Blood Roses

chapter one

Rain, rain, rain.

 I watch as the crystal raindrops fall down the window. The glass is clouded from my breath as I watch the drips race each other down the glass, silently betting on which will slide to the bottom of the pane first.

 Out past the clear drops lies the rest of the city. Tall skyscrapers towering over small corner shops, the library, a large two story heritage building with old carvings, it could almost pass for a retired art museum.  Past the library lies Diers Street, shops line the buildings with a few little stalls on the footpath, mostly those selling small novelty items.

The paths along the shops are almost empty; many people probably not feeling up to it to brave the weather. I don’t blame them; I haven’t been out there for a week, ever since this miserable weather swept in.

 Over in the lane, that the buildings of Diers Street tower over, the rain seems heavier, a more misty atmosphere to it.

 "Luna!" A small voice shouts. "Luna, where are you?"

"I'm here, Tommy!"

"You know I'm no good with direction!”

 Poor little Tommy, always getting lost in shopping centres he has walked around his whole life, having to follow others around his school as to not get lost.

 I even had to draw him a map of our house, but that was understandable, even I took the wrong turn in this labyrinth every now and again, but it still frustrated me that I had to eventually draw a map for him.

 I swear I will never get used to all the space after moving in; even the studio room barely has any furniture in it; it holds the window seat, a two-seater lounge situated along the grey wall, a modern mat filled with abstract shapes and many different colours lies across the wooden floor. Near the far corner stands a paint easel, with a white wooden stand next to it filled with colours, sponges, spray bottles and paint brushes of all sizes, from one a baby could fit, to a very large one with bristles thicker than my hair - and that’s thick, all this with so much more room to spare.

 “Luna!” He whines, probably taken a wrong turn to the kitchen again and then being frightened by the meat thawing on the bench.

 I take my legs from underneath me, turning around from the window and crossing the wooden floor, stopping to feel the mat, my toes doused in the soft carpet.

  I finally reached the open door of the studio, Tommy sounding more and more fed up.

 “Okay, Tom, where are you?” I shout out through from the doorway as I move through to the foyer of the house.

 A marvellous pale wood staircase leading up to the second storey stands tall opposite the front door, the kitchen to the right of the studio and the dining room leading on from the kitchen. Opposite the entrance to the studio is the lounge room, glorious rich brown carpet lies on the floor, cream couches all surrounding a huge flat screen television mounted on the cream wall. Double doors just to the right of the lounge lead into a guest dining room, which can also be doubled as a small ballroom. Oh, the advantages of being the mayor’s daughter.

 My bare feet slap the wood as I make my way to the kitchen. I follow the calls from Tom, sometimes I swear he doesn’t even make an effort to find his way through the house and just goes the wrong way to annoy me. I even drew him a map. A map for his family house.

I push open the door to the kitchen, the white door swinging back on its hinges as I pass through.  The kitchen is already buzzing, our chef, Andre' is cooking up a storm, pots and pans out, the oven on and mince thawing on the bench.