Of Gods and Men

The Golden Apples

Grace groaned as her alarm clock squeaked nosily from her bedside table. She rolled over moaning and let her hand crush the off button. It whined slightly before shutting down. The room was soon left in silence. Grace smiled to herself- she liked it that way.

'Everybody, wake up!,'' Miss Lee yelled, ''you're all going to be late to school.'' Grace growled angrily, she was fully aware that today was the start of a new term at Goshelm High, and she didn’t need to be reminded by her good for nothing social worker. She rolled over in bed and let herself crash onto the floor with a loud thump. She could feel the floor shake beneath her and chuckled to herself. That should send a message to Miss Lee downstairs- hopefully the message would be interpreted correctly.

Unfortunately, it had the adverse effect, ‘Grace Jenner, I know that was you!’ She squealed in her infuriatingly nasal voice, it had brittle quality about it that made Grace cringe.

She pulled on her dressing gown and made her way downstairs. Felix Jameson- who was another bane of her life- came whizzing past her almost making her trip.

‘Watch it,’ she warned. He spun round and poked out his tongue. Even at his young age he knew Grace’s threat was empty. She regained her composure and continued to tackle the stairs. She was the eldest child here at St. McLean’s orphanage, and would be turning 15 this Friday- she couldn’t wait. She knew that she wouldn’t be showered with presents like most children on their birthdays but she was looking forwards to Peter’s homemade birthday cake- he was the orphanages’ cook. Peter always let the children choose whatever shape they wanted their cake to be and this year Grace had chosen the Parthenon.

When she had told Peter of her decision, he had sucked in air very quickly though his teeth,’ Well, I don’t know Grace.’ He had then removed the pencil from behind his ear and scratched his head with it. ‘That’s going to be very tricky,’ he had continued with a look of utter confusion plastered on his face. Grace had resorted to dirty tactics and had said sighed heavily pretending that a typical sponge would suffice. Peter had smiled at her and ruffled her hair, ‘I suppose I could give it a go.’  Eventually, Peter had relented and had consented to making her the cake, on one condition, that she told him one of her stories. She had happily agreed.

Peter was no older than 20, he was a gap year student, doing community service so it would look good on his UCAS application, however Grace loved him. She didn’t love him in the romantic kind of way but she looked up to him almost as a hero. Peter was a student of ancient history, and was currently writing a thesis on ‘the downfall of the Incan civilisation.’ When Grace had discovered this fact she had taken full advantage of this and had splurged out her love of the ancient Greeks and their mythology. Peter, amazed to find a child as well read, had humoured her and listened to her stories. At first he had resented being lectured on ancient history by a child, though as time went on he was slowly transported into Grace’s world. Now, Grace’s stories had become a sort of ritual that they shared together whilst Peter cooked the dinner. Grace would be sad to see him leave next month.

As Grace made her way into the kitchen she was greeted by the smell of softly simmering porridge. She smiled, salivating at the thought of Peter’s porridge- it was to die for. She took her seat at the head of the table, and cheered with the other children as Peter carried in a tray filled with multiple porridge bowls.

Grace pulled hers towards her and began to eat greedily; the smooth, sweet porridge filled her swiftly and made her feel ready to take the day by the horns.

She quickly left after breakfast was done, so that she didn’t have to walk to school with the other children, and stormed out of the door. She had left so quickly that she was still putting on her blazer as she left through the gate.