Finding Allison (A Niall Horan Short Story)

Chapter One

Determined, that’s what I was. I was determined to find her. I had read the letter over and over again. I’m not sure what it’s called, maybe a placebo, but there’s this thing someone can do to you. It convinces you something is a certain way. Like if someone told you a cup of water smelled like roses, you’d smell just that. A placebo is something like magic, and by reading that letter I feel as if I’d gotten that experience.

            I could imagine her, sitting there, alone, waiting for something or something. She was alone, lonely, and possibly scared. I wanted to change that though, and the first step to achieving that is by finding her.

            Something harder thought than done.

            There are 342 Allison Murphy’s in greater London. There are 1054 in the UK alone, and 5032 Allison’s Murphy’s in the world. Of the 5032 in the world, more than four fifth of them are deceased, although there is nothing to distinguish the two dramatically different classes.

            “Take a break,” Liam muttered, but I didn’t listen, I sat at my computer, my finger tapping against the keyboard, creating a chime like sound to echo throughout the room. “Seriously, you’ve been at this for two days,” he said, “You’ve barely eaten anything, and for you especially, this means something is wrong.”

            “I just want to find her,” I said, lifting my eye for a moment to look at his.

            “And you will, but she’s not going anywhere, some food wouldn’t kill you,” he reminded, “and some sunlight might be good.” With I sigh I pushed myself up and turned around to face the boy that had been worryingly watching me for the past few hours.

            He was right. He was right in every way …

            Allison, it’s a pretty name. A name that sounds perfect rolling off of someone’s tongue in any accent or dialect. You can shorten it and it still sounds pretty. Ali, it’s a pretty nickname. It’s a pretty name for a pretty girl.

            A girl like Allison Murphy.

            She was an enigma, and her smile could bright up a room. Her hair was a light itself, a golden blonde that always reminds one of spun gold. Her eyes were a perfect green, like emeralds cut to perfection, set around a black diamond on an engagement ring. Her skin was like milk that seemed to never curdle or go past its expiration date. Her voice was like a chorus of angels, all in perfect tune, and all sounding heavenly.

            Allison was the center of love. Love from her friends. Love from her family. Love from admirers. Then was the love from the boy who would climb up the highest mountain and try to get the moon for her. The type of love that causes great men to rotten, and the type of love that causes the same man to become his best. The type of love that was rare, only showing up in places where the pure of heart are. Allison was lucky to have that type of love.

            The problem is love is like a flame. It’s beautiful and it shines with great power, but it can be snuffed out so much faster than how it’s created. It takes a blind man not to know that, but it also takes a man blind to life experiences.

            I don’t think it’s ever been known why some people go through pain and betrayal before others, but it comes to everyone whether they like it or not. Some people need a push from others to get that life lesson though.

            Just a small little push is needed, blossoming into an effect unlike any other. Not just any affect in fact, the domino effect. The effect is what causes something spiraling out of control in perfect chaos. Painting a scene wild yet tame, scary yet beautiful.