Burning Paradise (Completed)

Chapter One

Swirling mist rolls around me as I tilt my head back to fully see the huge, distorted tower in front of me. It looks like a gothic version of the Disneyland Tower. The moon is out; a luminous yellow-white against a velvety black. The tower is desolate; it looks as if it hasn't been occupied for centuries. Wrought iron gates swing and squeak on their hinges, rusting and rotting away. The unmistakeable scent of burning wood  invades my nostrils, making me gag.

It's quiet; too quiet.

I can't even hear engines roaring away down the highway, like they usually do. A shiver rolls up my spine and I shudder twice, trying to make the feeling of spiders crawling on my skin go away. My feet make a muffled crunching sound as they meet the soft gravel; the only sound I can make out. Now I think about it, I can hear another sound.

I place it as whispering voices.

"Donna!" They rasp, "Donna, come to me! Come to me, Donna! Come to me!" My breath quickens, my heart rate accelerates, my mouth goes dry. I want to run but I feel oddly drawn to the tower. It has an air of mystery and something inside of me longs to know what that mystery is. Something compels me to look up and I do. I see them. Black silhouettes swirl around the tower, circling it like eerie sentries. I don't know what they are; human or otherwise, but they make my fear notch up three extra levels. So now I am reaching the point of hysteria.

I start stumbling away, unwilling to let those hovering shapes, the tower and the rolling mist out of my sight. I don't want to turn my back on them, no matter how wimpy that sounds. Something catches my ankle and I flop to the ground, squealing as I go down. A wave of dizziness hits me and I lift my hands towards my forehead, clutching it as if that will somehow take the light-headedness away magically.

Suddenly, just as abruptly as it had begun, the giddiness evaporates.

I put my hands back on the ground and frown, opening my eyes which I hadn't realised were closed until now. Instead of hard gravel meeting my hands, the substance under me is soft and bouncy. I jump up as recognition hits me. Cautiously, I step out of the flower bed and brush soil from my clothes.

What the hell just happened? Who were those people calling to me and how did they know my name? More importantly, how did I just end up in my back yard, sitting on my mom's flower patch?

A door opens, allowing a sliver of light out into the yard. Two figures stand in the doorway. After assessing the situation before them, they walk out and stop directly in front of me. I look up into Mom's pretty features; luscious, glossy strawberry blonde hair, a heart shaped face, jade coloured eyes, a minute nose, plump lips, a figure to kill for.

Mom.

Most moms have a job in Wal-Mart and wear jogging pants and baggy t-shirts, but not mine. My mom is a model and insists on wearing the latest designer gear, no matter what the time of day. My mom is currently wearing Prada flannel pyjamas and over them, a Dolce and Gabbana silk night robe.

"What are you doing out here, Donna?" Mom puts her hand on her hips dramatically.

"Um..." I frantically ransack my mind for an answer. Behind Mom, stands Dad, another one of the models, but a different type. Dad is a swimsuit model.

"You were sleepwalking again, weren't you?" Dad tuts at me, "Lorraine, we should really take Donna to see the family doctor."

Mom sighs, "I don't know. I'm just worried, Donna. This behaviour is scaring me. What if you leave the house and go on a road and something happens..." Mom trails off, shaking her head as if trying to clear it, "Let's get inside. I'll make some herbal tea and we can all talk about it."

"Mom, I have school tomorrow." I remind her as we walk towards the house.

"I'll make herbal tea and we can all talk it about it tomorrow." She corrects herself. Another thing about Mom; she just needs an excuse to make herbal tea. I find it absolutely revolting, but Mom and Dad like it for some bizarre reason.

The Next Day...

"So, Donna, let's talk." Mom says, letting her mug of herbal tea rest on the polished oak dining table. It's the next day after school. Dad is out on a photo shoot.

"Mom, about last night," I begin, "I have no idea how I got to the backyard. Seriously. I don't remember anything."