Dreamers [DISCONTINUED]

Prologue - Ruin

Their house was quaint, quite small for two storeys. White painted, white walled. Every surface was stained with tranquility. Too bad that the people weren't, because right now, this family was dealing with the struggles of a child, a child that couldn't deal with the thought of bedtime. This child was sitting in the living room at her special table, scribbling intensely. Her orange crayon was soon going to break, and that was her favourite. Her parents didn't seem to know, or care, but their desperate desires were to put this child to rest.

"Come to bed, sweetie!" Alison's musical voice called from the vintage kitchen.

"No, mum!" Isla exclaimed. She was exhilarated by her drawings, and no little girl of her age would want to stop.

"You have school tomorrow." Fraser's voice slowed, attempting to maintain steadiness when on the brink of explosion.

"No!" She wailed with all her heart, clutching at her crayons and drawing kit, "No, no, no!" Her spontaneous behaviour led to overwhelming amounts of tears, flooding down her face like streams resting on a mountaintop. Her drawings were too precious, and they were the only thing that seemed to bring her joy. Comfort. Safety.

"Isla, stop! You have school tomorrow!" Fraser exclaimed, racing over to the table. "Look at me!" He placed himself opposite her, crouching. Her face screamed of defenselessness. His voice was so deafening that that was all she could do. "You are a rotten, no-good child that can't leave a family in peace. I suggest that you run up to your safe haven, because you have driven us to hell!" He barked, pointing a firm finger at the carpet ridden staircase. This situation had happened many times before, and it was always quelled no matter the persistence.

"I'm sorry, daddy. I can't do that." She trembled.

"Why not?"

"Because my bedroom isn't safe. I don't have anywhere to be relaxed, apart from when I'm drawing. That's why I do it all the time. Now you know, if you were even interested in me." She scowled. Isla had finally reached her breaking point, and her family had too. "If you two showed me some more love, more care, then this whole world would be a better place!"

"Calm down now, Isla." Mum intervened. Dad shot her a look and stood back up, storming over. Isla was in earshot of their booming contention, and decided that no matter how much she was tortured, that she would still listen. She knew it was about her, and for that reason, she couldn't miss out. 

"Why doesn't she conform?" Dad began.

"Because it's not in her nature. She has every right to find a voice. It's a good skill for her, Fraser!" She stroked his aloof hair and he smiled, only briefly. Isla had never seen that before, so she did everything in her power to make that a profound memory, hoping to cherish it for as long as humanly possible. "It was our loss when—"

"I know."

"So we have to be good people, for her sake. She's running out of time."

"But we are too. I think we have too, Alison. Let it happen."

"Now you turn vulnerable?!" Isla screeches. She's heard enough to lash out again, and it almost gave her satisfaction to do so. "Run away, you coward! If you can't handle me, run!" Her face flushes bright red as a gust of wind blows from behind the jade green curtains, making her seem like a goddess unleashing hell on Earth. Her short black hair was quaking and her brown eyes were made of steel.

"You know what I say to that, Isla? You should do that. You should go until we are out of sight, until you head so far into the wilderness that you beg to return. Let that happen. To be honest with you, that's what we were discussing!"

"But it isn't preferable..." Alison squeaked.

"Shut up!" He raged, and she darted off somewhere else, closing the door behind her.

"Oh, sure then! It'll give you the greatest pleasure to rid me, likewise me to you. Give me twenty minutes and I'll be gone!"

"Good." He said, crossing his arms and walking away.