Being Lyra,

Chapter 1

Approaching a draping curtain which separated the back-room I took a deep breath, resting my thoughts. A blue light shone through as it often did. Focusing my eyes, I could see my mother and father. His face had turned royal blue as it reflected, his look become superior and magical. Hating that I was forbidden to say anything but ‘father’, the corners of my mouth were fixed east to west, as I attempted to invent a reason for them to be there, coming to a conclusion as naive as the next.

Staring for long enough, you could watch it almost individually. Every part looked important. Barely stretching my eyes far enough to see, I couldn’t grasp hold of more than a small piece of glass which appeared to be gathering dust on the table.

There was nothing but a couple of tables and chairs at either side of the room, each stacked as though they hadn’t been touched in quite a while. Remembering back I thought of the time of my aunt, everything was in position for dinner. My parents had laid out some old serviettes they must have bought years before from the market when I was a kid. A little younger than that of which was hopelessly peering through some old material, which was held by a few pins which were weakly pinned to the wall, wrongly allowing it the title of curtain.

Uncle Trevor had just come back from war, he didn’t fight but he made up enough excuses for it, as though it could cover up his uninterrupted idle state.

“Sorry he couldn’t come, he’s very upset... really he is” expressed auntie Marian in her least sincere of voices as she continued to pull wool over our eyes, it might as well have been literally, but nevertheless, it did the trick.

“Oh it’s fine” my mother whispered. Knowing she didn’t like her any more than I did a brief grin came to my face, before her wide eyes came to look at me.

“We shall continue without him” said father “no loss on our part”. He once again patted Marian on the back as he had done earlier when she had arrived, then returned to his seat to take up on his grand posture. He seemed to gain something from being polite, even at times where the appreciation was not returned in an ounce. “We shall be merry!”

Continuing my self-assigned mission, as though a power-ranger or some mystery detective, I rested my ear against the tiny piece of wall connecting the rooms together. As it’s supposed to make sound louder I followed the childhood inclination. Failing to make any considerable difference, I once again distanced myself, in case one decided to storm out, or come out in too much of a hurry that it would be pointless trying to make a quick exit.

Illuminating, the strange light now appeared to be heading in the direction of my mother, before quivering, entering my mother’s body. Rushing towards my mother, father hopelessly tried to catch her, resulting in a pile on the floor, as though clothes which had been left to accumulate for a while. You’d have thought father had no part to play.

Letting out a brief gasp, I soon shuffled into the corner where I had hoped I could become invisible. I couldn’t keep my eyes away. Like an apparent first love, I was somewhat attracted. I hated danger, the discomfort, yet I couldn’t leave – not for a second, so I returned to take up my standing post a little closer to the wall than before.

"Let's get you up, shall we?" whispered my smiling father, offering his hand.

"I am quite capable" my mother replied. She had to do everything her own way, utterly stubborn. I can't say I blame her. At that moment I felt it too, something was clearly in the air, choking our brains as though to stop us from thinking, to deter our minds into being somewhat 'close-minded'.

Brushing herself down she rubbed the dirt between her fingers, looking like she believed it would ignite if she did it for long enough. The room was a mess. Stored in the open cupboard, just behind some old table (of which we never used) kept the broom; it hadn’t been used in weeks. Many times my mother had tried to convince me I should clean somehow.