Forbidden Enchantment (Book One)

Forbidden Enchantment: Chapter One

Yo. This is a wicked story that you want to read. Like. xP First chapter is a lot to take in, I know BUT it's more like a test (?) to see if you can handle the rest of the story because it is INTENSE >.>

Chapter One: New Beginnings

Orphan. One simple little six lettered word that made people look at you in pity, their eyes holding that sad, sympathetic look as if to say, ‘It’s okay, I know what it feels like’. Truth is they don’t; no one does, unless they are one. They said that there were one hundred and forty four million orphans in the world. If there were so many, then why did people keep ignoring us? Act as the problem wasn’t for them? I had had enough of it. I had been through home after home after home of foster parents, and each time my heart used to lighten when I found out that I could go to a new family, after being abandoned yet again, in the hope that they would be mine forever. But I’d be wrong. They would stick by me, smile at me as if to say they cared-for the first few weeks, or even months if I was lucky. But then I would suddenly become too much. My weird ways were enough for them to think that I was permanently possessed. They’d run away screaming from me when it became worse and worse.

The night mares, I mean. They hadn’t always been so bad, but lately they had been getting more and more unbearable. So much in fact that my latest ‘family’ of two parents and two siblings, had jumped ship two weeks after taking me on board-my record yet. I could remember the clear look of relief when I was taken away from their home, to the hospital to undergo checks once again. They deemed me to be hallucinating at night when I screamed in anguish from the pain the blackness was causing me. But I was not crazy. I was a good girl-I got the grades, I was polite to everyone I knew, and even strangers, and my looks weren’t that bad either. But what good was any of that when your ‘siblings’ spread stories about you at your new school faster than bacteria could multiply? One day I would be the curiosity of the school-the new kid, something to play around with-and the next I was avoided like the plague. It was as if they were under the impression that some of my ‘craziness’ would rub off them, and then they would be screaming each night like I was, thinking that bad things were going to hurt them.

I’ve probably scared you all now, but what do I care. I’ve lost enough in my life not to hold on to anything close to me, meaning friends as well. I don’t know what a friend is anymore. I think that they are people that stick by you no matter what; people that you can count on, and can share anything with. I would really like a friend, although a lot of the time I feel like I cannot be entitled to one. I move homes so frequently, and each time I feel the beginnings of a friendship blossom, it’s time to be taken away to start all over again. I am tired of beginnings; they feel too scripted and totally fake. I am supposed to smile and laugh and say that we shall all get along, but really, I do it because I am expected to. My foster family smile and laugh along with me, but their smiles don’t quite reach their eyes. It is as if they are actors waiting for their shift to be over, so they can get back to their lives, and I, I disappear into the background. I think they mostly do it for the money-I mean, I can’t see any other reason. Why would anyone want me, the orphan girl with evil nightmares, to live with them? Because they wanted to help me, a stranger? No, I meant nothing to them, and they meant nothing to me. I had grown immune to all this tedious behaviour and just sat down in a corner and drew; drew till my page was filled with pictures from the deepest vaults of my minds, forbidden to all, except me. How lucky was I.

Joanne Sanchez, the social worker I only saw when it came to moving house, was driving down the motorway, at a sensible speed, wearing sensible clothes, in a sensible car, with me in the passenger seat. Quite ironically, she wasn’t what I would-or could-ever call a sensible person. She was supposed to care about my welfare, and find a family that would take me in for me, not because of the money they would get. She should have had sense when it came to finding me a home, but sadly, she didn’t.

We had been in the car for three hours now, and the hot, late August sun was shining heavily through the window. I was wearing all black, as I was accustomed to doing now, and my clothes were absorbing the heat, making me feel even more sticky and sad and sullen. My hazel hair was cropped down just to my elbows, and was providing an excellent cover from the angry, but somehow lazy glare of the sun. I probably looked like a zombie, with my head bent down, my hair like a curtain, covering my face, and dressed in nothing but black. Oh well.

My back, bottom and legs were starting to stiffen from keeping still so long, the sound of old country music coming from the ancient radio dating back from before the dinosaurs was making me angry, and I needed to pee, really, really badly. All in all, I was not a happy camper.

Crossing my legs tightly, I lifted my head to see that we were off the motorway, and basically, heading off to the middle of nowhere.

‘Where are we going?’ I asked, those being the first words I had spoken to Joanne all day.

Joanne swivelled the steering wheel slightly, as if my words had frightened her. ‘Oh dear, you nearly gave me a heart attack!’ she lamented, but I was in no mood for chit chat.

‘Where are we going?’ I repeated, my voicing sounding bored, because well, I was bored. I no longer cared where I was sentenced to, but this time, I was no longer going to a city, it seemed.

‘I told you millions of times, did you not listen?’ came her answer.

No, no I didn’t.

My silence was enough for her to continue.

‘We are going to this town called Hollstown, about fifteen minutes away’, she said.

Fifteen minutes until I could pee! Yes! My mood had been lifted, ever so slightly, at the prospect of a toilet.

We lapsed into silence again, which was partly my fault because whenever Joanne said something-anything-I wasn’t paying attention, but gazing out the window at fields of cows and sheep. Erm, where was she taking me exactly? If she thought I was going to live in a field on a farm then she was so wrong. I would give the people a month, I thought, and then if I couldn’t stand it, I wouldn’t try to hide the screams as I usually did. I would let them free, and then I would be free, to be put on the market once again. My night mares did have some advantages, you know.

 By the time we had entered Hollstown, my bladder felt like it was about to burst; literally. I barely took in the little buildings and streets that looked so pathetic compared to the other places I had lived. But change couldn’t always be bad, could it?

We pulled up along this detached house, two stories, painted cream, flowers in pots, that sort of thing. A perfect little house for perfect little me. Sighing and thinking the same, here we go again I got out of the modest Volkswagen, and banged the door closed, with a lot more force than necessary. What? I was bitter and needed to pee, so let it be!

Joanne handed me my two bags and I slung them over my shoulders, with little problem. She pulled my only suitcase along the cobbled driveway and here I was, yet again, at another new beginning.  

©Munni101