The Northern Lights

Prologue

The Northern Lights

　

Prologue

　

Jenny’s POV

　

“Jenny!” Glenda’s voice rang through our house when she called me.

“In here!” I yelled from my room, still staring at my opened closet.

I’d been trying to find the perfect outfit to wear on my first day of student teaching at the school Glenda taught at. She’d pulled some strings for me, which I was very grateful for, considering that most students had to go to a school in a town that they were unfamiliar with. I’d lived in Fairbanks for basically my whole life, despite the bitter coldness of Alaska. The climate at the University of California was always warm and sunny. I loved to be able to go to the beach, sit under a palm tree and just write.

I’ve always loved to write ever since I was a little girl. By the time I was seven years old, I’d had as much life experience as a forty-year-old. I’d lost pretty much everything that was important to me. Writing was one way I’d learned to cope with things. From the first time I ever wrote when I was eight, Glenda knew I had a “gift”. I wouldn’t exactly call it a gift, seeming as most eight-year-olds hadn’t experienced the pain I had. It was more so an unfortunate event that sparked my inspiration.

I was born into a family of two people who shared a love for each other and pure wonder of everything around them. My parents were not travelers, as most people thought they were. They were explorers who simply wanted to know more. Travelers go to places like Rome, Paris, and Tokyo for a glimpse of life outside of their home country. My parents, however, went to places where surroundings were exotic and held questions that were unanswered. They wanted to find those answers and experience the wonders of these mysterious places.

After I was born, they started go on shorter trips to less dangerous places. They would only stay for about a month or less, going to more tourist-like places. Since they were gone so much, they didn’t want to send me to public school. Instead, I was home schooled by Glenda. She’d been a family friend for a long time. My father was good friends with her husband, who passed before I was born. Both of my parents remained close to her even after her loss. Glenda is extremely intelligent and is a wonderful teacher. Not only did she teach me the required lessons, but she taught me most life lessons as well. Her wisdom is one of the things I admired the most about her.

Soon, my parents had two girls to think of. I was seven and my sister, Jasmine, was five. At that point, my parents felt they hadn’t been great parents, being gone all the time. There was one last place they wanted to go to, Somalia. They’d always wanted to go there and thought it was an appropriate place for a last adventure. About three days later, I was hugging them at the airport and waving good-bye as they stepped through the gate. Little did I know it would be the last time I ever saw them.

The next week, Glenda brought Jasmine and I to the airport to pick them up from their trip. I was bouncing and squealing in my chair in the waiting area by the gate where their plane was supposed to land. My sister was doing the same as me, and for once, I felt close to her. I could actually relate to how she was feeling. Time couldn’t pass any slower. I was constantly asking Glenda how much longer we’d have to wait. She kept on telling me to be patient.

Almost an hour later, their plane landed. My sister and I leapt from our seats and squealed with joy. We ran to the entrance of the gate and waiting for the doors to open. Glenda slowly walked over to where we were standing and put either of her hands on one of our shoulders. She smiled at our excitement.

The doors opened, and I waited. I held my sister’s hand and squeezed it a little every time I saw a person that could potentially be my mother or father. Soon, the doors were closing again, and my parents hadn’t come out. I looked to my sister, who’s expression looked confused and hurt. I looked up at Glenda.

“Where are they, Ms. Harper?” I demanded as politely as possible.

Glenda looked a little worried as well. “I’m not sure, dear.” she said, walking toward the flight attendant.

Jasmine and I followed her anxiously. I could tell my sister was upset, but I was worried. I kept on wondering where they’d be or what could have happened to them, but I could only think of terrible things that wouldn’t happen to such wonderful people like my parents. Glenda was getting flustered with every question she asked, as the flight attendant didn’t have an answer.

We went home just as it was getting dark. We’d looked everywhere for them, but there was no sign. We had to go home, it’d been an emotionally draining day. My sister and I cried the whole way home, and Glenda was very solemn. When we got home, I trudged up the stairs to my room, looking at pictures of them. I asked them where they were, but they didn’t reply. I hadn’t really expected them to, but it would’ve been nice.

About two hours after we’d gotten home, Glenda got a phone call from the police. The phone rang, and she practically sprinted to answer it. Jasmine and I had run down to the kitchen where Glenda was using the phone.

“Hello?!” she asked anxiously.

There was an eerie silence as my sister and I watched Glenda’s facial expression, trying to read how she was feeling. She was breathing heavily, and wasn’t relieved. I felt my eyes fill with tears as Glenda ended the conversation.

“Thank you, officer. Have a good night.” she said, choking on the lump in her throat. She turned to us. She couldn’t say anything, she only shook her head as the tears poured down her face.

“Something bad has happened, hasn’t it?” I asked timidly.

Glenda lost it. She ran to my sister and I, falling to her knees and taking us both into her arms and sobbing. I knew then exactly what had happened to my parents. Jasmine sat idly, confused on what was happening. She kept asking us what was wrong, but I didn’t have the heart to say anything to her. I could feel her frustration building.

“WHAT HAPPENED?!?!” she yelled angrily.

Glenda and I released her and calmed down as best as we could before one of us told her.

“Where are my parents?” she pleaded, tears flowing down her face.

I looked at Glenda, who looked a bit overwhelmed. She took young Jasmine’s hand and looked into her moist, curious eyes.

“Your parents visited a bad place, Jasmine. The people there do awful things to one another.” she started, hanging her head to let out a few sobs. “Your parents aren’t coming home. Ever.” she sobbed.