Hope [Edmund Pevensie] (UNDER HEAVY RECONSTRUCTION)

A Favor

Hello All My Beautiful Fairies!

If you've made it this far you managed to complete the hot mess that is the first draft of Hope. Don't worry, editing is in progress (very slow progress, but progress nonetheless). I've been trying to write a bunch of stories simultaneously so my brain is all over the place.

Anyway, I'm adding this part here because this is my most popular work as of right now and you all seem to show this a lot of love. I'm in the process of writing an original work, though I've sort of hit a road block. It can be extremely difficult for me to write sometimes, but I am passionate about this story and want to try and complete it. Below is a short excerpt from the first chapter and I would absolutely love it if you were willing to give it a once over and offer some opinions. I'm the type of person that needs validation before I feel confident enough to continue working on a project, so words of encouragement or kind criticism would be greatly appreciated. Thank you all for reading Hope and going on this journey with me. I love you all, and remember,

Stay Beautiful,

Stay Awesome,

and of course,

Stay Awkward!

Warning: Contains curse words, sexual connotations

There are two things that Dahlia Cyclamen Forrester hates: Her name, and being late. Currently, she is facing both of them. Dahlia was fully prepared to have a halfway decent day, until her alarm clock decided to malfunction. In the months she's been using it, not once has it failed to pull her out of her slumber. Today, of all days, was not the day to be late. She is covering a coworker's shift and her boss is planning on arriving to do a routine inspection. Dahlia knows she has no hope of impressing her boss now.

"God fucking damnit," She curses under her breath as her dilapitated purse slips from her shoulder and empties its contents onto the filthy city bus's floor. The bus driver glances into her mirror, concerned for the eldest Forrester child.

"You alright dear?" The kind woman asks.

Dahlia crouches on the floor, and hastily shoves random objects back into her bag. The bus jostles from the uneven road beneath them, causing her head to slam into the metal bar beside her. Another string of curses comes from her lips.

"Sorry dear." The driver apologizes again, as if the poor road conditions are her fault.

The sky has hardly woken, making the vehicle nearly empty except for a young man dozing off in the back of the bus. He seems undisturbed by Dahlia's loud mouth and clumsy demeanor. Dahlia doesn't recognize his silhouette, which is surprising considering how small the town is.   It's a rarity anyone was awake at the same time as Dahlia, let alone en route alongside her. Curious by the strange man, who has yet shown any signs of disturbance, Dahlia begins to approach. She doesn't want to startle him, though a complete stranger shaking you awake is surprising enough. Just as she is about to wake the man, the bus stops, making her tumble forward once again. Despite taking the bus nearly every day, Dahlia still has not mastered the delicate art of keeping her balance.

    "Here we are D!" The sweet driver announces.

Dahlia, brushing her already filthy jeans, grumbles a thank you as she rushes off the torture chamber. She races past the homeless shelter, doing her best to maintain her balance on the slick ice that coats the concrete. She can hear a ragged man wishing her good morning she politely waves. She cannot afford to take her eyes off her precarious path. The last thing she needs today is to take another tumble into the freezing powder.

    The St. Benning streets remain quiet as Dahlia slides through them. Stores are still shut up tightly, shielding their precious contents from the bitter cold. The sun's fingers are covered with a thick black glove, one that won't be removed for a few hours. The archaic street lamps that somehow still work cast an ethereal glow onto the icy walkways. Everything is still, as if gazing at a photograph. It is Dahlia's favorite time of day. If she hadn't woken up late and missed the first bus route, she would be standing in the darkness with a warm cup of coffee, enjoying the solitude away from her chaotic home. Instead, the pandemonium remains inside her lungs, slowly increasing with every visible breath. Her anxiety continues to bubble as she arrives closer to her destination. She has only had this job for a few weeks, she can't be late already.