In the Storm

Chapter 1: The Wanderer

 Greetings, all! 

This is definitely a deeper story, so if you have a greater comprehension and like to consider yourself a thinker, a watcher, ora dreamer- this is the place for you. Get absorbed into the storm, play this song on the side, and read on. \m/

PS. Dedicated to one of my great friends, AngelicRain! She's amazing at making covers and writing! Check out her works! <3

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The first day of summer break is overcast and rainy.

I smile the way I do when things go my way for a change. When it's summer, everyone loves the mid-80s-hot-weather-and-sun. I'm more of a mid-60s-slightly-chilled-weather-and-rain kind of girl. People hate rain in the summer- it takes away from the small amount of time they have to go outside and have fun before school starts up again. It doesn't hinder my activities, though.

When it rains, it doesn't prevent me from going on long walks. It just makes them more interesting. Generally, I'm the only one bothering to be outside when it's a huge thunderstorm in the middle of June, and I like it that way.

I look up at the sky and see dark clouds looming over me. I pick up my steady pace to a jog. I have to make it there in time.

The grass on the houses that I pass is a deep green, a green like my father's eyes. His loving yet hating eyes.

Those eyes saved me but also left me. He started as the freshly rained-on vivid plant, but before April even started he was already a muddy, washed-out brown. It only took 13 years for him to turn to muck, but when it happened I couldn't say I was surprised.

Sometimes you just need to accept what comes. Whether it be mud or a fresh coat of paint on your house, when changes happen you can't stop them. No matter how tough you think you are.

I thought I was tough once: roughing out the game of life friendless, alone. Then I realized that I wasn't the tough one after all. My dad was.

No matter how nice or mean (or both) someone is, they could always have it worse than you and you just needed to discover it to be able to understand. I understood once.

They found me, my parents, when I was only 4. I was alone in an alleyway, forgotten and cold. I had been there for a few days, they told me. They said once they saw me they knew I was meant to be the daughter for them. They loved me for a long time. My mom still loves me sometimes, but I think my dad just got bored.

I can tell that taking me in was all my mom's idea. It just seems like something she would do. She's like that one pretty house in the neighborhood that hosts all the fun block parties that everyone wishes they lived in, while my dad was the grass in spring before and after a storm.

I'm glad they took me in, and I'm glad that I live here. My town may not be the largest, but it definitely has its secrets.

Blueshell is full of hidden wonders. Most people that live around here just don't want to discover them. They have other, better, more important things to do. Like start drama in their high school relationships.

I reach the edge of my twisting dead-end street and quickly dart through the trees of the large forest. There's a certain path I made here a few years ago when I wanted to escape everything. I needed somewhere to go, somewhere that only I knew about. A place where I could go to when I needed to leave everything behind and just listen to music.

I was so relieved when I finally found it. It was on a day when my dad was even more stressed out than usual. I was twelve when it first happened.

He came home a little late from work- he walked through the front door at 9 pm. His face was beet red and his eyes were a deep black. With flared nostrils he ran through the house and was up in his bedroom in an instant. I didn't bother to go find out what he was doing. I already knew.