The Unknown

Chapter One

Author's Note: So, I have decided to start this story and to be honest I have no idea what it's going to be about. I have a character and a place and that's it! So, I'm going to run with it and see where it goes (hopefully somewhere good!). I will be posting chapters randomly so, let's see! Leave comments and input (even some ideas if you, my dear reader, have any!) and here we go:)

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May 4, 1801

I never knew what my story would hold. I never knew what I would become. As a child, I dreamed of daring sword fights, mystical dragons,  and princes in shining armor riding upon a beautiful white steed. My dreams were lived both day and night getting me into more trouble than most. I was known as the daydreamer; the one with the doe eyes and unkempt hair; the one nobody talked to or spent time with. I lived a rather dreary childhood, rain and thunderclouds were a normal thing where I grew up, shouting and crying were a part of my normal activities. The shouting never came from me, I refused to talk after the incident. I felt no need for the world to hear my voice, to feel my presence. I didn't think anyone ever cared enough to hear me for who I was and to understand where I came from. My father was a good man, but not every good man is a good father. My mother was wonderful woman, and I truly believe that she deserved that title. She did her best with what life gave her, never letting one negative word leave her mouth and never letting a soul hear her shouts. I never thought my mother to be rude, or unkind, or abandoning. I thought my father to be those things and I soon found to be right. He left us when I was ten years old. My mother's heart couldn't hold out for much longer after that. She was shattered when she discovered that he was gone. Some people love that which is bad for them, and my mother loved my father. She was addicted to him, as strange as it sounds, addicted to the way he paid attention to her and the way he neglected her. She was always fighting for his attention and love. It became who she was and her life was spent trying to please him. So, when he left, she felt useless and unwanted. I was left with no father and a mother who could hardly leave the bed to go to the bathroom. A broken heart is a serious matter and I pray that I never suffer from one. A year after my father left, my mother gave up and passed on. She couldn't spend her days any longer knowing that no one loved her the way my father pretended to even though I spent every day next to her bedside. I've always found it strange that no matter how hard we try, our intentions backfire and those we love most think we hate them. I watched my mother's eyes turn from love to hate, and her words turn from grace to vile. I don't hate my mother for what happened, and I don't hate my father. I hate the girl who couldn't fix it...

"Mae, get down 'ere or so 'elp me!" I slam the journal closed and shove it under my thin, straw mattress. Grabbing my apron off the hook next to the doorframe, I skip down the stairs two at a time while slipping it over my head. 

"Mae!" Lizzie stands in the middle of the kitchen with her arms elbow deep in pot of water. A golden stream of light from the rising sun filters in through the window above the sink casting Liz in a golden light brighting her hazel eyes. Her black hair is in a bun that has frizzed around her forehead, but I still smile everytime I see her. She reminds me of good memories and new beginnings.

"Good 'eavens child, I thought I 'ad lost you to the dreamers." I let out a small laugh at her phrasing. My daydreaming is still a constant, and it still gets me into trouble.

"I'm sorry Liz, I was..."

"No ma'er, come over 'ere and 'elp me with this pot. Mistress wants it 'ot and steamy for 'er bath this morning." I rush over and help mix the soap into the steamy water. We drag the pot over to the fire and hang it on it's hook.