Bloodline

Prologue

Florence's POV

Ever since the start, I have known.

Known that something was missing in my life, in myself. I don't yet know what it is or why I'm different, I just am.

The moment I woke up this morning, a nagging feeling buried itself deep inside of my stomach, ready to erupt into a million butterflies all at once but not at all. It's the same everyday, but at the same time, it isn't.
That feeling never comes, neither do many nowadays.

But this morning, the nagging feeling was different, and not as subtle. Today, the nagging feeling was willing me to get out from underneath the bed covers, and actually do something with my life. Of course, I understand that most of the intensity of this feeling was coming from the fact that today was my first actual day of school since my dad died.

After my father passed away, nothing's been the same. Our old life was trodden on and 'swept under the carpet' as Dad would say, instead, it hangs like deadweight in every corner of our lives managing to emerge from the depths of our minds and remind us that our memories of Dad and our normal lives are quickly fading.

I yank open my dusty, paper-like curtains which probably haven't even been opened for a couple of months and try to ignore the amount of dust and dead spiders that are swept off of the stiff material as it is dragged across the railing. In the kitchen, my school bag sits atop of our overused, oily bench top, waiting to be filled with useless textbooks and paper scraps only to be dragged off to a dilapidated building which somehow reeks of both aerosol and sweat.

After pushing soggy corn flakes around in a sea of crumb filled, orange tinged milk for about six and a half minutes, I push the bowl aside, along with the rest of the dirty dishes waiting to be cleaned - which I hope is soon, and push back the metal stool only to be enlightened by the sound of metal on tiles.

I tiptoe up the stairs, careful not to wake my mother, that is, until I hear the sounds of our greasy shower squeaking into action. I turn a corner and stand in the doorframe of my bedroom. It's funny how normal my bedroom looks considering it belongs to me of all people. Pushing my thoughts aside, I lean onto my bed and look up at my weird cream ceiling. Thoughts that I've been trying to keep at bay come flooding back at me, as well as odd visions in the forms of day-dreams until the sound of pipes creaking and shower taps squeaking breaks me out of my trance-like state and I release a breath I didn't know I was holding in. I sit up on my clumpy mattress and let out a sigh of annoyance once I realise that I've yet again forgotten whatever I came up here for and make my descent into the kitchen area.

After a while, my mother comes down the stairs and after a bout of awkward silence, she mutters a simple, "Come on", and I follow her out the door, making sure to lock and close it before leaving the house.
She trudges down the sandstone driveway as if she has rocks in her handbag and the weight of life is bringing her down.

Once in the car, she switches to a jazz channel and turns up the volume.
My mother doesn't even like jazz music, and honestly, neither do I. I rule out this odd action as a way of her telling me that she doesn't want to talk. I'm not even remotely surprised. I turn my head and look at the reflection in the rear-view mirror. I've never really looked like either one of my parents. Both of my parents have - or had, rather - Black hair. My hair falls just to my shoulders and is a weird light brown colour. My dad had the brightest and bluest of eyes and my mother has dark brown eyes, which at the moment are looking more and more empty. My eyes, however, are an odd colour; dark green around the edges of the iris that merges into a lighter but deeper green, dotted with gold and light brown.

As the rusted car somehow manages to roll up the gutter and through the dark school gates that seem to loom above all existence, my stomach drops as if I'm on a roller coaster waiting to plummet back down to the surface of the Earth. Except the roller coaster won't budge, leaving me with adrenaline coursing through my veins to the extent where I'm not even sure it's humanly possible. I open the car door slowly, expecting the adrenaline pumping through my body to cease but it isn't. A cold sweat forms on my forehead in tiny, almost nonexistent beads. The heart beats become more consistent until I'm not even sure my heart is beating at all.

Something is wrong. Very, very wrong.

{Authors Note}

This is my first book so I'm not sure how it's going to turn out or how many reads I get and I've never written an authors note which you've probably already noticed.

Anyway, could you please follow and vote so I know that people are enjoying it.

Thanks, Erin :)