The Torn

1 - Orabella

Written by Kitty.

12 years later.

I give a frustrated groan as Miss Hagg adds another 3 hours of homework to the 4 already existing, I mean seriously! This woman is a witch, and if you feel like it, exchange the W for a B, that is how I feel about this cow. She always has her pastel grey hair in a severe bun held together with a pencil and wears the most Victorian clothes you can think off. She has a stern face, green eyes which are faded from her years and pursed, red lips which are wrinkled from frowning to much. Evil is her middle name. She's about 67 and is my enemy (along with Andrea), this shows how much homework interferes with relationships.

I look around the class as Miss Hagg turns around and starts writing gibberish (algebra) on the olive green chalk board at the front of the room. It's a very sad and decrepit class room, the walls are painted a sickly yellow and the floor is a beige, matted carpet infested with abandoned, squished blobs of chewing gum. Random posters are dotted around the room and the the majority of them advertise maths clubs, but one, however, is warning female teenagers about becoming pregnant too early. Eek!

My fellow class mates are no more cheery than the class room. They're all sitting down in their chairs either asleep or trying to be, their uniforms are scruffy and they all seemed to be chavs. But Mel is an exception, she is the schools super nerd and just so happened to be sitting at the front of the class, back straight and listening intently. Her greasy, ink black hair is tied back into a tight bun and a splattering of freckles on her nose stands out like a snowman in a heat wave against her satin complexion.
I sigh, swing back in my chair impatiently and reach into my blazer pocket. I pull out my half full packet of skittles, pop one in my mouth and relax. Mmmmmmm... Wow, I loveeeee skittles so much, the taste is a brilliant explosion of flavour, rainbows (Ooj), and E numbers (which so happens to be orange). As soon as I put the packet back in my pocket, the bell goes off. The day is over. I sigh with relief and am outta there before you could say antidisastablishmentarneisum.

As soon as I step in to the corridor, I'm met by a huge stampede of students and am instantly pushed violently against the mouldy wall. My feet aren't  even touching the floor, talk about respect to royalty! I'm in this state for more than a minuet and wait for the chaos to die down before I hurry out of the maths block.

I finally find myself on the play ground with a cool breeze blowing my wavy, brown hair. I sigh with delight  and look up to the clear, blue sky. Above me is Clare, her pearly white wings flapping frantically and her dirty-blonde hair is flying around uncontrollably.
"Hey, Ora!" She yells enthusiastically,"how was maths?"
I groan, " I don't want to talk about it,"
Clare laughs, "that bad, eh? Come on up, it's home time, I'm staying at yours, remember?"
With that I take off my navy-blue rucksack, wriggle out of my blazer and  stuff it in my bag. I am left standing in the cool breeze in my school shirt, the one I particularly like because my maid, Beatrix, slit two holes down the back of them starting from my shoulder blades down to the top of my hip. This enables me to quite easily unfurl my snowy wings and take off with ease. Normally everyone else who goes to this school leave there wings out for all to see but I tuck mine under my shirt tightly because there so long I end up tripping over them, it's also a lot more cosy. The only problem with having the slits is the fact that sometimes you can see my bra strap.
"Come on!" Clare shouts impatiently, "we haven't got all day-!"
Before I let her continue, my wings shoot out gracefully from my shoulder blades like white fireworks and glow in the sun's bright light. I grab my bag, leap into the air and push down hard. In no time at all I am airborne, I fly up to Clare.
"You really like showing off, don't you, Hun. Why aren't my wings as beautiful and elegant as yours?!" She says in annoyance.
" I guess I was lucky." I say looking back at them. They are like the traditional wings Angels from heaven have, long, silky, they look like a waterfall of snow. They tumble and curve at every feather and sparkle in the sun light.
"You guess?! Ora, you were born lucky! Your uncle is The bloody King! You are heir to the kingdom! If that's not luck I don't know what is," Clare says in her typical 'it's not fair' tone. I roll my eyes.
"Come on," I say changing the subject," I told Anja to meet us at the gate, if we don't hurry she might burn it down,"
I normally make jokes like that about my twin, she was born with Alassuasnigrumitis (big word, I know) syndrome so she is a bit more... how would you say it...? Unangelic? It makes her different in an emotional way, she is very pessimistic and grumpy which is unusual for an angel, let alone Princess! The condition also makes her different in a physical way. When we went to our wing ceremony over 10 years ago, instead of having beautiful pearly wings, like mine, hers were as black as night and stuck out of her shoulder blades like a Raven's would. Everyone in the kingdom would say how she is dangerous and a disgrace to her family but Anja doesn't really care, she is actually quite fond of her wings. She likes being unique.
"You do mean that as a joke, right?" Clare says laughing nervously.
"Yeah, of corse I do. But if we don't hurry up, that joke may become a reality,"
We then break  in to a fit of giggles and make our way north towards the school gate. Because we are feeling hyper we do all sorts of dives and loop-the-loops until we get there. Finally we fly down to ground level, land gracefully and tuck in our wings. The first thing I notice is not the fact all the parents gathered here to pick up their kids go down on all fours and bow as soon as they see me (it's not every day they see a member of the Royal family), it's not the fact that Andrea Small is standing on the other side of the car park scowling at us and about to give me the finger when her mum comes and drags her away. The thing that made me look around in confusion was the fact that Anja isn't  here.
"Where's Anja?" Clare says next to me, searching the crowd for her.
"Don't know," I say in concern, "she should be here,"
"Maybe she is just late," Clare says reassuringly.
"I doubt it, the one thing she is never late for is leaving school early,"
"Maybe she really is going to set fire to something,"
I chuckle, "Maybe,"
After another minuet of looking around, asking everyone weather they have seen Anja or not, I give up and walk up to Clare.
"Let's just go home, she'll turn up at one point," I say in a beaten tone.
"But what if she is late? When don't want an Anja super tantrum upon us,"
"I guess we'll just have to live with it. Come on, I am starving," I say leaping up into the air and unfurling my wings. Clare dose the same and we fly off towards the palace with the cool wind slicing through our hair.

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Note from the author of this chapter!!!
Thank you reading this chapter, it took me a very long time to write but I got there eventually.
Some of the sentences may not make sense but it's because I am still learning how to write stories. Hope you enjoy the rest of the book, the next chapter will be continued by my partner in crime BEEAB!

Kitty Xxx