Weather Bound

Chapter One

I was laying on my bed and staring at the ceiling, lost in thought again; which is exactly what had given me the label of an outcast to begin with. When I was around six or seven, I'd learned that the faces of the kids around me weren't ones of understanding and more of a frightened or speechless expression. The way I explained things in such a morbid way, I suppose, didn't go well with them and I quickly learned to shut my mouth when it came to my imagination.

Doesn't help when you've landed here either, St. James Orphanage- my mom died at birth and father committed suicide. How they came up with my name is beyond me, maybe it was snowing? Eh, who knows. I could only ever wonder why, so what was the point in thinking of it at all. 

Some kids here say I'm a witch, only because I think and do differently than the idiots do. I mean, it's not like they don't do weird shit all the time but you don't hear me saying anything. Colors just come to me differently, I see them around people beating at the same easy pace as a heartbeat. Some seem cleaner than others. . . and some are toxic, slick with dark black veins that weave their way through energy and look for a weakness to feed on- kind of like a dying tree when you pull it from the ground and leave it to rot. Of course, I've learned to never say any of this out loud, for. . . obvious reasons. But I always felt like there was something wrong with me anyway, so, I'm glad the idiots and I are on the same page. I stay away from them and they stay away from me.

There's a knock on the door.

"What do you want?" I yelled and sitting up straight.

The door opened and the head Mother walked in, followed by a man. The Mother was a husk of a woman and had wiry black hair that was greying at the roots, but not in a necessarily ugly way. She was a small yet curvy woman and had clear chocolate skin along with broad shoulders. Even though she looked like she was in her late fifties, she had more sex than a horny fourteen-year-old boy, and lucky for her? She was probably just as attractive, if not more, as she was when she was twenty. Her skin was a caramel kind of color and her face was very smooth, which seemed a little off to me considering the woman had to be almost sixty. And sometimes? When I looked hard enough - deep into the colors of browns, oranges, and magenta surrounding her - it's like a sheet of glass would shatter for a split second; showing ears that are pinker and pointer, eyes that glow a bright unearthly color. 

But by the time I think I see it? It's gone. "Maybe I am a bit strange" I thought to myself.

"Pack your things," she starts while puffing her chest out, voice rising to the 'I'm the boss' tone. "This very nice man has decided to take you under his care." 

She gave him a flirtatious glance before turning to me fully, "He's part of the Orphic organization that focuses on the older kids; the ones that need the most help, advice, and friends for the big world out there. You are lucky to have been selected for this opportunity, and I wouldn't take this matter lightly, Winter."

I was shocked and confused, but didn't dare let it show as my eyes followed hers to look at him- first focusing on those bright forest green eyes and hair that had curls before ending above his brown, then the strong jawline decorated with a five -o- clock shadow and lips tightened into a thin line. He was wearing a black T-shirt that fit snugly around his torso and faded blue jeans, topped with work boots- Clean work boots, might I add. My eyes lingered on his wide chest and toned arms. It was obvious that this guy must have a home gym in handy, not a single part of his body had flab or weakness. 

I had to admit, he was attractive. Not to mention, the colors I saw surrounding him were alive with energy- glittering crystal-violet with shiny black spots. Every time his heart would beat, the colors of red and pink would pulsate in union- starting at his center, leading to the very last strand of outer color. I took in the beautiful sight, mesmerized. Wait. Why does a, I mean he must be, twenty-something year old want to help an eighteen-year-old girl? Well. I'll be eighteen in a month. October eleventh, and I'd be free.