Aloura West | ✓

Chapter One

Aloura Olea West had only ever cried four times in her life. The first time was, naturally, when she was born. Her mother said she'd wailed for hours, joking that she must have been psychic; crying because she knew she was now stuck in this fucked up world.

If only she knew how true her words would turn out to be.

But naive Aloura used to laugh when she told her that story. She had found it amusing; how can a baby, who was mere seconds old, be able to see the future.

Her mother would laugh along and say, "you're just special like that." And ever since then, Aloura would sit at her mother's feet, hands on her mother's knees, chin resting on the backs of her hands, yearning to hear the same story again and again. How she'd cried for hours, and nothing seemed to stop her, and after that, she didn't cry for a long period of time.

Her mother said that was when she must have accepted her fate, and to that, Aloura would giggle, calling her mother "silly" for believing that.

The second time she cried was in kindergarten, when Jasmine had drawn all over her Mother's Day card when Aloura had gone to the bathroom. Mrs Anderson sat with her for hours, consoling her and offering to make a new one together.

But Aloura refused, instead, giving her mother the ruined card- pretending the scribbles were her idea. "What's that?" Her Mum pointed to the long messy lines over the glittery flower.

"That's fog" She grinned at her mum, she'd pushed her tears to the back of her eyes, heartbroken at the fact the mother had noticed the scribbles before the flower she'd spent ages cutting perfectly.

"Fog?" Mother laughed. "Why've your drawn fog?"

"To show you I'll always love you even I can't see you"

The third time She ever cried was at her mama's funeral. She couldn't even speak when she was asked to say her last words to her mother. She wanted to yell at everyone for saying that. They weren't her last words. Mother told her she'd always be there, if not my presence, by spirit.

And Aloura believed her.

Her mother had always told her that she would one day become the kisses in the wind, the melody that the trees danced to. She was the guiding hand that would constantly push her to be her best.

To be perfect.

She promised Aloura to always be with her; that she could talk to her anytime and she'd hear her.  So Aloura stood at the podium, with shaking hands and tear stained cheeks. Sobbing.

"They wouldn't understand" she'd told herself, "They don't know what my mum said."

Her father had pulled her down and into to his chest after a minuet of her standing there in silence, he held her tightly. And in that moment, as they cried together, he knew he had to be both the mother and father for his little girl.

Except he'd prove to be none.

And the fourth time was now. As she stood at the edge of the building.

Her pale bruised hands gripping the cold metal bars behind her. She wasn't suicidal or waiting for the perfect time to jump. In fact, the opposite.

She stood at the edge of dying in hopes of feeling alive for mere seconds. She had done this routinely after her mother had died and her father switched; becoming a person she no longer recognised. It was almost an escape, sitting at the rooftop.

"Are you going to jump?" A girl's voice called over her shoulder. She turned around, startled. She wasn't, but had she scared her the slightest bit more, she would have accidentally plummeted to her death.