Vanquish

Chapter 1

Six-thirty. Every morning. Trudging through this ridiculous field, three inches deep in sludge whilst wearing three pairs of socks and amusing myself with the wonder of watching my own breath fly out of my mouth everytime I sighed; fed up with repeating the same tiresome routine and the relentlessly cold weather that snaked its way around my bones and paralyzed my muscles.

Upping my speed as we drew closer to the opening to the road, anxious to get into society and away from the sticky ground that soiled my trousers more and more with every step I took.

“Did you know,” started Adam, breathless despite his athletic nature, “that a pregnant goldfish isn't actually a twat; it's a twit.”

“Fascinating,” was the most enthusiastic response I could muster, having grown bored of his well-known, useless and utterly uninteresting daily facts throughout the years I had known him. Besides, it never crossed his mind that I wasn't always entirely interested in what he had to say, nor did my sly remarks and bitter attitude towards everything affect his contrastingly bright outlook on life, and so despite our colossal differences in personality, we had managed to stay friends for years without so much as a single squabble between us.

“What's happened?” I asked tactlessly, having noticed his unusually quiet and less that quirky demeanor in the fifteen minutes I'd spent with him since we'd met at our local convenience store, it felt like courtesy to make sure it was nothing serious. Not that it would be. I told myself he was just being over-sensitive whilst waiting for an answer.

Letting out a long breath, he angled himself towards me without breaking his stride, “She relapsed again lastnight. I had the healers come by and they took her off again. They say that after all of the wreakage she's put her body through, no one can be sure as to whether she'll totally recover this time.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah,” he said, his voice tainted with sadness. It was becoming evident that the stress was taking a toll on him, not so much in his behaviour – no, he always put on a good show for the world no matter what – it was more visible in his pale, dry complexion and the translucent bags beneath his tired eyes.

“When you say she may not 'totally recover', what is the alternative?” I asked, throwing some air quotes in, entirely aware that it was a stupid question but needing to ask in spite of it.

“I dont know, man. They were vague about all of it. Maybe they didn't know how I'd handle it or whatever. It's not difficult to guess though, is it?”

“I suppose not.”

We were silent for the rest of our walk to the House.

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So, first chapter. Tell me what you think to Adam. I want to change his name but I'm not creative enough to come up with anything suitable for him, unfortunately.