Shades of Grey and Red

Chapter 1 - My home

Hi everyone and welcome to the first chapter of my new story, shades of grey and red!

Please enjoy...

I crouch down beside the fire, having already kicked the snow from my boots, and hold my hands over the dying embers. I hear a loud cough from upstairs, a harsh call back to reality, with sickness and cold and hunger. Straightening, I move over to the table, scratched and second-hand, over 30 years of use beaten into it's dented wooden surface. Despite it's small size, the table takes up most of the tiny downstairs of the house and  two chairs, breaking and uncomfortable, are tucked neatly beneath it.

In one corner, a third chair stands, collecting dust. It has been just standing there for 11 years now, and the dust is almost an inch deep. The chair has been there since Father died, as Mother won't throw it away because it's all we have left of him. Sitting down at the table, if strikes me that this chair was almost all that my mother had left of me. But I was lucky. There aren't many children in my generation because most of them died in the Fire. Father had died too. I hastily wipe away a tear that runs down my cheek. No time to grieve now. Better to focus on the present. And right now, that means keeping my mother alive.

The small patch of land behind the house refuses to grow enough that we might have the slightest chance of eating enough, even once a week. In fact, since the Fire, the only vegetables I have managed to coax out of the soil are potatoes and carrots, so we eat as little as we can and sell the rest at the market, a penny for six.

Right now, that's all the income that I can bring into the family, but it's getting harder. Even the potatoes and carrots are now so rare that I have had to adjust my prices, there are often not six of each vegetable to sell at the end of the week. I sell them four for half a penny, and that's all. In truth, I think that the only reason anyone buys them is because they see my hollow face and ragged clothes, shreds that were once shoes hanging off my feet, with a half penny clutched in my hand and desperation in my eyes. They see that and they feel sorry for me, so they buy my vegetables for half a penny and move on to look at expensive dresses or shawls displayed in vivid colours on the stand beside mine.

Not that those colours look the same to me. To me, they seem to constantly waver between shades of grey and their true colour, my left eye seeing simple greyscale images and my right undamaged. A flash of red catches my eye and I turn to see a woman with grey skin and hair and clothes holding up a grey dress and oohing and aahing admiringly. Then I turn away and can see the red, and when I look again, the colour has returned to my world. The doctor said after the Fire that my left eye would never see again. I proved him wrong.

Once again I am jerked out of my thoughts by a rasping cough, and I hurry to prepare the potatoes and carrots, carelessly throwing them into the dented pot hanging over the fireplace and adding snow, which should melt and eventually boil. Stirring up the fire again, I sit beside it, singing softly to myself until I hear the water boiling, when I carefully drain our meagre rations, setting them onto the tabletop to cool. I use the water to add a few precious herbs, and even some of the honey that Sir James gave us last year when I had flu. Mother needs it, just like I did then. Hurrying upstairs, I brought the cup of the sweet smelling liquid and half a potato and carrot, and set them in the small table beside the bed my mother now slept fitfully in.

Taking her shoulder gently, I shake her awake, pushing  down the worry in my stomach at her pale face and shaking hands. She starts awake suddenly, and I hand her the plate and cup. Sitting down on the edge of bed, I ask how she feels. A soft groan escapes her perfectly shaped lips, her heavy eyelids are lifted to reveal a dazed look in her huge blue eyes.

"Mama, can you hear me?" Despite my best efforts to keep my voice steady, I hear it waver and the pitch rises as panic grips me.

"Mama?"

I hear her rasping breath, and lean closer to hear what she is saying.

"Juline, you must find a way to stop this Winter. It's not just me. You've seen them. The people are dying. Food is scarce, even more than normal." At this, she smiles slightly, "and nobody is brave enough to help. But you are. The Fire, it wasn't just an accident that got out of control, Juline, it was an attack, an attack on all mortals. You have to-" but with this, she breaks off into helpless coughing. Amid her gasping breaths, I can make out a few broken words, "I hear-coming-must-I-you-leave." Or was it "love"?

I wasn't going to leave regardless. "Mama, look at you, if I left you, there's nobody left to care for you. I won't leave you to die!" Tears are streaming down my cheeks now, because I have heard it too. Footsteps. Turning, I try to stay strong. For Mama.

"Goodbye Mama. I'll see you again. I promise."

And with that, I turn and run down the stairs, pull on my boots and the scrap of a shawl I possess, and leave. I can travel a long way in one night, even with no idea where I'm going.

But I'll never look back.

Wow, a grand total of 1000 words! Not bad for the first chapter! 😊 Because this is a new story, please tag as many people as you think might like it here:

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