Chapter One

37.4K 1.3K 3.8K
                                    

Hello, I started this fic nearly two years ago and I'm so proud with the outcome of it, still. Except, there's going to be a few notes along the way that might change your thoughts a little, and may help with confusing parts. So keep a look out for those.

This story is over 150k words. You're in for a ride.

If you didn't read the introduction, I suggest you should because it labels out important triggers and stuff like that.

Also, heads up, no one dies. People keep thinking someone's going to die but no one dies. 

___

The scowling of his mother is not going to reel him back in that place of the condemned. He keeps running, his size three feet taking him as far as he could go into the hinterlands of his ever growing back yard. 

His mum doesn't stop screaming back for Louis, watching him dash away into the wild oats and lupin weeds. He's soon concealed by the tall grasses, feeling extremely paranoid that his mum would have let Chance out to try to find him. Dog, he is, remarkably good at seeking out Louis in these situations. It wasn't the first time Louis has run out on his family like this, nor has it been the first time Louis had a trivial tantrum about the most ludicrous of things.

He is only eight; no one could blame him for his petty little attitude. No one should blame him; otherwise you'd be on the verge of guilt by making a small, lovely boy cry. Being eight seems to have its perks, working out with dad on the tractor, finally getting a taste of what it felt like to be a farmer, feeding the pigs and all that fun jazz Louis has wanted to do since he was four. There were other negatives to it too, according to Louis' family. Louis faces everything with an open mind and if he doesn't get what he wants; it leads to tantrums. Tantrum after tantrum. They last for days, sometimes. 

This time 'round, Louis had a fight with his sister. Laika had never been one to be wrong, and that got them both into a whole lot of violent trouble. Laika wouldn't let go of the ribbon Louis wanted to put into his doll's hair. ("Wait, you don't have a dol-- that's m'doll, Louis!" "Is not!" "Give it back to me-- Mum!"

The story of the eight and twelve year old could be written in the history books for the most immature brother and sister to live in this generation. Louis probably writes the record for the most tantrums in a week. Nine, Laika thinks. His mum supposes thirteen. His dad frankly doesn't give a shit.

Louis holds himself tightly in the bushes, feeling itchy after rubbing up against some of the dried weeds. It's close to sundown, and Louis thinks maybe he could last the night out here, just to prove that maybe he should always get what he wants. His breath hitches as he hears a noise coming from the north-west, twisting his head to see if he could see a pair of brown ears sticking out of the grass. Chance isn't there. Okay, he might be here soon to drag Louis back to their abode if he doesn't make a run for it.

He dahes again with no sense of direction. Like he's meant to know where he's going; the plants were growing above his head, and he's eight. He runs with the wind at his behind, the weeds getting thicker and greener. Louis decided to turn left and immediately, meeting with clear bushland.

Oh, he thinks, this part of his farm he's never seen. He's sure this is the sowing area for their wheat crop this season. Louis steps away from the significant patches of brown dotting the field. He isn't going to go back through the weeds, he might as well walk further away from the house - the most sensible thing to do; in Louis' eyes. 

Louis can see the sun meet the horizon, the shades of pink, red and orange filling the sky and the clouds. Louis smiles up to them, knowing his grandma-ma is the spirit in the clouds making them turn different colours (her heart was full of rainbows, Louis, that's why the clouds always change different colours). It made her passing a couple of months ago easier for Louis to handle. There were a few bitter questions before hand about how she died and why the clouds had turned into different colours before she died. Unanswered questions were left, that lead into nothing more than a tantrum.

Frame of Hearts - l.s.Where stories live. Discover now