Brielle

Hai guiseeeee this story is based on Sky Sailing (the old Owl City)'s song called Brielle. Personally idk what this story will be about YET. 8D so yeah HAVE FUN READING.

*Flashback*

The vase drops from my mother's hand in shock. 'YOU WHAT?!'

'You heard me, Vienna. I have a child.' My father replies. 'And now, I'm leaving.'

'Listen here, Martin Kavanagh, I will not allow you to just walk out on your wife and son just like that. You fathered Adam, so do your part as his father! You can walk out on me, sure. But you are not going to leave us without helping at all and run off with some homeless woman that you got pregnant!' My mother snarls in my father's face. Something seemed to snap in my father. He suddenly advances on my mother and pins her to the wall violently. 'YOU listen. Adam is an embarrassment. He can't read, he can't write, he's a retard and he isn't going to succeed in life. I can't live my life with this sorry excuse for a son.' My mother glares back indignantly. 'Just because Adam is a bit slow in reading or writing doesn't mean he won't improve eventually! I'm ashamed of you! What kind of father are you?' My father lets her go, then turns to pick up his luggage on the floor. 'I have a life to live. And I have a daughter waiting for me at Clare's house. Goodbye Vienna. I certainly hope this is the last time I ever see you two again.' With that, my father steps over the remains of the shattered vase and out the door with his luggage, never once turning his head back for a second glance. My mother runs a hand through her hair, thoroughly exasperated. 'What did I ever see in that idiot?' She turns to clean up the mess, and then she sees me. Her eyes widen when she realises that I have seen and heard the entire episode of what just happened. But then she breaks out into a smile, but its obviously forced. 'Hi, honey. Did I wake you up? Come on, I'll get you some hot chocolate as an apology. Careful,' She leads me over the broken vase and into the kitchen.

*Flashback ends*

That was 12 years ago. Hi, my name is Adam. I don't actually know why I'm keeping this journal, but sometimes when I can't sleep, which is most nights, I just need something to do. My insomnia is as bad as always, and the doctor says its long-term. But sleep doesn't really matter to me much.

I love the dark. I think it's because I spend so much time in the dark, staring at the glow in the dark stars on my bedroom ceiling. Strange things happen in the dark, yes, but so do magical things. And the brightest stars will never shine without darkness.

I have sandy hair and blue eyes, inherited from my good-for-nothing-father. He got some other woman pregnant and abandoned my mum, leaving her and three-year-old me on our own against the world. But my mum didn't simply dump me in an orphanage like that bastard probably would have. She raised me single-handedly. Sure, being a single parent might be twice the work, twice the tears and twice the sacrifice, but it sure is twice the pride, twice the smiles and twice the happiness.

I love the sea, too. There's just something about how the lullaby of the waves crashing on the shore can lull you into a deep sleep, something about the way the waves rock the boat ever so gently, like a mother rocking her child, something about the breath taking shade of aquamarine that the ocean is. My mother told me that the only times I was really happy as a toddler were when I was in a dark room and when I was having my bath.

I'm homeschooled. Mum says its because she wants to 'oversee my education' but I know its because she can't really afford to send me to school. I am slightly dyslexic, so sending me to a special school for dyslexic kids would cost a bomb for a single mum who works as a part-time as a cashier at Walmart and as a cashier at Starbucks. Plus I might not be able to cope at the speed things are taught in a normal school. I'm taught by Theresa, my old neighbour who used to teach dyslexic kids.

Today I'm walking out of my house towards Starbucks where my mum works. Its 'after school' now that Theresa has to go to her relatives house. I go there sometimes to help boost Mum's sales because the person who sells the most coffee gets a big bonus. I work at the petrol station on weekends to help earn income for the family.

As I push open the door of Starbucks, I see my mum at the cashier till handing her customer back his change. I queue up to get myself a caramel frappe. 'Hey, honey,' Mum says as she collects my cash. 'How was class?'

'It was good. Theresa taught me to read at least 30 more words today.' I smile at her. (30 might seem like a really small number to most of you, but to dyslexic kids, it's a huge accomplishment.) 'That's good,' Mum hands me back my change and runs her fingers through her hair. I realise how prominent the eyebags beneath her eyes have become. 'Thanks Mum.' I take my frappe and smile. 'See you at home tonight,' Mum gives me a small wave and turns to face her next customer.

YAY STORY GOING WELL SO FAR :D

It's almost evening when I see her. I'm outside Starbucks waiting for Mum's shift to be over when suddenly I catch sight of a figure out of the corner of my eye. She has stylishly cut shoulder length ebony hair, and a slanted beret sits ontop her head. She's wearing a long-sleeved tee in shades of blue and white crisscrossed with black lines with the sleeves tastefully rolled up slightly, paired with black skinny jeans and Converses.

But what strikes me most about her is her eyes. They are a piercing blue, like the colour of the sky, but slightly darker and with more life then I've seen in anyone else's eyes. And they are slanted gently, like the eyes of a cat.

She catches me staring at her, and turns to face me with a friendly smile. 'Hi... do I know you?' She sticks out her hand, by way of introduction.

'I don't think so,' I reply and customarily shake her hand. She leans back against the wall that I'm leaning on. 'You from around here?'

'Yeah. Waiting for my mum. She works in Starbucks.' I wait for her reaction to this. To my utter surprise, she doesn't shoot me a look of pity like most people would do. Instead, she looks fascinated. 'Cool. Free coffee?' She inquires with a cheeky smile. 'Nah, but she gets staff discounts when I buy stuff.' I tell her.

'Maybe we'll go have one sometime, yeah? My treat. My name's Brielle, by the way. Brielle Starling.' She smiles and turns to leave. 'Sure. Mine's Adam. Adam Kavanagh.' I say, just as I see mum open the door of Starbucks. 'Looks like your mum's here. See you around then, Adam.' She smiles with her amazing blue eyes and walks off.

'New friend?' Mum asks as we walk home together. 'Yeah, just met her.'

'Haha, introduce me to her sometime.' Mum smiles. I smile and loop my hand around her shoulders. 'Yeah. Lets get home and eat dinner. I bought fish and chips.'

This is one of the best things about mum - she knows when to pry for information and when not to. I guess she learned this from her time with Martin when he was having an affair.

We arrive at our flat just as the evening drizzle begins.