Until it's gone

Chapter I

This is not the story of a mystery that will turn your world upside down. This is not the epic tale of two rival kingdoms. No, this story is a snippet of my mundane life — a rather cliché one at best — the story of how I had everything and lost everything. This is the story of how I overestimated what I had, carelessly — perhaps characteristic of the naive teenager I am — and how I paid the price for it.

The light touched the already frail leaves as the sun rose on top of the soon-to-be naked autumn trees and, with it, the annoying and quintessential sound of the morning alarm, announcing that it was time for yet another boring day at school.

"Sarah darling, breakfast is ready, come down before it gets cold." My mom shouted from the opposite side of the house. 

"Yeah, yeah I'm coming," I replied, still wrapped up in my cosy covers.

That faithful Monday took off at a normal rate as I arrived in the kitchen fifteen minutes later to join my parents and two younger brothers who had already started to devour their breakfast. Mine was slightly undercooked — as per usual — from the lack of time we always have in the mornings for there's always someone who decides to live in the shower. My brothers argued over who'd be taking the seat next to the driver on our way to school, which wouldn't matter half the time since I'd be taking that spot anyway (perks of being the eldest sibling I guess), and my dad read the sports section of the morning newspaper — or rather spurted insults at every team he disliked — while occasionally taking a very loud sip of his preferred drink, a dark coffee with no sugar.

I told my mom that ever since I had woken up, I felt a sharp pain on the side of my head as though a bee was constantly attacking me for putting too much honey on my morning tea. She handed me two pills of which the name I couldn't pronounce even if I tried. "You've probably gotten sick as usual from staying until late on the rooftop," she said, "here take this." It wasn't the first time that had happened, but those pills always managed to seal the deal in about twenty minutes so I never gave it much thought.

I went to school only to spend eight tedious hours attending the same mundane classes that will have little to no effect on my future life; seeing the same old faces that I've been interacting with for way too many years; and listening to the latest news of a high school drama that had been going on for a month. In short, a normal day in my normal life.

After dinner, I bid farewell to the whole family and went to my usual spot — the rooftop — where I'd spend most nights writing pointless stories that had the sole purpose of being safely kept within the lines of the notebook, hidden away inside the four walls of my room, never to be seen or read by anyone. Somehow being there alone, in the dark, with nothing but the stars, a notebook, a pen, the usual monotone music playlist and the phone's flash to give me some light, was the time of the day in which I'd feel the freest. Writing allowed me to put into words what I wouldn't otherwise be able to articulate, it made me feel out of the same tedious routine I lived every single day.

The following days were just the same old groove — wake up to the beautiful sound of that dreadful alarm, regret being awake, put up with my annoying little brothers, my dad's unquestioned love for football, my mom's best attempt at a five-minute breakfast, going to school, regret going to school, go back home, close myself in my room until dinner, have dinner, close myself once again until it's way too late, regret being awake so late and go to sleep, in short, a lot of regret — that is until Saturday came along. When the sunset displayed its bright mix of yellow and orange, I got a call. It was William. He'd been away for two weeks in a school trip with his class somewhere in Central Europe, probably making girls fall head over heels for him with his hazelnut eyes, curly longish brown hair and charming smile. We barely spoke while he was there thanks to his annoyingly heavy schedule, making real life evermore boring.