Chaos

Prologue

Without a Flaw- Prologue

Years ago. . .

"SWING ME Higher papa!" I shouted giggling, feeling the whoosh of air slap me as I sliced through the fast wind. My legs dangled in the air as my arms gripped the metal sides of the swings tightly. My dad began laughing.

I wanted to do a whole entire loop around the swing set, to fly upside down, if only for a second. I wanted to be a bird so I could watch myself getting pushed forward and reclining quickly to the location where my dad's hand would meet my back and push the swing's seat farther.

I wondered what it would be like if I used no hands at all.

So I tried it.

My small six-year-old body, at the time, flew the five yards to the end of the playground. The sand broke my fall, it's a good thing they didn't use wood chips.

I didn't feel any pain at first until I smelled the salty scent of an unfamiliar goo escaping from near my eyebrow. I put my hand on my head only to see a strange stain of deep, red blood on my fingers. I didn't start crying until I saw the worried look on the face of my father heading toward me at full speed like an expensive possession had been broken.

I lifted myself off the ground, a sharp pain jolted up my leg as I felt sand grazing my knee. So much sound was muffled in my ears and all I could see were the drops of blood on the sand. At that moment, I wanted to break everything that sand had, I wanted to destroy it. Wreck it apart. A giant crowd gathered around me, all wanting to help the pretty little blonde girl.

This was a major moment in my life that shaped me into who I am today. I wouldn't regret a single thing I've done since the moment I released the arms of the swing set and flew, even for a short while, across the park's playground.

That was freedom at its finest. And I loved it. The opportunity to actually fly.

"Taylor! Are you okay?" Dad urgently asked rushing toward me. I met the familiar blue eyes of my father, they were the same as my own. His hand gripped my arms and pulled me up.

"No, I got sand in my leg." I cried, sobbing in my slurred voice. "It's nasty."

"Well next time, you might want to hold the reigns, it's okay sweetheart."

"I'm never going swinging again!" I pouted, leaning away from my dad. I must admit I'm a bit of a wild child. Or was.

"Taylor, you can't give up on something because it hurt you! You have to keep trying and the more you do it, the easier it'll get." Dad's fatherly voice rung in my ears, "Remember when you were learning to ride your bike and you kept falling. If you had given up you wouldn't have learned to ride your bike, now would you?" Dad said. I nodded slightly, the tears mixed in with the blood from my eyebrow.

"Dad, can I go to a doctor?" I asked, wiping away the bloody tears.

"I am a doctor Taylor." Dad smiled warmly, chuckling. "Bite your cheeks, this might hurt." Dad said, pulling out an all-too-familiar alcohol pad, from what I remember, from thin air and placing it on my eyebrow. I held back a scream of agony and I felt the pain dissipate.

Dad told me that when the pain stops, it means all the bad germs are gone. So the good germs get to stay. I felt tears stream down my face as he placed a band-aid on the small cut on my eyebrow. He moved on to my elbow and leg. I stayed silent, knowing that beauty is pain and I didn't want an ugly infection.

"All done, you handled it great Miss Taylor Blakely." Dad kissed my cheek, a loving smile on his twenty-six-year-old face.

"All thanks to you doctor Blakely!" I giggled as dad picked me up and carried me to the car. He put on the many seatbelts of the car seat and we drove home.

However, one thing had prevailed ever since that day and I could sense it every moment of every waking hour, my father's fear of his only child getting hurt. Dad never seemed the same after that day.

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