Once Upon His Time... [On Hold]

Chapter One

Chapter One

Suggestion

"Emerae Donita Pallone, get down here right now!" My mother calls from downstairs.  

I sigh, what is wrong, now?  

I open the door to my bedroom before exiting to go downstairs. My mother awaits me at the foot of the stairs, a scowl on her wrinkle-covered face. Her shoulder-length, chocolate coloured hair matching her eyes, laugh lines coating the edges. Her frame is average for a 40 year old woman, and she loves to act the boss. Ever since my father passed away from cancer, she took it upon herself to be the man of us two. She's plays the entire mother and father role. Sometimes I wonder if she's still depressed on the inside; she does a very good job of hiding her pain. I am the same way, though I try to live the same I did before.

Because of this, I try to keep my mother stress-free, which is why I wonder why she is angry with me at the moment."What's wrong?" I ask.

Hands on her hips, she speaks. "You know very well what's wrong! I received a call from your English teacher; she said you haven't done your reading assignment, and it was due two weeks ago!" She yells, her fragile voice slightly weakening her volume.  

I lean against the railing, never breaking my gaze from her. "Alright, I admit I never did the assignment, but can you blame me? Reading is boring! It only lets you imagine things that will never happen. Stories are impossible fantasies, and all you do is waste your time by reading them." I reply.

She sighs in frustration. I hate being the cause of her worries. Sure, I do good in school, it is only in English class that I fail miserably. All we do is reading assignments and plays from Shakespeare. I honestly don't understand the meaning of the class -- if all we do is read... it might as well be a free period. What I had said is true -- stories are fantasies. They let you imagine, and imagination can crush you with the slightest setback. This is why I don't read. I know how to read books, when I was younger, I loved fairy tales, but as I grew older, I had some sense thrown into my brain and never picked up a book ever again. I truly find it sad that I know people who love to read. Sure, reading is fun -- unless you're reading pathetic romance novels. Fantasy stories of unbearably attractive men who sweep poor, lonely women off their feet and ride off into the sunset. The real world is much different than that.

My mother stares at me, unblinking. "You will finish that assignment." She orders, catching me by surprise.  

"But you always let me off the hook!" I exclaim, speaking true words.  

She shakes her head to the floor, "And I will not do that again. You need to know the importance of reading. It may help in you more ways than one in the future. Who knows? You might even become a famous writer." At her words, her eyes widen in remembrance. Hey brown eyes light with excitement."I know the perfect book for you to read!" She exclaims excitedly.  

I stare warily at my strange mother. "What is this book called?" I ask, suddenly dreading what is to come.

Her grin pulls at her cheeks, "It is by one of my favourite authors! His name is Comet Frost and his books are fantastic!" She says, not quite answering my question.

I repeat it, "What is the book called?" I ask her, still suspicious of her sudden change of mood.

She smiles her special 'all-knowing' smile.

"The book, is called Callisto."

-rockermp3