The City Lights

~Chapter One~

It was sunny and warm when I awoke, the exquisite song of the birds softly bribing me to awaken just like they do every morning. Where I live it is rarely this beautiful though I wish it was, the sun only shines partially on the best days, and trust me, there are few if any. maybe other people have good days, I used to, or so I think...since my mother passed away it's just been me, dad, and my best friend, Clara, We've been friends sInce I can remember and she has helped me through the good times, and the bad. I've always thought we could someday be more than just friends if we so wanted to, we're very similar and could never live without each other company bribing one another to carry on, however sadly we're just too good friends for that, sometimes I secretly wished otherwise though. however, my mothers passing brought me to the reality of life, not everything is perfect," not everything is about you" they would yell at me at school, this experience brought me to the realization that the things they were saying were true, I was a horrible person, my world focused around me and what I wanted, I never put anybody else before me, except my mum and Clara, they mattered to me more than anything, now I've just got Clara, I live with Clara, and live for mother.

I live for mother because she was the only one who got me, was kind to me except for Clara and father, and now she's gone and will never come back to me. However in her absence, I decided that I was going to change, be more like my mother, brave, not a coward who was too scared that people would pay any attention, that they would find out her 'little secret'.Before, I would have rathered people feared me than liked me. Ever since that day I've been getting quick, sharp but effective flashbacks from the day my mother passed. The sirens, the ambulances, police officers, fathers weak body collapsing onto the floor in grief, they were the same visions every time, I wish they were nice visions but it's just life "not everything is perfect" they would say, now I know it's true. My father's calls from downstairs forced me to emerge from my horrible thoughts and visions, "breakfast is ready Harlow" he called. I left my room quickly grabbing a sweater as I left, I then trotted down the carpeted spiral stairs and then to the kitchen. As I sat there waiting for the toaster to pop up, I looked out of the huge glass windows opposite the large oak dining table located in the center of the room.

It was sunny outside, the leaves on the trees had turned a yellowy red color, like the summer's fruits, and were rapidly falling from their branches where they had been steadily for months. The toast popped out of the toasted startling me with the loud noise it makes, it's sharp just like a gunshot, I don't like it. I stood up from my chair and grabbed the toast out of the toaster and onto a plate, almost burning myself but missing by just a bit. I buttered the toast then sat back down. It was less sunny now, making the trees look gloomier and almost sinister, or maybe something from an emotional movie, like when someone dies...This made me uneasy so I left the toast on the table and headed back upstairs to get ready. It's been four years without mother but the memories still haunt me, everywhere I go there's a memory of her, her luscious golden hair, beautiful green eyes, and of course her perfect smile. I wish I looked more like her. But no, my plain blonde hair, plain grey eyes, and a smile which I could never perfect, even with the greatest of efforts.

I sat on my bed and picked up an old wooden box from underneath, on the top, it read 'memory box inside were all my memories, my friends, Christmas, my first birthday, holidays, but most importantly a mother. I sat on my bed blankly staring at my past memories, my good memories, could I forget the rest? I wish, but no, that just wasn't possible. I continued going through the box until I came to a certain picture, I could have sworn I'd never seen it before which is odd because I go through the box regularly, adding to it when I can. I presumed dad put it in for me, he must have found it going through old photo books or something. It was of my mother, she was holding a baby, probably me. she was smiling, she looked so happy. I became aware of myself tearing up, this would normally bother me as I hate the fact that I'm known as the 'emotional' one in the class, friendship group, and the world, however, nobody was there except dad who was downstairs, so I didn't care. I felt the warm salty tears rolling down my cheeks until they fell onto the picture making a soft noise as they hit it. I heard a gentle knock on my door, I sharply turned my head around wiping away the tears, it was Clara, "you are a sight for sore eyes girl" I said smiling at her, still crying.

She came over and sat next to me on the bed dumping some candy on my bedside table, "Hi Harlow" she said wiping away my tears and smiling sympathetically chuckling softly too, "What's so funny?" I asked laughing too."It's just that it's a Saturday and you're here crying all alone", "I know, I'm sorry it's just that the picture is my mother, you know?"."Hey, don't be sorry, plus, would your mother want you crying here all alone? come, I'm going to the store, let's get you some things OK?"."Alright then" I smiled, she grabbed my arm laughing and gently pulling me up from the bed, "now don't look so forlorn, OK?", "OK, OK!" I said laughing and running out the room still holding Clara's arm and almost pulling us both over whilst going down the stairs. We waved goodbye to my dad who was, as usual, sitting on the couch watching the television with a bag of potato chips. You'd think dad would be overweight, however, for his food diet dad's actually rather slim, beats me how he does it because whenever I'm a couch potato I put on weight like a starved goat.

Father has always said to me that body image does not affect one's personality, however, personality doesn't matter to me, I want to be liked, maybe even loved. But me being a teenage girl, I didn't care what my dad thought. He has to say that, doesn't he? to answer that, yes he does, it's a parent thing. However Clara says to me that I'm perfect, she says that she loves me no matter what I look like and that to me, matters. When we were younger Clara and I could have easily passed as sisters. We were both short for our age with beautiful blonde hair and brightly colored eyes. However as we got older things started to change, She stayed beautiful but I became dull, but if she thought I was beautiful that would be amazing as she is as beautiful as a goddess and she knows it even if she is modest about her appearance. If she said I was beautiful maybe I was, and that made me smile.

Since mother passed away she's been like my 'support human' we would and do go everywhere together, when I'm sad she'd go out of her way to make sure I was ok. She never needed to but she's like a sister to me and she always says "its sister's duty's to comfort each other in times of crisis" She succeeded in doing this through all the years of grief, sorrow, and sadness. She never left my side, making sure I was alright at all times and was never going to hurt myself physically or mentally. She still does it today no matter how, she will always find a way to make me smile.