CHAPTER 1
My name is Melody Macou, I am sixteen years old, and my parents were killed in an office fire near Arc De Triumphe, Paris. My mother, Karen, was walking through the halls of her work building going to her first meeting of the day. At the time, she was working on a business proposal with a nearby company called Marque Industries. My dad, John, was glad because for the first time in months, he got to work with her.
As they both arrived to conference room 311, they embraced, then greeted others enthusiastically. After a short intro from their boss, Karen stepped up to the board to present her proposal. Mid-sentence, she heard a faint ringing in the distance, but apologized and continued thinking it was only in her imagination. When her presentation was over and her boss stepped up to explain the plans, Karen saw a thick cloud of gray smoke float past the window. She wondered if a car downstairs had broken down or if fumes were in the air, so she asked aloud, “Sorry to interrupt, but do you know what the commotion is outside? I saw some smoke outside the window-”
“I’m sure it’s nothing.”
Jack, my mom’s boss replied calmly,
“As I was just explaining, Marque Industries have made it clear that...”
Jack was overcome by heat.
“That...that...”
He began to sweat; he felt heat coming from behind him, but only behind him.
“ Excuse me, I think we have a good start, let’s take five.”
He walked to the door, feeling hotter by every step, and placed his hand on the handle. He shot his hand back grimacing and cursing under his breath from the heat transferred into his hand. He grabbed his glasses cleaning cloth and placed his hand upon the handle once more successfully turning it. As he pulled the door open a few centimeters, the door flew off its hinges, knocking him over and sailing towards my parents.
CHAPTER 2
I wake up in my bed breathing loudly, and my body feels clammy. No one inside my parent’s office survived the fire, and because of that almost every night since their death I have been dreaming of the ways they might have died. I wrap a thin blanket around me, it being the only comfort I can find. Today is the day my Uncle Jerry, whom I have never met, will take me to his home to live with him. He lives in Texas, and from what I’ve heard here in Paris, it is “dusty, dirty, old fashioned, etc,” nothing very exciting. I slide off of my bed onto my feet, walking to my closet and pulling out my (new and very small) suitcase. I don’t have much clothing, because I tend to wear the same thing every day; Jeans, flats, and a loose fitting top. I have about seven shirts, two pants, and two shoes, making it easier to pack. As for my personal belongings, I have a bracelet that was my grandma’s, a picture of mom and dad, and my favorite book. I know something is missing, so I tiptoe to my mom and dad’s bedroom, making sure not to wake them up, like I used to do when they were alive. I walk into their room, staring at their bed. I can imagine them in each other’s arms, smiling, but as soon as I blink my eyes, they are gone. I walk over to my mother’s jewelry box to see what was left from our sale of my mom and dad’s belongings. As I lift the embroidered lid, I look inside; nothing. I think I am about to cry because all I want is to touch a piece of her jewelry, which she loved so dearly. But when I slam the lid down in frustration, I hear what sounds like the chains from her necklaces rubbing together. I shake the box ever so lightly, and hear it again. I open the lid once more and remember what was special about this box. My mother’s jewelry box had two compartments all lined with black velvet. The first compartment was what I had seen on the top, but I saw a small ribbon, and upon my pulling, the floor of the first compartment came up, and to my delight I found my mother’s favorite necklaces, including her birthstone, the emerald. I tuck the jewelry box into my suitcase, zip my bag up, and stand it up against the wall. I have never been traveling, so this is my first real journey.
