Why Don't We Go There?

Chapter 1: The Journal

[Dedicated to Kayleen, my best friend.]

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    The sun hung from a string as it rose ever so slowly from the horizon up into the summer sky, marking the dawn of a new day for the UK. Cool London fog wistfully receded from the empty cobblestone streets, and citizens all around the city were arousing from another night of sweet, silent sleep. Warm rays peeked through the striated clouds and the sunlight seemed to almost pinpoint a specific home below it in Harlow with it's soft, fluorescent beams.

     The house, quaint and outdated, sat at the end the street in a roundabout- the rural area stretched a distance away from the busy streets of London (Harlow is nearly an hours distance from the bustling city); the house's architectural style seemed to be a 20th century British-themed household, common for most buildings in and around Harlow. Unmistakably tall trees decorated the yards of each house, and sunlight spilled through the openings between leaves and and upon the antique homes, speckling the paved sidewalk and road. The Granary, the name of the cul-de-sac, was a quiet little street that branched off of High Street into its own separate little parameters. Even the road at the end of the roundabout changes from a plain gray asphalt to tiles placed in a chevron-styled pattern. The dead end was a cute little cut-off village of its own; the valley park that surrounded the area was what really gave off the sense of tranquility and peace.

    Now the home at the end of the roundabout, that had its very own pathway leading up through the lawn to its front door, appeared as if it was captured in a photograph of the past; green moss seeped into cracks along the old brick path, hanging ivory branched over the walls of the house, and the weeping willow by the building stood tall and serene, silently swaying its long vines over the grass in harmonious melancholy with the calm breeze that danced through the leaves. Gazing upon the scene could be enough to hypnotize one and send them hurdling into the past- the area was indeed beautiful, and blissful among the little house in Harlow. The rising sun's rays barely grazed the house's roof; five-thirty, somewhere in the distance a rooster crows- it is the earth's natural alarm clock.

     From inside the home, transparent cream curtains are draped back against the windows. The morning sunlight is peaking through and spilling luminescent beams all across the white carpet and engulfing the furniture within the room in its warm radiance. Sunshine falls upon a worn white couch. It is an old, Victorian-aged model, with a faded pattern of flowers decorating the cushions; the frame is a polished oak wood, old yet still firm. Upon the couch, sitting curled up in undisturbed placidity with a porcelain cup of tea in one fragile hand and The Sun Newspaper in another, rested a little woman wearing a white plush bathrobe and fuzzy small slippers to match. Multiple pink curlers were wound up in her thick strands of dark hair- her voice was barely audible although she was softly humming a familiar tune to her favorite song. There was no doubt that this woman was adorable; she was very petite and harmless looking. Her cheeks were round and her somewhat dark complexion glowed and reflecting the low light, flushing colors of red and pink naturally bounced off her face. Thin lips and a button nose ornamented her face, and innocent bright-brown eyes squinted eagerly at the newspaper. Looking closer it was visible that a few freckles lightly dotted her cheeks, and the bangs that curtained her forehead seemed to have been recently trimmed as they framed her face in utmost sophistication.

     No, she wasn't exactly an angelic figure (she was perhaps a woman in her early thirties), but something about her serenity in the moment made her appear as so. Indefinitely, she was not perfect- wrinkles of age accented her face around the corners of her eyes and mouth, and her figure was not status compared to a models for she was mildly robust- but she was appealing, and beautiful. As she sat atop the couch sipping her warm tea, she shifted every so often to obtain a position of preferable comfort; as the sun was rising, its rays shone across her face and into her eyes, and she decided she should remove herself from the couch.