Blues: Blue Star

Prologue

Prologue

Silence—my house is one of those that hold such a formidable characteristic within its walls. You waltz in, and you hear the same quietness you abandoned behind.

It is a rule that you have to abide by, if you wish to live with Jonathan Rios—my dad—under the same ceiling. He is a man that pays no heed to eccentricity, and he does nothing on a whim. Everything is calculated, and everyone is under his unwavering sway.

He has established a utopia of his own, without realizing how flawed the word 'perfect' can be.

He clothed me in intricate perfection and ambition that overshoots the sky, without heeding how saddled it made me.

Jonathan Rios is my dad, but he will never be my paragon.

Deep inside, I want to turn my back to that man and flee, but by doing so, I would have to witness the execution of my dreams with my own eyes, the goals for which I have been exerting myself for years, the ideals he implanted in me and left to ripen.

I was born to soar. I was born to be the first in everything. I was born to accept nothing but excellency.

I was born to shine and rise like a star.

The problem is that I am trapped up there, with no latitude in choosing or moving.

I am stuck on the throne, and I either stay in my place, or tumble into bottomless decay. There is nowhere in between.

Closing the door behind me, I start treading towards the staircase, barely able to carry my bulky backpack. Though big, it didn't have enough room for the books I bought today, and I had no choice but to support the rest on my left arm.

Carefully climbing the stairs, a pair of faint voices disrupts the chronic stillness governing the space, and I tarry my movement, listening to the muffled laughter coming from the hallway—my sister's laughter, fused with her boyfriend's. "I thought I heard the front door closing." My sister remarks. "That must be Nova."

Following my sister's conjecture, an aggravated groan echoes in the peaceful hallway, and I already know the identity of her disgruntled company.

Logan.

I was never on good terms with that douchebag. He thinks I'm a left-handed weenie, and I know he is nothing more than a wretched failure with an immense ego. Even after graduating from my school, his absurd homage still resonates in the halls, and when his name is not rolling off every tongue with slobber, his friends' make a sufficient makeshift. They are the squad that everyone dreams to join—everyone except for me. The only group I'm interested in joining is one that would wipe them out and away from Seattle.

I remember how my sister kept brewing schemes for a whole month, just to get a piece of our patron saints, before she eventually ended up in a relationship with her slick boyfriend—Logan Hunter.

Shaking my head, I resume my ascendance of the stairs, lifting one foot to reach the next step, my ears itching to hear his response.

But then my foot never makes it, the front of my shoe only making it to the edge of the tile veneer, before it slips and I land onto my knees, the obdurate surface battering my jean-clad legs with an audible thud. It doesn't matter that I hasten to catch my belongings; my books and bag still barrel down the staircase, dissevering and scattering all over the steps.

It is my turn to groan, excruciating pain piercing my tender knees. Adding to my turmoil, I don't get to stop the embarrassment from happening, before my sister and her boyfriend emerge from the hallway, catching me in my full-fledged glory. "Hey," my sister rushes to me with Logan following behind, frowning as she observes me in my pitiful condition. She immediately starts gathering my dispersed books, while I struggle to stand, the pain in my knees and my afflictive humiliation nearly bringing tears to my eyes.