The world vs us

Chapter One ~ its no big deal

"Mum we aren't going to get raided" I say for the fifth time this morning, I just wished I believed it myself. She sits across from me at our round  dining room table, clasping a hot mug in her hands. The threat of being raided has been around for about a year now, the Socovian army has raided a few places up and down the country, but now that they've come to Yorkshire mum hasn't stopped worrying. Every time I go out the house I too feel as if I have been ripped away from security, but I know we can't live in fear for ever. I glance over at my dad, perched on the edge of his seat listening intently to the radio.
"The Socovian army has struck once more, this time just outside Yorkshire. 63 have died and at least 200 are badly injured. Over to Mike Peabody to tell us more ". I try to let the reporters voice drown away in my thoughts, but it seems to be kept afloat. So far, the raids have happened miles away from my home village of wellsberry, but yesterday the socovian army raided a city just 15 miles from. "This is getting out of hand, surely the government must be able to do something." My dad sighs.
"Oh they can do a lot, it's just they're more concerned about winning elections than people dying" mum practically hisses. I gulp down the dregs of my tea and get up from the table. I can feel my dads gaze on me as I head for the hallway to put my shoes on. "Please be careful Elora" he whispers, his voice filled with desperation.I turn back and smile at him what I hope is reassuringly, and head out the door.

When I get to the bakery the queue is already out the door. It's mostly made up of over seventies with wispy white hair and antique walking sticks, who don't care about the risks of raids. The sweet smell of cake and pastry fills the air, and I breathe it in gratefully. I rush past the queue, tying my apron on as I enter the bakery. In here it's stuffy, and the lighting is somewhat sickly. However it is still the same little bakery that I can call home. I swiftly make my way through the crowd and take my place behind the counter.  "You're late." I roll my eyes and turn to look at Killian. He's one to talk, last month he was over an hour late every day. "It's no big deal, I'm here now." I smile but my voice doesn't. He glares at me with annoyance and takes some freshly baked muffins from the Victorian-style oven. They glimmer with gold in the dim yellow light. I cant say in surprised. Killian has always been somewhat of a bully to me. Ever since preschool, when he took my toy bunny and shoved it in the lake. Or year 7, when he ripped up my drama homework and sprinkled it into the wind, causing me to get a detention on my 4th day. And now I'm just shy of 20 and he is still just as bitter as the day I met him. "Excuse me miss" I whip around, suddenly pulled from my thoughts. "I would like a black coffee please, with the smallest slice of shortbread you have" it's Mrs Ainsley, she must've been released from the dementia unit today. She is relying on an oak cane to keep her upright. She's wearing a sun hat, her wispy silver hair poking though the bottom, a contrast to her wrinkly tan skin. "Yes of course Mrs Ainsley" I say as I shuffle over to the till. I put her order into the system, before charging her £3.24. She reachers her feeble hand across the counter and passes me a £2 coin. Normally I would ask for the appropriate amount of money, but this morning I really can't be bothered, so I smile warmly and take the coin.

"And that'll be £4 please" i say to the final customer. It's a young mother with her baby. I've never seen them in the village before, I'm sure I would remember the mother, as her head is covered in brilliant orange hair, and her face splodged with delicate little freckles. It's seems odd to me that the village is still functioning as usual. Not a single difference is present today, not one little old lady confused about the threat, or a child worried their home will be invaded by strangers. It's just normal. I pass the lady a warm cup of milk for her baby and a cappuccino to go. The mother pushes the pram out the shop door and the bell on top jingles lightly. It's now just me, Killian and the new girl, Ophelia, in the bakery. I take a glance over at the clock, despite never being good with reading time. It's 4:30pm, give or take. I need to be out of here by five if I want to meet Louie at Norma's by quarter past. "Elora, would you throw these out please?" Ophelia grins, passing me a tray of dry carrot cake slices. I smile and take the tray from her hands, walking over to the food bin in the far corner.
"So Elora," Killian begins "what's it like being all alone in life?" I can smell the smirk on his lips.
"Actually Killian, I'm in a relationship with Louie, Louie Parkin. You know him right? Went to your football before you got kicked off for your total lack of skill." I know things aren't going exactly great between me and Louie right now, but Killian doesn't need to know that. And for a moment, just a moment, he is silent, and I think he's upset. I hadn't gone to far, surely not. I joke about him getting kicked of the team all the time. "Well I wouldn't get you hopes up Elora, he'll only leave like the rest of them." Obviously I didn't hurt him, so roll my eyes before heading to the door. "Sorry folks," I begin, as I untie my apron and throw it at Killian "but I have a place to be and a person to see." I walk out the bakery and pick up my little teal bike from the window. I push of the ground and wave to Ophelia as I cycle off.

The ride to Norma's is as beautiful as always. I cycle along a cobblestone lane bordered with untamed yet gorgeous wildflowers of every possible colour. The only thing between me and open cattle fields is a small brick wall, probably hundreds of years old. Rolling fields surround everything in sight, resembling the patchwork quilts my grandma used to make for me as a kid. Out here my mind is at peace. No worrying about raids or scary soldiers. Out here it's just me and the never ending rolling fields. Above me, the sky turns from a sapphire blue to a pale orange, the sun leaving for another day.

After about 20 minuets the lane forms into a tarmac path, leading up to Norma's entrance. The café resembles an old countryside cottage, much like those us in the village live in. A large window is placed on the right corner, the frame painted a light sage green. Vines hug the second story, the old brick shell concealed under an ocean of green. I lean my bike up against the wall and enter the restaurant, the bell chiming above my head as I open the door. There I see Louie, already at a table waiting for me. I smile at him as I sit down, but his face stays sour. After dating for almost 6 months I have become somewhat used to his face looking like he just ate a bag full of lemons. "I've been here for over ten minutes waiting for you, Eloraina" its so weird when people call me by my full name, even Louie, who's been doing it since we've met. "Sorry, the bakery was packed today" I say, as I sit down on the little teal chair at the table.  Louie looks me up and down, I can tell he's going to give me a tip on how to look better again. Most of the time I'm not sure weather to appreciate him looking out for me, or be hurt by the insinuation.  "You should cut your hair. The length makes your face look chubbier." Louie remarks. I look down at my lap. My hair has always been one of my favourite things about myself. I love the way my golden locks tumble past my shoulders, and how it blows in the wind and makes me feel ever so free. "I'll cut it" I suddenly say. "If you'd like" and as soon as it's said, I regret letting the words slip from my mouth.
"Yes, cut it to your shoulders"
I attempt a weak smile. "I'll book an appointment when I get home".

A waitress approaches our table, her long chocolaty hair is swept back into a high ponytail, two small strands pulled out to frame her face. "What can I get you guys today?" She beams, pulling out a small notebook and pen from her pocket. "I'll get a slice of Victoria sponge-" I begin, before catching Louie's judgmental eye study me carefully. "I mean um, a salad. Please." I watch as the waitresses' hand darts across the page of her notebook.
"No dressing" Louie chimes in. I avoid his gaze and keep looking down.
"And for you sir?"
"I'll take a slice of lemon cake. black coffee too"
The waitress writes rapidly in her notebook, adding in a dramatic full stop when she finishes her sentence
"Will that be all?"
"Yes"
And with that the waitress turns on her heel and strides off to the kitchen. I watch in silence as she rips a page or two from her notebook and sticks them above the baker's workspace.
"Eloraina, why are you so quiet?" Louie asks, a hint of anger laced within his voice.
"Oh I'm sorry, I guess I'm just stressed about the raids." I lie
"Stop stressing. It's all a hoax anyway" a hoax? Hundreds of people have died and he's calling it a hoax?
"It's not a hoax Louie" I tell him bravely "people have died don't be so inconsiderate"
I feel the tension rise within an instant. His face goes from emotionless to angry. I hate when I make him angry. The purplish bruise from Monday is still imprinted upon my knee. I feel as if a ball has been shoved down my throat as the anticipation grows. He won't make a scene in public, right? I want to stand up for myself, tell Louie I'm aloud to have my own opinion and do as I please, but I know that will only make the bruises denser and larger.
"Eloraina" I brace myself as his voice begins to raise "how dare-"
"Okie dokie guys I have one slice of lemon cake, a dry salad and a black coffee".
Louie quietens down. It's almost like someone turned down the heat of the pot he's sizzling in. I smile weakly at the waitress and she places the bowl of salad in front of me. I hate salad.