The Saviour series: The Star

 

First visualistion of Aurelia aka The Star, new superhero from my up coming novel: The Saviour series: The Star.

Many thanks to illustrator extraordinaire: @cknightcomics

 

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Short Story: Write about a reason for running away and going back home.

Image result for run away

The words are hurled at me and despite clasping my hands into fists and staring straight ahead, a few tears slip past my control and trail down my burning face. I hate myself more than anything in this moment, more than her and definitely more than him, who looks at me smirking form the side-lines.

“Are you listening to me you spoilt useless brat?!” She screams getting right up in my face, her breath toxic with alcohol, “you think crying is going to soften me huh?”

She pauses and I can’t believe my body has the audacity to indulge her as more tears trickle down, my mind is clouding from the breath I don’t want to stop holding but I’ll do anything to stop the tears.

She slaps me hard across the face.

“Next time you answer me!” she says grabbing my face: she looks at it, contempt written in every line of her still youthful face. I hate that she is pretty, that she is stared at when we leave the house together, that she is the youngest mother at my school; that some of the teachers openly lust after her and the guys in my stare at her with wide eyes. She loves it and she flaunts it.

I stare at her defiant and she steps even closer.

“No wonder your dad left me,” she whispers, “sick and tired of taking care of you, if I could do it over, I’d abort you in an instant.” She clicks her fingers in front of me as she releases her claw like grip of my chin.

It’s an insult I’ve heard before, but as she steps back her face slyly victorious she knows that it’s hit its mark. She turns and walks back to her boyfriend her face so altered that even he does a double-take, but he still follows her upstairs.

I am rooted to the spot, angry beyond my own comprehension. I fist my hands even tighter, I want to hurt myself, I fist my hands tighter still but my freshly cut nails only leave faint imprints. The thought is enough to jar me from that insidious path I’ve taken more than a year to shake.

“Leave the environment,” I whisper to myself, that’s what my school councillor advised me and I listen, because even though the feeling of hurting myself is still a beating pulse in my chest I don’t want to end up like Tiffney, I shake my head at the image.

I walk out of the house, it’s surprisingly warm outside, the sun not yet set, it’s actually a beautiful day, I walk briskly to the end of our road, then I pick up the pace as I walk a little further, a glance back and I can still see the house. What if I just take off, what if I just run. Better yet what if I don’t come back.

The thought causes me to actually smile and as I wipe at my face a kind of madness sets over me as I begin to run.

I’m running and it feels so good.

I run for a good long while, slowing down, almost stopping before I speed up again, my thoughts always galvanizing me forwards.

It’s late now, the sun has well and truly set, she’ll not worry, she never worries but she’ll wonder.

“I hate her!” I say vehemently and it feels good to say it out loud to own the feeling.

I’m always tip toeing around her and her latest squeeze, because she lets me eat her food and sleep under her house. I’m on guard all the time, more than that I’m fearful, especially after the incident, I almost believed she cared that time she punched the guy who was trying it on with me. I remember her rushing to me to see if I was okay, hugging me tightly and turning to threaten the guy, I’ll never forget that look of fury on her face as she protected me, I was only ten but still that memory of that day was crystal clear.

I’m crying again. I hate myself but the tears keep coming and I’m gasping for breath because I want my mummy, I’m pathetic and stupid and idiotic and weak. I keep up a stream of insults until the tears run dry because I know I have to go back.

The walk back home is much longer and I pause a few times trying to think of radical ways I can leave home forever, but I can’t. I know how hard it is out there being a runaway, and my situation isn’t half as bad as others I’ve heard of, I just have to make it four more years, then I’m off to Uni, then I’m gone for good.

I keep up the stream of positive images like my councillor tells me to do, but it all falls short when I see the house. I don’t have a curfew because she doesn’t care to set me one but still I know it’s late; past eleven at night.

I walk in – they are both cuddling on the coach, but she jumps up when she sees me and follows me to my room.

“Didn’t have the balls to go through with running away?” She sneers.

I sit on my bed and glance up at her, my exhaustion is weighing down on me and I show no surprise.

“Answer me!” She says angrily.

I nod suddenly I’m bone weary and just want to sleep.

She glares at me her face suspicious; she’s moving her weight from one foot to the other. I glance at her questioningly.

“Well next time –”

“Don’t worry there won’t be a next time. Three years, then you won’t ever have to see me again.” I want to say it firmly and confidently but it comes out strangely detached and she flinches.

She hesitates before she says; “go and wash those dishes in the sink!”

I nod slowly and I can see that my indifference is getting to her.

My councillor always tells me not to react and I don’t I just stand there and take her abuse but this is something different – I’m acting like I don’t care because I really don’t.

 

 

 

 

Short Story: Aggressively dating: Mixing Mixers 2

Mixing MixersJamie smiled, “we’ve got drinks, but you can give us your names?”

“I’m Riley,” the American said.

“Donato,” his friend said softly with the barest hint of an Italian accent.

“Nice to meet you, I’m Alana Jameson, but everyone calls me Jamie,” Jamie said with an easy smile.

“Angelina,” Angie said feeling a little shy by the focused look Angelo gave her.

“Beautiful names for beautiful women,” Riley said, then laughed as Jamie gave him a look, “sorry that was over-kill, I said I wanted to experience London, but the only who was free was Don here, he’s from Italy –”

“You thought; close enough,” Jamie said with a laugh.

“Don’t judge but I thought since he is European he must know something,”

“That’s not even acceptable.” Jamie said shaking her head.

Riley laughed, “well what can you do? Not every day can be spent at some small pub in Camden listening to Unity Five –”

“I love that band!” Jamie said leaning forward a little.

“So underrated!” Riley and Jamie said together and they launched into a discussion about how great fringe bands were.

“I guess we should leave them,” Angie said taking a quick sip of her drink as she and Donato moved down the bar together.

Angie took another sip from her drink and tried to remember the promise she had made to herself; she took a deep breath and relaxed her posture before she leaned her hip against the bar and looked directly at Donato before engaging him in conversation.

The conversation was a little stilted at first as they asked the preliminary background questions, but it started to flow better after a few moments and Angie realised that it wasn’t because he wasn’t interested, he seemed almost shy of her and usually Angie would laugh of such a notion, but almost thirty minutes into their conversation she caught her reflection in the mirror at the bar, it wasn’t just that her back was straighter and she looked chic in the clothes her friends had picked for her, it was the look in her eyes there was a confidence there that she hadn’t noticed before.