Morgan-Grace (REVAMPING)

PROLOGUE: FLASHFORWARD

A black battered Sudan flew down a dirt pathway from off the main road, a trail of dust kicking up behind it. It didn't lose speed as it took each curvature of the rutted road with ease. It was as if the driver knew the roads like the back of their own hand.

A forsaken and derelict farmhouse was perched on top of a grassy knoll, similar to its pastoral barn. Even in its state of disrepair, the farmlands greenery and foliage held much allure.

The breaks squealed as the vehicle came to an abrupt stop in front of the porch. A young woman, ragged with tattered clothing and dark bags under her eyes, collapsed out of the driver seat. With palms pressed against the gravel, she tried to pull herself up but her legs gave in, much too feeble for her own weight.

The vehicle next to her relentlessly chimed as the warning light on the dashboard blinked in unison.

Roused by the loud ruckus, an older couple walked out from the house, the porch door behind them swinging with short intervals from the wind. Both of them stared down at who lay before them.

"Mama, Papa," she sobbed, now kneeling against the honed rocks that dug into her skin.

The surrounding farmland had grown silent, almost as if giving way to the unsettling atmosphere that had begun to manifest.

Hanging her head in shame, her body shivered from the fright of her experiences and from the throbbing anxiety of her parents' glare.

She had made a huge mistake leaving. She realized that now. If only she would have figured it out sooner, the events within the past couple of months would have taken a more serene route. But she was blinded by her newest vices and the euphoria of it all.

How foolish she was.

If she could turn back time she would. If it meant that the people closest to her wouldn't get hurt. If it meant she could forget the traumatic journey she so willingly stepped into. The glitz, the glamour, the wildly extravagant high-roller life meant nothing if she couldn't be with her loved ones.

Footsteps crunched on the gravel as someone walked towards her and she caught a glimpse of their embellished cowboy boots. Peering up through her tear-blurred vision, her eyes landed on the man whose heart she had once betrayed. A million emotions took over her and she struggled to contain them. Her eyes shifted downwards, taking all of him in until she stopped at his shoulder brace.

He looked tired and physically and emotionally broken. It hurt her to see him like that. Her heart withered and restricted as his face made her recall the incident that led her to this untimely, and perhaps, unwanted reunion.

With apprehension, she rose to her feet. She wanted so badly to run and hug him. Though she had missed him much more than words could convey, she was racked with guilt.

She parted her chapped lips in an attempt to speak, but his name stuck in the back of her throat— lodging itself like a dark secret.

As if the look on her father's face wasn't enough to make her feel lesser of herself, a person's familiar figure came out from inside the house, taking up the doorframe. They were partly covered by the shadows but their stance was unmistakable.

She was left in a sudden state of shock. She didn't want to believe who stood before her. Deceived and hurt, she fought to calm her frazzled nerves.

But, she knew . . . all good things must come to an eventual end. Maybe this was hers.

She heard it. A loud and all too distinct sound. She had listened to it many times before, though she wished she hadn't. Her fear of its false sense of security had long bubbled over, and as a hard knock to her head sent the world crashing, she found herself adrift in an endless sea of her own bad karma

Copyright ⓒ 2019, Desarae A Dotson. All rights reserved