Sparks Fly

Chapter 1

Author's Note: Hey, Ranim here. This is one of my many stories. This novel will be written in present tense (different from my other books that are in past tense). This book is in first person. I hope my writing has matured from before. This chapter may be slow but I don't want to rush it. And, just wanted to let you know that this is entered into the Watty Awards. Enjoy!

 Sparks Fly

Chapter 1

Home.

Home. Home. Home. 

Home is a place where you can relax and feel at peace. Home is a place where you can sit down and not worry about yesterday or tomorrow. Home is not just a place to live in but a place to love no matter how shabby or beautiful.

Standing here now, no matter what happens or what changes, I know I can never be at home again.

My eyes skim over the disseminated clothes, examining them, wondering which will help fight these merciless, bitter winter nights. Sweaters, scarves, jeans, beanies, and rain jackets are sprawled all over the floor in a messy manner. Every one of them holds something special, something warm and homey. My suitcase, more like a backpack, isn’t very spacious and will definitely not be able to hold all I own. I need to pick what I need.

After coming to a conclusion, I bend down to my carpeted floor and grab a sweater. I can fit two more. Pushing back all my doubts, I snatch a dark brown beanie and a scarf. I quickly stash the garments into my suitcase, hoping I won’t change my mind again. The time to leave is approaching and having wavering thoughts isn’t an option.

Contradicting thoughts flow through my crazed brain as I stop to think about something important. Something very important.

Money. I need money.

Taking a deep breath, I make a decision to stealthily grab my mother’s money. She always keeps it in her underwear drawer where no one will think of looking for it there.

My eyes burn at the lucid light in my room. My suitcase lies on the side of my bed. I stalk outside of my room silently and make my way towards mother’s massive, modern-styled, exotic room. In order to enter her room, I have to walk through the hallway which is the house of pictures: my memories.

My father’s eyes burn into mine as I stare at him, a thin layer of glass breaking us apart.

He died years ago. It’s a peculiar way to die if you ask me. All I remember is that it was thundery that night. The night the lightning took him away from me forever. I didn’t cry, and oddly enough I still can’t. My brain just hasn’t digested the fact that he’s gone, and maybe he isn’t. It always feels as if he is standing there next to me all the time.

Then again, his presence may just be the effect of the ring he gave me. My father gave me a ring long ago. I’ve always loved my father dearly and kept the ring in my safe possession. My father was and still is today, my role model, and no one can change that.

I can still hear the eerie screeching of thunder in my ears from that night which is echoing through my paranoid mind. The night that marked me forever. That night was indeed the night that has brought me to the conclusion of leaving. Leaving this wretched place and this wretched mother. I have no purpose here; they don’t need me, and I don’t need them. It’s as simple as that.

After passing through the narrow hallway full of family pictures, I find myself in my mother’s room. It doesn’t feel right being here right now. I haven’t been here for a long time: ever since my mother got married.

I quickly make my way to the drawer where my future lies. The money is very green and very plentiful; it’ll last me for a long time.

I mumble profanities as I leave the room, not leaving a trace of my being in the room. Of course she’ll find out sooner or later, but I highly doubt she will care.