Break Away (On Hold)

Chapter One

I hate snow. Growing up in Southern California, it was always too warm for snow, but now, standing in the cold winter air of Indiana, I instantly resent the cold, white flakes. Don't get me wrong, snow is beautiful. I'm just not a winter kind of girl. Fall and spring are more my style. I love the breathtaking fall colors, but spring is my favorite. The new flowers that spring up every are really fun to paint. All of the bright colors make for an amazing canvas on which I can lose myself in.

   Ugh. I sound like a hippie. I'm not a hippie, I promise. Art just helps me escape for a little bit. I can relax and put all my emotions into the canvas, and most of the time I need to forget. My life hasn't exactly been all roses.

   Why am I here? I ran away. It wasn't exactly running away, since I'm eighteen, but I consider it that. I lived with my dad because my mom took off when I was little. She broke his heart, and I don't  blame him for some of the mistakes he made. He started drinking when I was eight and lost his job a few weeks after that. After I graduated high school, I'd had enough. So I packed up and left. Realizing that I was chewing my lip, I stop thinking about my dad.

   To be honest, I have no idea where I am. I took a bus as far away as I could, and I ended up here, in some small town in Indiana. I shiver as the cold wind picks up. I need to get to town.

   I swing my bag over my shoulder, sigh, and start walking down the road. The snow crunches under my wet shoes as I pull my coat tightly around myself. Still, the cold seeps in through the light fabric. I wasn't expecting the weather to be this bad. After all, it's April, but I guess it hasn't turned to spring yet. In Cali, it's practically summer already. The 90 degree weather allows everyone to go to the beach. In fact, I remember a day in February when it was 96. That day I-

   I stop walking abruptly. All the hairs on my arms and neck are standing straight up. I'm not sure what this feeling is, but my heart pounds with fear. My senses are going haywire, telling me that something's not right. Whipping my head around, I scan the trees around the road for a sign of life.  I finally place the feeling. Someone, or something, is watching me.

    Nothing in the tree line indicates that an animal has been there, so I decide that I'm being paranoid. After I scan the forest one more time, I continue to walk in the direction, I assume, of the town. I look up at the grey sky through the trees, and watch as a single snow flake gracefully falls to the ground. I think I could learn to like the snow... if wasn't so freaking cold!

     My shoes are soaked all the way to the socks, and I feel numb, almost to the point of falling over, like when you're not sure if you have any body parts left to control. My exhausted legs keep trudging on because they know there destination is near. The town should be just beyond the crest of the hill in front of me. I have been walking for a while, but I think I can go a little farther. I follow the road until I reach the outskirts of the tiny town. A sign along the road reads:

                       

                      Wolfgang Hollow, Indiana.

   

       I'm pretty sure that no such town would appear on a map, but I continue on. For such an ominous name, the town of Wolfgang Hollow is actually quite nice. The houses are quaint, the shops are all small businesses, and I only spot one dirt road leading out of town. The only other road is not dirt, and I assume it leads to a bigger city.

      The only strange part of town is the people. They all give me confused or hostile glances as if I'm not supposed to be here, which I understand, because all small towns act the same way towards new citizens. They all have an air about them, but I can't quite figure it out. I have a feeling that I won't fit in, for I never seem to find my place. Even living in a city of more than a 50,000 people, I didn't fit in. No one seemed to like me. No- I decide- it wasn't that they didn't like me, it was that they didn't understand me. It would be hard to understand somebody who didn't understand themselves.

      Turning my thoughts off of my problems, I realize that I don't have any where to stay. I walk around for a couple of minutes, still shivering, looking for a hotel. I glance back at the still visible forest with my head turned to the side. What was watching me? Was it an animal or a person? The branches on the trees sway in the wind, but I still can't shake that awful, gut wrenching feeling. Who-

      I fall flat on my back and slam my head on the ground. I close my eyes, trying to get my head to stop throbbing. I bring my hands up to my temples. I'm not sure what caused me to trip, but I'm guessing that it was ice, obviously, because of the insanely cold temperature. My thoughts are interrupted by a kind voice.

     "Oh dear! Are you okay sweetie?" I open my eyes to find an old woman with kind green eyes and smile lines leaning over me. She looks concerned. Her silver gray hair is thin and short, but curled. She is wearing jeans, a sweater that can only be described as "old", and carrying a brown paper sack filled with oranges.

      "I... I'm fine," I say while sitting up," just bumped my head."

      "That wasn't a bump, I could hear it! Come on, I'll take you to my Inn, and we can take a look at your head. I think you should put some ice on it," I think about telling her that I've had enough ice for today, but I need somewhere to stay, and an Inn sounds nice. She smiles at me and reaches down to take a hold of my elbow, but, in the process, she dumps her large bag of oranges everywhere.     

       "Oh no! I'm so clumsy," she huffs as she she picks them up. I roll over onto my knees to help her, and I spot a pink backpack. It's right in the middle of the sidewalk, where I fell, so I'm guessing it's the culprit for the goose egg on my head. I glare at it, but the pink color is suspicious. I don't think it ment to be there, as if a little girl dropped it. I look at the tag and find  a name and address written it sloppy printing. Definitely a little girls. The name given is Abigail, and the address reads:

                        551 County Rode West

     

       "Are you ready sweetheart? I got all the oranges picked up. I'm making orange juice for my guests," she smiles at me as I swing the pink backpack over my other one. I follow the nice woman as the snowfall thickens. I feel bad for Abigail, the little girl, and I make a promise to her that, tomorrow, I will try to give it back.

This is super exciting! Hope you love it!