Aurora

Prologue

 

Sometimes I think I'm invisible. No one looks twice at a small girl with plain features. I can at least work it to my advantage, though. If I was walking down a crowded street, I could slip my hand into a passing man's pocket and steal his wallet, and I wouldn't be a suspect, because no one takes notice of me. When I enter a shop, I could slip a product into my jacket and leave without anyone realising. I've tried both of these before, and it is true. I got off scot-free both times, because I'm not a person who commands attention. I don't have fiery red hair, or piercing green eyes. I don't have flawless chocolate skin or a perfectly sculpted face. I'm not tall, curvy, or fat. I've got plain brown hair and normal blue eyes pale skin and average features. I'm short, figureless and have not one cell of fat on my whole being. I'm not ugly, I'm just boring. I'm not pretty, not sexy and I most certainly don't take the breath away from boys in the same room as me. The one thing about that's even remotely original about me is my name. My parents named me Aurora.

The most awful thing about my name, is that I know it doesn't fit me. I should be Mary, or Jane, or Jenny. Something common, just like me. But no. I'm Aurora. The name Aurora should be kept for someone it fits, someone who is enough of an individual to do it good. Not me. Aurora is the name of unimaginably beautiful lights that people gasp at. I am a girl with a forgettable face. It doesn't fit, and it never will.

You probably find it depressing that I'm so unnoticed. You're not wrong. But after a while, you get used to it. There are perks, like that I don't get in trouble often, I'm not a target for bullies and I can ditch without people getting pissy. But there are obvious downsides. I'm not even going to bother getting into them, it's a waste of time. A brainless monkey could work out why not being noticed is a bad thing.

But enough about me. What must be understood is my situation. I live with my grandmother in an old, victorian-style house. Scratch that. An old, victorian-style shed. It cannot even be called a house, it's so tiny. I never knew my parents,I had lived with Nanna all my life. I had frequently bombarded her with questions about them, but all I could learn was their names. Annabelle and Malcolm Marr. Beautiful names, I had thought. I wondered if they were beautiful too. I quickly dismissed the thought. I wasn't a lookist. I couldn't be, it would just be hypocritical with my looks. I couldn't judge. I couldn't afford to. Besides, I'm a mix of their genes, so they couldn't look amazing. It wasn't genetically possible. Anyway, I lived with my Nanna, who recently turned 69. The funny thing was that she was supposed to have been a looker. She has the most amazing eyes, which are an enchanting shade of light violet. I just wish I had inherited them. Then I could at least have one interesting thing about me. Her long grey hair is always pulled up in a bun, with a few wispy strands escaping around the front of her heart-shaped face.

Nanna works at the local museum as a currator. She works almost all day, but it's good money, and we wouldn't be able to get by on anything less. Besides, I get free entry, which is pretty neat. She doesn't get home until eight on weekdays, so I have to cook dinner every night. I'd probably have to anyway, since Nanna isn't the worlds greatest chef. But it's fine.

My life works in a routine. I rise a 6:00am, since we live out of town, I am dressed and fed by 6:30am, and I reach school by 8:30am. After school, I walk down to the library, where I finish my homework. At 5:00pm, a bus leaves for Rosewell (That's where Nanna and I live), and I am home by 6:30pm. I get started on dinner immediatly, and I am fed by 7:30pm. I take a shower & am ready for bed by the time Nanna gets home. I warm up the leftovers for her, kiss her night and go to bed. I know, in bed by 8:00pm, not very outgoing. But I need to get up early, and I have one thing to say to people who have a problem with it: Who cares? Because honestly, who does? No one bothers with me, why should they go out of their way to taunt me? I'm just the small unnoticed girl with no real friends. What did I ever do to them to make them pay attention to me? Nothing, I've done nothing.

I often stop to ponder where life will lead me. I have no major talent, I have to work hard to get to where ever I'm going, and I don't even have the advantage of interest. If I was a more entertaining person, if I was talented, or pretty, I might have a chance in the big world. But I won't, and I probably never will. I know, I'm pretty self-critical, but I can't help it. I'm not judgemental, I'm a realist. There is a very large difference.

So this is my life. I know how it works, I don't expect change. I don't think it's even possible for it to be changed. The thing about my situation, is that I've embraced it. I used to be naíve enough to think it could change. But I've grown up now. I'm 16, and once you hit 16, you don't expect much more change. The sad thing is that I thought I'd be happier once I accepted that no one noticed me. If anything, I just felt more depressed. But I'm used to it now. It may be a sad existence, but it's the only one I know

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Hey everyone! Leina here! I was feeling like I needed a new type of fantasy to boost my writing habits yesterday, and just as I was about to hit the sack, I was struck with the idea of Aurora. I literally launched myself off my bed at my computer, and began to type. And here, after many nights of cold, hard writing, is the prologue. I hope you like it. I don't think that there is a similar story to this on wattpad, so I am very proud of myself for coming up with an idea as original as this one is. I am going to keep writing Feathers in the Wind, since I'm pretty happy with the direction that it's going in. Vote and Comment! Love you all!

p.s. Monday will be my uploading day for all my stories, so if you enjoyed this, then the next chappie will be here on Monday!