One Half

Chapter One

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  This was my own life, which meant I should have been able to control it. I would have been quite capable of making my own decisions. But everyone thought otherwise. Why couldn't I stay a child forever?

Rvélia was practically non-existent. I'm sure most people in this cruel world didn't know about Rvélia, a small country that bordered Trevaan. No one noticed our tiny home, especially, because of the war that went on in the neighboring country. Many people said the disasters might spread to us, but it was the least of my concerns.

My list of worries was expanding by the day. At the moment I was trying to focus on slowing down my childhood. It had slowly begun to slip away, and I knew that, once it'll be gone, I would never get it back.

Throughout my seventeen years of living, I've been wearing a necklace around my neck, with a gray, oddly shaped charm tied on. Standing out, were delicate streaks of lavender purple. I've come to the conclusion that purple details were carved in based on my birthstone. Amethyst. I didn't exactly know what the necklace was for, or what it meant. That was until last week.

Less than seven days ago, I was just an average person, a carefree teenager, who didn't stress over things too much. However, all of that changed during supper on Wednesday.

I walked into the kitchen that day, folding up my sleeves to begin preparing a meal for four.

Our kitchen was a small one. It wasn't exactly the most modern thing to look at, but I had always found comfort in it. I'd spent many days of my childhood here, not thinking for a moment that I was wasting my time.

This was the place where I had fallen in love with cooking. This was the place where I had sat with my grandmother for hours, creating new recipes. This was the place where all my cares in the world had quickly disappeared. This was the place where I felt like myself.

The moment I stepped in, a bundle of overwhelming smells rushed to my nose. Mom was already standing by the stove, creating a tasty masterpiece. Her slightly slouched back was facing me, not realizing that I had just walked in.

Ever since my grandmother Teresa passed away, it had been the two of us who prepared meals in this house. Mom didn't have an explanation as to why I was excluded this evening. Apparently, she was 'in a rush and wanted to get supper out of the way.'

My meal, chicken with cranberries, seemed awfully interesting that day. I was examining every last bit of it until my mother got my attention.

"Harper," she scolded. "Could you please stop dissecting that poor chicken?"

"It's already dead," I muttered, not looking away from my plate.

Reltrane Jensen, my mother, was a woman of many talents. Our family had always needed money, and since Mom was capable of doing many things, she worked more than one job. From 7 am to 4 pm she worked at our local school, so I got to see her during almost every moment of every day.

Mom only had an hour long break after, and immediately dashed to St. Nicholas' Hospital, where she was a night and on-call nurse.

My mother turned 47 this July, but only her close family knew that. The few wrinkles that covered her face were from laughter during her years of youth. I can't even remember when those wrinkles appeared onto her delicate pale face; they were just always there.

Around my mom's heart-shaped face, was a frame of honey-colored hair. Her long and thick hair was usually pulled up into an elegant twist. Even though we were considered poor, my mother always believed to look your absolute best.