Atlas (Splintered fanfiction)

Chapter 03

Chapter 03

The cab smells like pine and Axe body-spray and a hint of oil, and it reminds me a bit of my foster-father, Caleb Gray, who died a few years ago; he was very kind to me, and it broke my heart when he died. But I treasure my memories with him, and his wife, Maggie; they were probably the kindest foster family I was put into.

     The driver is a man about forty, judging by the wrinkles on his face and the slight graying of his hair, and married happily, judging by the worn but polished gold ring around his left ring finger. I also notice the photographs of children propped up on the dashboard; they are worn and feature small children, along with a young woman - whose face is cut out. This suggests an unhappy divorce very early on in his life and the marriage itself.

     I force myself to look away from the glimpses into his private life, as I consider it to be one of the rudest things one can do, and I pull out my iPhone. I unlock it and look up available jobs in Pleasance, reading through each option available carefully to find any stipulations that may or may not affect my chances of getting the job.

     "We're almost there, miss," the driver says, and I look up from my phone and shoot him a thankful smile.

     "Thank you, sir," I say and pat Mionel's head as she pops up from her place resting at my feet. She's been incredibly patient the entire day, and I am super proud of her; I've trained her well.

     The man looks at me out of the corner of his eye but keeps his focus on the road. "How old are you?" he asks me curiously. "If you don't mind my asking."

     I smile warmly at him. "I don't mind," I reply calmly, shaking my head and sweeping my slightly curly bangs out of my face. "I am seventeen, but I'm emancipated."

     He nods in understanding. "What grade are you in?" he asks, and I bite my lip.

     "I'm in my last year of college," I admit hesitantly, not exactly eager to receive the usual reaction to my certified genius-level intellect and education.

     To my surprise, he takes the information very coolly, with barely a grain of salt. "What college?" he asks, turning on to the street that my father's house is on.

     "Liberty University," I reply, looking away from him and out of the windshield. "I'm getting my Master's in marriage and family counseling and psychology."

     "That's a very interesting choice," he tells me, and I shrug.

     "I want to help other people through the difficulties I've seen people go through and gone through myself," I tell him, looking down at Mionel's smiling, cheerful face. "I haven't had the best life, and I didn't have much help through the rough spots; I want to help people like I wish they had helped me."

     "That's very noble," he says, and I don't respond, staring out of the window at my side.

     As the landscape and houses on the street where I lived the six years of my childhood, before I was thrust into the world of grown-ups without warning, nostalgia leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. 

     When I was little, I wanted to be a writer, but my father didn't think that I'd be able to make it; he decreased my self-esteem so much that I stopped writing for several years, and I decided I'd do something differently with my life. After a little bit of consideration, I, a four year old with a three year old younger sister, decided I was going to be a psychologist. And though I was reaching high, my father approved, saying it was a noble choice and he was proud of me. That was when I first started to dislike him.

     In truth, I'm actually getting my Master's in Writing. Creative writing, to be exact. When I first decided I was going to go to college, I battled with the choice between what I had told my father and what my heart was telling me. In the end, I decided to go with something that I would be happy with, and I sent a letter to Full Sail University, a college that specializes in creative writing. I've nearly graduated.