Chapter 1

The train ride we were taking to get home was making me nauseous. I was doing my best to fall asleep and just have my father wake me when we had arrived home. The shaking of the car we were in told me I was going to be doing anything but that, though. My blonde ringlets bouncing with the movement of the train. My father sat across from me, intently reading the city's newspaper he had purchased while we were there.

 

The train passed though the area that was so well known by anyone and everyone; The Garden. I let my thoughts wonder as I began thinking about the mysterious place that everyone knew, but never spoke about. There were tales all throughout history, telling of a beast that lived there. The stories have been around for centuries, scaring our ancestors and now us. The supposed beast was apparently one of great power, magic even. Tales spoke of his doings, and the payment that you would have to give to receive his work. Mother and Father never spoke of it as if it were true. They only told me it as if it were a bedtime story. I didn't believe in the monster, things like that just don't exist in my mind. Yet, my imagination prays that things like magical creatures do exist.

There was no proof that this being existed except that people that entered the Garden never left, or so I've heard. Many people use that as excuse to get away from here, telling one person you are going to The Garden to make a deal with the beast and then never return to the area. As my mind continued to process the theory I watched the trees pass by with lightening speed. The train was the only way to travel through the Garden. The train looked like a silver encrusted snake speeding through the thick green forest. My house was only ten minutes more of a train ride after we passed through the tunnel, signifying the outskirts of the forest.

Father had taken me into town to see what presents I wanted for my upcoming birthday. I will be turning seventeen in five months. I am my father's pride and joy, his only child. Mother can't have children, not anymore at least. They try their hardest to give me anything and everything I could ever want, but I never want anything. I am not a materialistic person. Gifts are something that I never really understand. I can survive on what I need to do so. I do not need expensive clothing, which they have given me, or expensive anything really, which they also give me. My parents give me the most expensive of items. I sigh, the thought of my parents believing that I was codependent on them made my head throb. No matter how much I try to show that I can do things on my own, they never let me. They always do it for me. It isn't that I don't enjoy their love, I just wish they could see how independent their daughter truly is.

The train ride home continued to be completely silent except the light chatter that carried on around my father and me. Father continued to read his newspaper while I continued to stare out the window letting my thoughts roam free in my mind until we reached our station. When we finally stopped and exited the train car, Mother was standing there patiently waiting for us to arrive like she did every time we went out. Father kissed her on her pink lips before she embraced me as if she hadn't seen me in weeks. When Father offered her his arm she took it and we walked to the carriage. Mother and Father walked ahead of me while I stayed a few steps behind, still in thought. I thought about my surroundings, about how with ever step the hem of my light green dress skimmed the floor while the short train of my dress was constantly dragging on the floor. Mother always wants me to be dressed the best I can. I own nothing but the most expensive dresses made with the finest fabric. The dress has gold designs running all over the torso area of the dress. The neckline stopping just above my breasts. I felt like a dove in a cluster of pigeons.

As I walked I looked around the station, taking in every face, observing every person's movements. I slowly look to my left, still taking in the familiar station until my eyes landed on a boy. He seemed to be around my age and dresses well. He, too, looked like a dove in a cluster of pigeons. He stood reading a small leather book, most likely waiting for a train to the city. His brown hair and brown eyes seemed to match perfectly. He stood with his back straight and his shoulders back, dominating every slouching male in the station. I stopped dead in my tracks, taking him in, committing his every detail to memory. Just as my father called my name he looked up. His eyes held me in my place, drowning out my father's worried voice. Realizing I was staring I looked away, heat rising to my cheeks and began walking to the carriage again.

"Amelia, there you are! What took so long, Darling?" My father's voice oozed worry.

"Nothing," I say. "I just thought I saw someone I recognized that's all, Father." I turn to see the handsome face of the stranger, but he is gone. I turn to face my parents once again and climb into the carriage to head home. My thought process was overrun with thoughts of the male. I can't focus on anything, but him or something to do with him. Curiosity is burning a hole into my thoughts as I wonder who that boy is. I try my hardest to focus on the passing trees as we fast approach our home. My thoughts clear only for a moment as we ride up our extravagant pathway up to the white mansion. I take in the sight of my home, relieved to be home. I basked in the sight of our country home as its white paint seemed to be glowing in the golden sunlight. A wave of disappointment ran over my brain as realization sunk in that I wouldn't ever see that stranger's handsome face or get to know the kind of person he was at heart.

I exited the carriage when the door opened and entered the welcoming house. Mother and Father came in after me deep in conversation about plans for my birthday party that I did not want any part of to be completely honest. I climbed the stairs to sulk in the privacy of my all white room. The white and gold detailing was shining in the warm sunlight. I walk to the window to look out onto the acres of land we own. The maze was located behind the house. It takes up about a third of the property. The boy's face crept back into my memory. I find myself hoping to see him again. I think back to the trip to the city. I think about how much I love walking the streets and looking into the windows of the shops, how much I enjoy eating at the cafes. I want to desperately go back. I want to walk the streets myself, without Mother or Father. I think about the odds of running into the stranger in the city. Then my heart aches as I think that he was probably waiting on his fiance or that he may not live in the city or anywhere close. I remember the clothes he had on, he was too well dressed to live in the city.

I think more about his appearance and the way he carried himself, hoping it would reveal something about his character. His posture showed that he was sure of himself, even while reading. He seemed relaxed with where he was, but tense with power. No other facts were coming to mind, and I don't want to put too much thought into someone I've never even met yet. I continue to stand at my window, watching the sun set. It turns the sky shades of pink and purple as the ball of light sinks lower into the horizon. I leave the window and approach my bedside table. It is overflowing with books of all sorts. Books of fantasy and romance to medical and psychological studies sat on my bedside table. All of the books have been read at least once. I make a mental note to clear off my bedside table and return the practically memorized books to the shelves in the library. I love the idea of broadening my imagination, as well as my knowledge. I run through the list of books I wish to read in my head. I settle on some of mystery and science for my next reading binge. A maid knocks on the door to my room and waits until I tell her to enter. She quickly reports that supper is ready and Father requested my presence for supper. I thank her and steal one glance out of the window, burning my stare into the sunset as another short thought of the boy's face crosses my mind. I push the thought away, leaving my fantasy thoughts on the window sill and head downstairs for supper.

Reviews

[POETIC SOUL 2013]

First person writing is extremely difficult for most writers. Especially when they are writing a story line. This is excellent work, however i do have some advice.

A good writer needs to show the story and not tell the story.
Any one can tell a story and even some are excellent. However writing a book, you should try to get the reader involved. In other words What am I experiencing within the train? i mean you told me things about the train, and you gave me details about it, now Make me feel like Im in the story. :) i love this and its a wonderful start, and I hope my advice was insightful :) Excellent write.

[Casey Francis]

Thanks! I get what you mean, I'll try it.

[POETIC SOUL 2013]

no problem, just pretend like I am a blind man, and you are my eyes