Forever Lost, Forever Found.

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

The living room was lit by the Sunday morning sun streaming through the white flowing curtains; the dust was never allowed to settle from the breeze of the open front door. Pure golden light filled the room simply furnished, followed by pure golden memories of my mother and father.

Ten years had gone by, my mother was killed, an accident they told me, and it was just another accident of someone slipping off a bridge. I did not cry, I did not scream. I didn’t do anything and that seemed to scare a lot of people, so they left me alone, to silently abserve my sorrows. I was only six, and it was not something anyone let alone a six year old should go through. But it happened, and I couldn’t stop it. Crying, screaming or just going nuts wouldn’t have brought her back, so I didn’t bother.

My father, believed all they said just to cover up the fact that she had killed herself, he drowned himself with the belief that she had slipped, he loved her. So much so did he love her that four years later, he died, not by an accident of falling off a bridge, but by a broken heart? Silently and peacefully, with me in his arms he fell away from this world, dreaming of mother and me. How did I know? Well he talked a lot, even in his sleep. So I guess it wasn’t a silent passing after all, but he was happy, and that’s all I needed to know.

I moved in with my Aunt Eliza, or more like, she moved in with me, we both love this house. We were always so close with our likes and dislikes. I love everything about her; she is just like my mother, tall, skinny and healthy, black raven wavy hair that fell lusciously over her shoulders, finishing halfway down her back, a pale face with a big smile and beautiful eyes. The only thing that was different really is that my mother had green eyes, bright emerald greens eyes that you could get lost in, Aunt Eliza’s eyes on the other hand were pale grey with a touch of what looked like violet, hers eyes were full of laughter and secrets, just like mother, but there was something else in her eyes that mother didn’t really have (or I never saw), it was this deep sadness, it had taken me awhile to realize this, but it was as if, she had lost something or someone and couldn’t really find her way back. It was as if, if should she find who or what she was looking for, the pale grey in her eyes would vanish and be replaced by a bright violet colour, that everything she saw would be different. But that has never happened, not yet.

I move out of the doorway and move towards the window seat and sit down, drinking in the view from the top of the hill on which the house was built, is amazing rolling green hills with white fenced pastures filled with scattered horses, sheep and a few cows. Instead of me moving to Aunt Eliza’s apartment in London, she moved here, so with my mother and father gone, it is just me and her. Sometimes its lonely but it doesn't last long, because if we are, a few minutes later we would have our heads stuck in a book. The house is white with light grey tiling on the roof, and everything on the inside is light, the floors are of light wood and the walls, all of the walls, throughout the house are a light gold creamy colour. During a cloudless day as it is now, every part of the house is filled with light, only at night or when it’s cloudy do we need to use the lights, but the house never lacks its warmness, even when the fire place in the lounge isn't lit, it always has a warm feeling to it. A very homely feeling.

I sit down on the window seat and take a hidden book out from underneath the cushions, the title reads ‘Sense and Sensibility’ by Jane Austen, one of my classic favourites, all the time me and Eliza use quotes from any of the Jane Austen novels, and we love it. But as I open the book for the eighty-fifth time in my life a piece of paper falls out from the book, it’s like slow motion, when it’s about to hit the floor the breeze comes through and the piece of paper rides the breeze into the middle of the carpet. I stand too quickly and fall forwards, hitting the ground hard. My left leg had been cut off circulation and was now pounding with pins and needles.

I wait a few more moments until I can feel my leg again, before crawling to my knees going over to where the piece of paper still laid, I pick it up unfolding it as I sat upright with my back to the window. The hand writing was familiar, it was not the flowing hand writing of Aunt Eliza though and it certainly was not my odd type of if you were to call it ‘modern’ way of writing, it had a looped y and was just neat enough to read, the papers folded crease looked like it had been written then folded without any care of keeping the folds straight, the colour is still white and crisp, so its not old. I run my finger over the last sentence, the ink ever so slightly smudges, its fresh, really fresh. I felt eyes on me from behind, I swing around as I stand nearly tripping over again, I look out the window. Nothing. Snapping out of my distraction I started to sink into the window seat as I read what the strange-yet-familiar hand writing, it read:

There is a secret I tell you now,

When no other could belief how,

Your mother is still alive,

A secret lies in the inner hive.

It took me awhile to register what was happening, I start to wonder around the house shouting for Aunt Eliza but she had gone out shopping, and the shops an hour there and back again, so she wasn't going to be back any time soon. I wasted no time I ran out of the lounge room up the stairs and into my bedroom where I found a hoodie lying on the floor and a hair tie to keep back my black raven hair back out of my eyes. I launched down the stairs, which I was used to when I was late for the bus, and then realized I needed bobby pins, froze, shrugged, and out the door.

There is a bee farm right up the road, it belongs to Mr and Mrs Williams, they're a nice old couple, their land is surrounded by a thick ring of trees and flowers cover their whole land, the only easiest way to get to their front door is the dirt driveway. They let me in there all the time, they've even given me the keys to the honey shed, so if we ever run out of honey, and they're not there, I can help myself. I just find it calming to sit on their front porch, sometimes I fall asleep and Mrs Williams comes out with a blanket and lets me sleep, with my dreams filled with the sweet scent of honey and spring flowers.

I sprinted down the footpath and out the gate and run about a hundred metres until I realize I'm heading in the wrong direction, I stop. Slowly turn and start running in the right direction.