Shifted: Book One

Chapter One - Hazel Eyes

Home. Is this really my home? I have always felt different to everyone else, an outsider I guess. And no, this isn't the part where I dramatically gain super powers and become the next famous super hero, that would be pretty cool though! I feel alone, even when I'm surrounded by familiar faces. In fact, it's the strangers faces that make me feel less alone more than anything else. It's just something about this world, it doesn't feel right. But no one seems to relate to me even in the slightest, it must be me and my silly imagination. Some late night cereal and a good sleep might put me in a better head space.
Signing off - Hazel x

Hazel put her pen down right beside her tatty journal, she had been writing in it ever since her parents were consumed and tragically killed by the new virus outbreak. Her face demonstrated a blank expression, as if no thoughts were left inside her mind, as if they had all been printed onto the pages staring back at her. She closed her journal immediately, she never read over what she had just written, she doesn't want to feel the temptation of starting over or rewriting what was on her mind. Hazel believed everything she writes down needs to be raw, genuine and real - something she thinks the world she lives in isn't. The sudden close of her book sends a single tear to escape her hazel eyes.

Her eyes, her mother's eyes, her fathers eyes. They were the only part of Hazel that connected her parents with her. She could still feel their presence within her. It's no coincidence she was named Hazel and born with hazel eyes, it was always her nickname given by her parents growing up. Everyone would declare their envy for her eyes, how beautiful they were - a pool of glistening emeralds and honey, with flecks of gold as glossy as syrup and a thin viridescent ring. The expressions they told, how her eyes smiled more than her mouth did. They were almost hypnotising, so she was told, that anyone who ever dared to look deeply into her eyes would fall under a charm. Hazel, of course, took it as a compliment. She felt more than grateful sharing her eye colour with both her parents, it reminded her that they were always with her and they'd always be a part of her.

She caught the single tear drop before it could splash onto the cover of her journal. Swiftly, she stood up and headed downstairs to the kitchen.

The lights were dimly lit like always. The walls were an ashy grey, but delicately decorated with family photos. One photo particularly stood out to Hazel every time she walked by. You'd imagine it would be a photo of her parents, but it wasn't. Within the oak frames, two girls are seen hugging, with wide grins painted across their faces, and eyebrows raised with joy. The young girls are wearing their matching school uniform - their white polo shirts underneath their black jumpers and finished off with pleated skirts. Hazel, studying the photo with a concentrated yet bittersweet expression, brushed her index finger over the girl on the right, the girl right beside her. Darker hair, almost black, the girl wore her short hair in two plaits. Although she was also a beautiful young girl, her eyes weren't envied as much. A dark pool of chocolate and caramel surrounded the pupil of her joyous eyes. Hazel's sister, the dark haired, dark eyed twin. She always envied Hazel's eyes, how it was as if she stole them from their parents. Being the eldest twin, she felt she had a stronger bond with her parents. Ironically, she spent the least amount of time with them which, now, she regrets. Ever since the death of their parents, the twins had never been more distant. In a time when love and support is needed, both received none.

Both twins are now in care of their father's parents, Meryl and Steven Jones. They had just woken up before finding out the tragic news that their son and daughter-in-law had lost their battle with covid-19 whilst celebrating their 20th wedding anniversary in sunny Greece. It was a shock to everyone in the small village they'd all grown up in. The death of Hazel's parents had created a sorrowful void within her that nothing could fill.

"Some of these photos really should be taken down", said a harsh yet quiet voice from the room round the corner.

"I don't think so, they look nice Eleanor, without them, this house would feel like a ghost town" Hazel replied, entering the kitchen and now facing her sister across the room.

Eleanor folded her arms and shrugged, taking her freshly brewed coffee off the kitchen counter.

"This whole damn village is a ghost town, this house is just trapping the ghosts in", Eleanor blurted, whilst walking past Hazel to head back upstairs to her room.

Hazel's eyes grew angry, she bit her tongue to stop any words from tumbling out. Instead, her eyes watered, but no tears trickled down this time. Hazel was used to the way people spoke about her parents - how her grandparents blamed her mother and father for going abroad, how the community blamed them for creating a tragedy within their village, how Eleanor blamed them for leaving. Hazel seemed to be the only person who felt more guilt than anyone else, despite not getting the blame; the feeling of being an outsider grew on her.

Hazel walked towards the marble counter at the opposite end of the kitchen. Through the door on her right, she caught a glimpse of her grandad, who had fallen asleep on her father's armchair again whilst watching a repeat of last Saturday's darts. Her grandma, however, was still awake, and was politely sipping on a small glass of wine and reading the latest issue of some magazine. They don't notice her, they very rarely do. Knowing Hazel is just as much as a ghost to them as her parents are, she took a bowl from the cupboard, took out the box of her favourite cereal (Frosted Flakes), poured it in with milk, and headed back upstairs without another word.

Carefully shutting her creaky bedroom door behind her, she placed her cereal on the side, and lied down in bed. She rested her cold hands on her chest and stared at her plain ceiling emotionless. She didn't want to admit it, but what Eleanor said was true. The village was a ghost town. A place that was once surrounded with happy faces had now been replaced with worry and despair. Hazel continued to lie on her bed for a few minutes, thinking of nothing. Simply nothing.

By the time Hazel had sat up in bed, her cereal had turned soft. As she stood up, another journal slipped out from under her pillow, however this journal was not as ruined. Her glowing eyes lit up at the sight of it and instantly recognised what it was. She had kept both journals a secret from everyone, but this one in particular was very private. Anyone who would find it and read it would assume Hazel had gone mad. She picked it up off her carpet and sat back down with it on her lap. Carefully lifting the pages, her journal was revealed to her once again.