Playing with Fire

Chapter one ~ England

Sorry. I didn't mean for it to happen. I know I had given you a promise to keep until forever seizes to exist. If I could do it all over again, I would convince myself that a promise is supposed to be kept without even cracking it a bit. Though it is too late now, I am aware of that. I am sorry, mother, I am sorry for not doing as you asked me to and I am sorry because of the memory of which is now imprinted into my brain like an infinite photograph. I was only seven years old at the time, but should I, even so, have known better?

"Arielle, have you been listening to even a word I've been saying?"

I got startled by the voice which made its way through the air into my ears to signalise my brain that it was time to return back to the present.

"S-sorry?" I asked stupidly.

Miss Hamilton, the ninth and probably the most ancient lady there was, stared at me from over her shoulder from the passengers-seat. If it would be possible to live to 200 without any hocus-pocus-stuff, then Miss Hamilton would be a living evidence for this. She was tall, thin as a stick and had short cut, spiky grey hair. Her face was narrow with a long, crooked nose and thin, bushy eyebrows. Her forehead was covered with wrinkles and her eyes were hard to extinguish from behind her angular, screaming purple glasses.

"I said; are you listening?" Miss Hamilton repeated.

"I am now."

She rolled her eyes and breathed in a deep sigh. It was the seventeenth sigh since we had met up with her at the airport. I had been keeping count in silence, in case this had been a drinking game, I would have thrown up at least five times already.

I threw a glance to my left side, where my little brother was staring fascinatingly through the window. He reminded me of that annoying, small child who was way too curious about everything and who left snot everywhere. Though I love him anyway. He is, after all, all I've got.

"We'll arrive in fifteen minutes," Miss Hamilton continued. She had pulled out a rather thick, well-worn, ugly brown folder from her bag. On top of the folder's cover shone mine and my brother's names. It included every piece of information one would need to know about us to be able to put us into any category regarding any kind of question. Every place we've been, everything we've ever said with meaning, everything we've ever done, was documented inside that particular folder. Imagine it yourself, having your whole life written into a folder for anyone to get their hands on if they knew where to look. How would you feel?

"Okay."

"Did the flight go smoothly?" Miss Hamilton continued. I knew it was a half-hearted try to connect with us, but eight people with the same profile had already tried and eight of which had failed. Miss Hamilton was on a steady road down the same path.

"Sure."

"Does Arnatt speak English?" she then asked without looking at me from scribbling through the papers.

I shifted in my seat and crossed my arms across my chest. "Yes, our fifth foster family was from Canada and they only spoke English."

"The Coopers?"

I nodded.

"Brilliant! You two will find yourself a perfect fit into this community," said Miss Hamilton cheerfully. "The yard is enormous, as well as the mansion, there are these wide fields surrounding the lot. There should also be a bunch of apple trees and pear trees in the backyard and if I remember correctly there is also a rather long and beautiful stream somewhere with a wooden bridge where the youth usually hang out by."