Hey there, i know that i just disappeared after posting 2 prologues. Some real life problems spontaneously formed from thin air. So there's a few things i'd like to apologize for

1) Inconsistent releases. I'm still coping with some RL shit and since i am a novice writer. i can't really pump out chapters that fast but i'll try to do a minimum of 2-3 chapters a week.

2) My horrible naming sense.

3) the first chapter was so hard to write. i like re-wrote it like 3-4 times. And i tried really hard to portray what i've envisioned Qalice to be like. So if there's inconsistencies. DO TELL coz even i got muddle headed from it.

4) I would like to apologize to those two followers. I can't name you coz i don't know how use this website yet. But i felt like i did a half assed job.

Anyways, here's the finalized chapter 1. Tell me the mistakes in the comment below. i'll try to keep the chapter lengths around 2k to 3k from now on.

PS: If anybody has a better chapter name after reading this. do comment below. :D. Enjoy

Chapter 1 : My Life

“Qalice, are you up honey?” my mother’s voice came from outside the wooden door. Worry and anxiety laced every word.

“I’m up” I replied softly. I am still curled up on my bed wrapped by the comfort of my blanket. Assured by the warm rays of sunlight entering my room signalling that its morning. That means that there’s no nightmares for at least a few more hours.

“Okay then, get dressed honey and come down for breakfast. I made Nutella pancakes”. She said followed by the thumps of her footsteps on the hardwood floor, the sound faintly diminishing as she goes down the stairs.

I raised my head and surveyed my room like I always do every morning. The room was modest in size. I only had one window facing my bed. Its white window pane is always covered by the shutters I rarely open. Beside the window was a dresser. My laundry bag settled at the corner of my room. Adjacent to my bed was my wardrobe. it was built in the wall and all the doors were locked with a combination padlock.

“ha”. I chuckled involuntarily when I remembered how the locks were placed there in the first place. When I was little, even the stories of the boogeyman or there’s a monster in your closet would make me shed tears. I was always a crier and when we first moved into the house I refused to sleep in my room because I saw a mangled lady once peering out from inside of it. She had coarse white dishevelled hair. Her cheeks sunk deep into her jaw. One eye was dangling out of the socket by virtue of its fleshy nerve while the other socket was empty. Her chapped lips were always smiling, revealing her black tongue guarded by unequal rows of yellow teeth. The best part was her pale skin, a canvas for words. Words that was branded onto her skin with rod iron. Heat palpitating from it. Her naked body riddled with those words. Whenever I try to remember it, only one word kept was vibrant clear. The others were just a blur. The word was “curre”. After that my dad placed locks on the closet. So that I won’t be scared anymore. It worked for a while and I was able to have a few goodnight’s sleep. A week after that though the nightmares started.

“tring tring tring”. My phone alarm rang jerking me out of my flashback. I looked at the clock. Its 7:30. I’ve got another half an hour to prepare.

“Sigh”. I sighed as I raised my body out of my bed and stood in front of the mirror on top of the dresser. Well, I guessed I haven’t introduced myself yet. My name’s Qalice. We’re living in small city called salmon arm. I always thought the name was weird. You would think that a name like that would be a deterrent for people but surprisingly. A lot of tourists flock this place all year round.

I was seven when we moved here and ironically I am officially sixteen years old today. That’s right. Today’s my birthday. It’s nothing major though. I can’t remember the last time we celebrated birthdays. I guess our family just started to break apart after I started having my nightmares. If I was born handicapped or mentally ill then it wouldn’t have been that bad. But apparently, I was a bright and lovely girl despite being a scaredy cat when I was little. Even though I cried a lot. I would smile a lot more. I don’t really remember though. My childhood seems so distant I can’t really remember anything. After coming here I became very reclusive. I rarely smile, I rarely talk as well. It’s just hard to find something to smile and laugh to when the thing that’s on my mind every day is how much time do I have till I have to go to bed. I tried staying awake plenty of times but my body is cursed. Well, at least I think it’s cursed. At 11:33 pm every night if I haven’t fallen asleep. My body just seems to shut down and my mind enters dreamland. The first few months were the hardest for them and for me. I guess waking up at night, every night to a family member screaming, her body convulsing uncontrollably would give an effect to people. I guess whenever people think about home, you would imagine a house on a prairie, birds chirping and all that crap. My family would remember my psychotic episodes. So it’s no wonder that nobody is close to each other anymore. Everybody just got tired of it and I don’t really blame them.

I scrutinized myself in the mirror. My straight auburn hair is dangling on my shoulders. Eye bags hung beneath my sea blue eyes. My round nose centred on my small face ended with a round jaw. Overall I had very childish features.

The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

I slipped on a black plain t-shirt and jeans and went out of my room. I was walking down the stairs when the smell of maple syrup assaulted my nose. Making my way to the kitchen, mom came into my vision. She was in an apron with her hair tied neatly in a ponytail. Her soft hands holding a blue plastic turner, flipping pancakes. A pancake stack stood at the centre of the table. Faint strands of steam coming out of it.

My father was sitting across the stack. His eyes covered by thickly rimmed glasses were focused on his phone, reading an article from the guardian. Wrinkles decorated his face. Even though he’s only in his late 30’s, he looks 10 years older.

Sitting on the opposite end of the table was Qaliel, my brother. His slick back hair had just the right amount of volume. His straight and tall nose travels down to his pink moist lips. His deep green eyes coupled with his smile would melt even the coldest of hearts. His clean shaved angular jaw accentuated his charm. He looked perfect. Like a greek god descending from heaven getting laid with a mortal perfect. Of course I mean the handsome ones like Zeus or Poseidon and not Hephaestus. Both his hands held cooking utensils, his right hand wielding a blade, carving the bodily flesh of the beasts that was doomed to fill his stomach. With a mighty roar he stabbed the beast with his trident and brought it to his mouth where his pearly white teeth mangles the beast to unrecognizable bits. Okay, so he took a bite of his pancake. I mean in that few seconds I can swear to you that’s what I saw. Argghhh. Don’t look at me with those eyes.

I’ve always had a crush on my brother. Not to mention his perfect face and he also has a six pack. Goddammit. From a pure aesthetical sense of view. He is just really perfect. But that wasn’t what made me fell in love with him. After I started having my nightmares, he was really concerned with me to the point that he offered to sleep with me. He was 13 and I was 7 then. Well, back then I don’t even know what love is except for loving my family. So yeah, I really “loved” my brother. Did I mention he had a six pack. Well, the days that I slept with him were the most beautiful days of my life. During those days he would always appear in my dreams, with a head of red hair. Burning away that goddamn freaky kid. When he was 15, he went to boarding school so yeah. I bawled my eyes out at that time. Anyways, at 8, he was my messiah, my saviour. So imagine when he came back when he was 19. I was 12 and my adoration had 4 years to grow. And after watching star wars well u get my point. So mom & dad and Luke & Leia. It’s all your fault.

“Qalice………………Qalice”. My dad’s voice woke me up from my stupor. Apparently I dragged my inner monologue a bit too long while gazing absentmindedly on top of the stairs.

“Are you okay?”

“If you’re not feeling well honey, you don’t have to go to school today”

One good thing about your parents thinking that you’re ill is that you don’t have to ask for sick days off. They’d hand it to you on a silver platter. And I took it for a few months but then I realized that staying at home reminded me of HIM. So, unless I am really sick. School was my haven.

“it’s okay dad, I’m fine” I reply softly. I don’t know if it’s because of me being reclusive but my voice just generally becomes very slow and soft when I speak. It’s like a natural effect from my body.

Qaliel looked at with those deep azure green eyes. His face heavy with concern as he forced out a smile at me. We don’t really talk much. Well to be fair I don’t really talk that much. I mostly have these conversations in my head.

“Morning sis”. God, made him stop smiling. Think happy thoughts. Shit my happy thoughts shrine is filled with his pictures.

I nodded at him. Signalling that I was aware of his effort to court…. Make contact.

I made my way to the table. Grabbed a plate and started eating breakfast. My façade of impassiveness not broken even once. Some of you might wonder why I’m doing this. Well since you’ve heard my inner monologues. You’d think that I’m not really that depressed. Well, the answer to that is I’m not depressed. I’m just scared and exhausted. They are scared and exhausted. They need a reason to register what’s the cause of this calamity in their life. And being happy while being psychotic doesn’t help. I realized that early on and so I showed them depression, and my mother shed tears when the doctors diagnosed me with it. Don’t blame my mother. The one thing that’s worse than going crazy is seeing your loved one going crazy and not being able to do anything to solve it. At least with depression, they sent me to therapy. They feel like they’re doing something and I just have to bear this pain alone. That’s already more than what I could wish for.

I finished my plate in this awkward silence.

Gulping down my last piece of pancake, I grabbed the paper bag my mom prepared and stuffed it into my bag. My steps treading fast to the door to end the awkward silence. I noticed that all three of them are more comfortable talking without my presence and they feel guilty about it. Anyway. My hand reached out for the doorknob in front of me.

I twisted it and open the door. The creaking sound of wood against marble was drowned by my screams. WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?