The Desire Chase - Ch. 1
By TheEmmaStar123
- 416 reads
This story is set in around the 1900's and the character is 15 years old, for reference. These are just ideas so... Opinions are welcome! I hope you enjoy! :)
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I sit on the cliffs of Dover, staring out to the large expanse of water as the wind ripples through my hair. Watching the boats come back and forth between the port. Trying to work out what happened to my father on such a calm evening, when the birds were gliding across the water, and the sunset invaded the sky an orange. I know sitting here is pointless, but I can't cope with life back at home, where mother shouts every evening, and my two siblings cry every night because like me, it is not sinking in that father has gone.
The times I spent with him, and the beautiful weather we experienced will remain a memory. Because since then, everything I have ever known has been trapped in a state of dreariness. I get up, my fingers fumbling with my coat buttons as I wrap the thick felt harder around me. The buds fly from the grass as I turn around and stride along the cliff edge to the dreary wooden house. The one where the slate has slid off the concave roof, and the starling nests have rotted the wooden beams. The one that could be submerged by a landslide at any moment. But, when I eventually reach it after perhaps five minutes, and as I walk along the cracked tiles, I take one last breath at the mass of clouds rolling along the horizon before the door opens under my weight.
"Where were you Ebony Hartley?" The question is thrown at me as I close the door, the female shriek and the thudding coming down the creaking stairs causing the candles to rock. I tremble when she reaches me. Her bright red hair matches her red face, and her eyes are wide as she throws her finger at me. "Don't you dare do that again."
My eyes trace the lines along the planks of wood as I avoid her stare. Everything was too much. I shouldn't have ran away from her. I missed church. "I'm sorry... I just... Needed some air."
"And you don't get enough of it in this place?" She paces up and down.
"Apparently not." I mutter under my breath.
I stand in the living room, recognising the faint crying from my two sisters upstairs. I stare through the grey walls and furniture, trying to find some happiness in the photo of my family along the wall, and the colourful oil painting my father created of a sunset, and another of a boat. But at this time, when mother screams and runs into the kitchen, I find none.
I take my coat and shoes off in time to reach my twin sisters, catching them before their screaming fits, humming a quiet melody as I stroke their blonde hair and settle them back to sleep. Their sweet and delicate faces and their happy laughs always being a cure for my sadness, despite the hard lives they have had to live these past six months. And when I tuck them in, like my mother used to do for me when she was well, I sneak back across the room and close the door.
Mother has now made her way back to her usual spot on the couch beside the fire, her hands visibly trembling as she grasps onto the sides. Avoiding my eye contact when I pass her, grabbing the pan of bubbling water above the fire. My reflection looks up at me from the water when it settles. I am different from my mother and siblings; my hair is brown, but my eyes are blue and my skin is fair and I am tall like the rest of my family. I disturb the water when I pick it up again, quickly pouring some into two cups, making tea, cooling mother's so she won't get burnt. And when she drinks it, like every evening, I take her into the other room and put her to bed.
I like this time in the evening. It is just me, alone, the sound of timber crackling as I prod the fire and clench my now cold tea for warmth. My father's smiling face looking down at me from above the mantelpiece, lit up by the embers, and the cushion proving a comfy spot as I gaze through the window, the last light fading behind the clouds. And when I rest my head back, I could find peace, only the thought of tomorrow lingers in the back of my mind. The holiday will end, and I will be forced back to school. And so will Emily and Mary. The place only good for teachers with canes and bully's. If only they would quieten so I could learn something.
I must have slept, because when I open my eyes, the sun is trying to break through the clouds above the horizon. The rattling sounding from upstairs is enough to wake the dead, but it is only me that has stirred when I check on everyone. It must be four in the morning.
My feet slide into my shoes and I grab my coat, and I avoid the creaking floorboards before heading outside. I love this weather; the wind strikes my sore cheeks, as if telling me to turn around, but the beauty of the black clouds reaching us is more than any canvas can offer. I wave my hands and shout, the wind drowning out my voice, trying to push me over. My eyes meet the white rock beneath my feet that could collapse at any moment. This is more excitement than anything can offer.
Then, when the wind has battled me enough, I turn around. But when I reach the house, something catches my eye. An anomaly among the ferries at the port. A small boat, bobbing gently, out on the water. One identical to my father's that was never found. My heart jumps. Is that him? Is that father?!
My heart is pounding in my chest.Without hesitation my legs carry me to the wooden dock at the bottom. Is he alive? Is he alive? I thrash my hands about harder this time, hoping that he would see me, but the boat doesn't come any closer. My legs carry me up and down the dock, my eyes darting around the edges for anything to take me to it - a boat, a small life jacket, even a plank of wood - but there is nothing. I turn around to check if anyone has seen me, but there is nobody, so I take my coat and shoes off and ease myself into the water, the cold immediately attacking my skin like darts. It is icy, and horrible, and although my whole body is turning numb, I can't turn back now. I have to swim, swim to the boat, swim to my father. But my clothes are weighing me down, and my thin muscles are finding it hard to pull through the wind and current. I need to swim. Swim. Swim. But I feel my body uncontrollably moving, and perhaps twenty minutes have passed - of desperation and exhaustion, panting and pain - when my body gives up on me, and I submerge under the water.
As I sink deep, the water gets colder. Ropes of weed wrap around my fingers and legs; trying to trap me here. I should be swimming to the surface in panic, but my tired state is keeping me calm. And, somehow, as I begin to close my eyes, I find peace. Light molds into shapes, forming animals of all kinds; horses, cats, dogs, birds, and scenes and people, my father's boat, the picture of my family portrait on the wall, my mother's happy face. And when those images fade from my mind, I see the shadow of the boat above me. Then, from somewhere, I find the energy to emerge on the surface. A figure sits in the boat; thickly built, wearing a leather jacket, facing away from me. He must have seen me and come over. But the smile on my face disappears when I swim round the side, and take a look at the man, perhaps a fisher, with tattoos on his face. His blue eyes, not bright like my fathers, dare not look at me, but he must know I am here. I can't swim back now. I don't have the energy to swim back. Even my fingers are finding it hard to cling onto the side of the boat.
"Hello?" I manage to mutter, pulling myself onto the boat, almost turning it over. I am too tired to feel embarrassed. "Sorry, I thought you were my father. Have you seen a boat similar to yours?"
I notice the man staring into me. I feel the fire inside his eyes, and the sorrow, although I am unsure what of. I see the ridges on his hands, the cuts and bruises. The tear stains at closer look. I feel uncomfortable, my heavy breaths and the sound of the water invading the silence. Then, he speaks, his voice raspy and low, unfamiliar; "We are so lucky that the water has allowed us to float."
He picks up a paddle next to him and pushes us along in the water. But then, without warning, the boat tips upright and throws us both overboard. And I am sure there are hands pulling me deeper when I try to swim to the surface, and I am trying so desperately to use all the energy I have to swim up. Up. Up. Then something large must have hit me because now I feel pain all along my front, and I am crying out for help but nobody can hear me. I am praying that someone did see me and they will rescue us in time. And I feel dizzy, the whole ocean is lighting up white, and I am forced to close my eyes. Then, I find breaths. Not breaths of water as I anticipated that must have filled my lungs, but air. And when I wake, I am lying in a hospital bed. And when I look up, the first thing I see of the man staring down to me are his blue eyes.
"Find me, Ebony." my father says, before sleep invades once more.
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Comments
Intriguing and atmospheric
But more of a timeless scifi feel than historical (the only early 1900 signals I picked up were "canes and bully's/bullies") --- is it important that everything floats so free? If that what you want it works well; if not maybe it needs a few more anchors to a specific historical moment.
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