Sorcha The Alien Book One

Chapter One

I made a pact with myself. It started small. Just one day. Then two. Then a week, and a month. You get the gist. It's November now, one year since day one. Ice cold nights, but beautiful clear skies with sparkling stars. I know every constellation. The stars have always captivated me: from the moment I could look up, according to my parents.

I climb outside through my bedroom window because I'm not allowed out past 8pm on a school night, even on the one-year anniversary of my parents' death. The cold air hits me like I've stepped through my wardrobe to Narnia, but it doesn't deter me. As my feet strike the ground, tingles spiral up my legs and I pull closed my window. Oh, the benefits of living in a ground floor flat.

My Aunt, Jen, lives in a village tucked away in the south of England. It is a fine place to live for most, but I don't like it. Jen is a fine person to most, but I don't like her. We don't get each other, even after a year of living together. She's twenty-three, just seven years older than me, how can I look to her as a parental figure?

I thrust my hands into my pockets as I run over ice encased grass. The ground has a pleasant crunch and, as I leave the frost-topped green, I make a point of stepping in every iced puddle. I sprint across the road before headlights have a chance to discover me. The cons of living in a small town, people talk, and Jen seems to know everyone.

I slip through the entrance to the park. Trees shroud me in shadows and my feet strike a calming beat against the ground. A cheerful tap, tap, tap despite my sombre mood. The pact ... it was to live. To keep living when all seemed impossible and pointless. And today is one year, tonight I will either make another pact with myself or ... I won't.

I cut through the trees and across a football pitch. Relentless play has created a muddy mess but the drop in temperature keeps my boots clean. A hill rises on the edge on the field, in the Summer, kids rolled down it. I watched once. I listened to their screams of glee. I think I've forgotten what happiness feels like.

My run slows as I climb higher. My breath comes quick, and it leaves like steam from a dragon. An angry dragon because I am angry. Life has screwed me over. My parents died in a car crash. Both sets of grandparents are dead too, dead before I had chance to form memories of them, my Dad had no siblings, my Mum only had a younger sister, my current guardian.

She didn't want to take me. But I'm not supposed to know that. She left her phone at home and I read through a thread of messages. Guilt made her take me because apparently, I would have ended up in care. I'm a burden to her, she didn't want kids so young, especially a sixteen-year-old that isn't even hers. Roll on eighteen, that's what she said. I screenshotted the messages and sent them to myself. A reminder, that every time she's nice to me, it's a lie.

I reach the top of the hill with tears in my eyes and streaming down my cheeks. I don't know what I want my life to be, but this isn't it.

I sit on the grass. Ice melts under the warmth of my body and wet cold seeps past my clothes and against my skin. My teeth chatter and my body shakes. Winter is my least favourite season and cold is the most unbearable sensation. From my pocket I pluck a lighter and a strawberry scented tealight.

The flame takes to the wick instantly and I slip the lighter back. The small flickering flame looks more impressive, out here in the pitch dark, than it has any right doing. What an insignificant gesture but it's all I have, it's all I can do.

"I miss you," I whisper, and my tears become more intense. "How am I supposed to go on without you?" my voice grows. "You were supposed to be there for me!"

My face falls into my frigid hands as I sob loudly and, in my mind, I shout all the words, that can't be spoken aloud. I thought all my tears had been shed. I've held it together for months. Pushing the memory of my parents deeper and deeper until they felt like just a dream. But here, under the stars, my lies are visible. I'm not done with my grief and maybe I never will be.