dead parents or siblings, it's easier to laugh at people as pathetic as Jessica Sumner and her fried peroxide hair. However, I tended to let Shay do most of the arguing, and kept myself to myself throughout each lesson. The final bell of the day signalling time to leave school was like a celestial chorus of the highest angels. I collected my things, chucked it in my bag, and almost skipped with Shay out of the building and all the way home.

My light mood drained as I hugged Shay goodbye and made my own way home. With each song my iPod chose to play, I felt heavier and heavier, like someone had a made a hole in my stomach and filled it with steely cement. I was barley listening to the lyrics each artist uttered. They seemed insignificant. Usually, I would absorb a song's clarity like a mop to a floor. Today, or rather, once Shay had left my side and I made my way home alone, I felt light-headed yet heavy in my stomach, like I was carrying a seven-course meal in there without showing the weight, bizarre, an indescribable, unenviable feeling. I hated home, I knew that. But I was used to it. Why I was feeling so abnormal and dizzy was beyond me.


*

Dad was sprawled out on the sofa, asleep. The coffee table was hidden beneath a congregation of empty and broken glass bottles that once held litres of beer. He had a half-empty beer bottle in his right hand that rested upon his stomach, mouth open, a faint grunt of a snore erupting from his mouth every other second. The TV was shrieking a football match at intolerable volume. I ran to switch it off, snatched the bottle from my father's lax hand and slapped him across the face. He barely registered the movement.

Tears made their escape, pearl boats floating down an ashen face, painted with horror and disappointment.

'Dad!'
'What?', a muffled voice faintly uttered.
'How could you? Why aren't you at work? You drank all this today? Tell me!'
He looked like all he wanted was for me to melt into the floor, die like my mother and my brother, so he and his beer could be alone together, happy together, and he could sleep in peace and without interruption.
'I... I don't have work today...', came the inaudible, indifferent grunt.
'Yes, you do. I know you do... you... you haven't been going to work, have you? Have you?!'
The increase in the volume of my voice forced dad to look directly at me. He rolled his eyes as though this was a joke. 'I got fired weeks ago. I've been going to the pub instead of work.'
'You... no. No way.'
'Can I go to sleep now?'
He took a swig of beer and subsequently began snoring rhythmically. I gazed at him, unsure. I spun, then bounded up the stairs, grabbed a bag, and stuffed it to the brim with clothes, a toothbrush, makeup and a couple of books. And then ran from the house, and unbeknownst to me, I would never return to it.


*

Hunger was tearing at my insides by the time I reached the city centre. I'd brought £10 with me. Enough to buy a burger at McDonalds, at least. Though as I sat inside and swallowed each bite, that heavy, dizzy feeling came rushing back. I nestled the rest of the burger tightly in its greasy wrapper to consume later.

It was getting late, the sky appeared to have a bottle of midnight ink spilled across it, without a flicker of a star. The air was penetratingly icy tonight. I shivered as I found an empty bus shelter and pulled out a musty, useless sheet to curl up in on the floor. It actually smelled strongly like stale beer. I ultimately found myself rolling it back up and sleeping without any blanket. My coat was a poor insulator. I lie there, wet with tears, shivering uncontrollably from the cold and from the pain of crying. The trains rumbling away at the train station down the road was the last thing I heard. The layers of inky black, the starless sky, was the last thing I saw, before I finally fell away into a dreamless sleep.

*


Diamonds, a hundred or so, glittering, blinding.

The sky was choked with white stars. There had been none when I'd drifted to sleep. I almost wanted to tell myself it was the faerie footsteps leaving their speckles on the sheets of pure black. My eyelids closed.

'Don't you dare go back to sleep, I've waited ages in this bitter weather for you to wake up.'
'Holy-'
I jumped up, too alarmed to divulge a scream.

A boy, 16 or 17-years-old, shockingly handsome but frowning in a way that distorted his features against the light of the stars. I could tell his hair was a dark brown. His eyes sparkled. He was shivering softly. He was wearing a t-shirt and jeans in late November. Absent of a coat.

I finally found my voice, though it was ragged and weak.

'Are you crazy?'
'Depends what angle you look at me from. Who actually cares, though?' He was looking at the stars.
'What's your name?'
'Again, who actually cares? It's Colden. But I digress'. He looked at me. 'You need to follow me.'
'Erm... I don't think that's going to happen, sorry. If you're wanting a bus, it's 3 in the morning. You'll be waiting a while, they don't start running until 6.'
'You think I want a bus? Ha! No thanks. I'm going now. I just wondered if you wanted to come with me, is all'.
'Well... that's... uh, flattering. But I'm already on my own adventure. Thanks though.'
'I'd hardly call it an adventure, what you're doing. But it's fun to pretend.'
'Right.'
'Look. Are you coming or not?'
I looked at him. His eyes were saying something, but I was unable to receive the message. I sighed. I couldn't really comprehend the situation. Half of my head was still asleep.
'No.'
'Fine then. Enjoy your night.' He gazed pitifully at the bus shelter, destroyed with incandescent graffiti scribblings and cracked windows that sparkled shyly in the starlight. He then turned swiftly and began to vanish into the hardness of the dark.

I knew I would regret this.

'Wait!'

He spun to face me, little more than eyes floating in ink. 'Yeah?'
'I'm... I've changed my mind. I'm coming with you. My bus doesn't get here for another 5 hours, and I'll never fall back to sleep now.'