Change in Life

Chapter 1. Autumn

The morning began with birds singing a beautiful and blissful tune with a light breeze blowing through the trees, knocking off some dead leaves as the days of autumn dragged merely on. The sun shone brightly over the horizon, peaking its way between parted clouds as Blake opened his eyes. The rays shone at him as he lay in his bed, not yet ready for the days start. He pulled the covers over his head in a futile attempt to get back his interrupted slumber. He moaned with frustration though as his mother shouted his name from down stairs.

He pulled the cover off himself and slowly got out of bed. As he stood up, he could feel and hear most of his bone joints popping in his teenage body after the night's peaceful rest. Stumbling over to the window after regaining his composure, Blake grabbed the handle and jiggled the dodgy lock upwards to open it. He looked over all the green fields and woodland that belonged to his family with a slight smile. He took in a deep breath of fresh air and exercised his shoulders loosely as a sudden gust of wind blew into his face. The large oak which grew outside his window swayed with taught resistance, giving in only slightly by letting go of a few golden leaves that drifted down to the garden bed. soft clucks resonated out of a chicken hutch on the other side of the oak as their family's chickens peaked contently at the ground.

He sat back down on his bed with a muffled thud, rubbed his eyes and yawned. In doing so, a little flicker caught the corner of his eye, drawing his attention. It was a colorful butterfly of gold and black gliding through the window. Thanks to the rows of flowers his mother planted around the house, some found their way up and into his bedroom. Blake sat staring, not feeling his usual enthusiasm for wildlife thanks to having only just woken, as it fluttered over to him and landed on his replica samurai sword he had displayed on his desk that situated itself next to his bed. Sluggishly reaching over, the eighteen year old held out a finger and as gently as the butterfly's landing worked on persuading the insect to move onto his finger. With a single beat of its delicate wings, it tenderly jumped onto his finger. Admiring the vibrant glow of the gold shapes on its wings bordered by jet black through clouded sleepy eyes, Blake got up and walked back to the window. It only took a slight jolt from his finger to release the creature back outside.

He let his body fall limp and rested himself on the window jamb when he picked up a flick knife he had laying on the sill in front of him. He then twirled it around his fingers in bored content, like he usually did in the mornings as a force of habit, sending occasional rays of light spinning around the room as it reflected off the blade.

'Blake! Get down here.'

Effortlessly, Blake spun the blade facing down in his grip and stabbed the sill, leaving it standing among the countless other puncture marks in the same square inch of window. Then he just stood there and started pondering.

In Blake's life, there was one thing that made him think, and at the end of every day, frustrated him. Every time of the day and night, there would be an explainable feeling within him. He didn't know what was causing it, but it was an ever-present feeling that sometimes grew inside him when he was away from the house. Most often it got stronger near the woods. He had this affliction for a while now. he guessed nearly two years. He had come up with different theories as to what was going on: whether it was a medical defect, a mental problem, even trying as far as to comprehend a supernatural presence which he quickly dismissed. 

Nothing ever made sense.

As he drudged down the stairs of his house, over the subtle creaks and whines of the wooden staircase under his feet, he could hear the thunderous tramples of his families two pet Saint Bernard's Clio and Shadow on the creaky floorboards below. They came running at him, pushed him down to the ground and started slobbering on his face with a great deal of affection. Clio and Shadow were extremely well trained, yet a little too excitable. His father would take them out to the fields to train, daily, with no distractions. But it seemed nearly every morning the dogs would come and knock Blake to the ground. The vast amount of knowledge they kept in their brains vanished once they saw him. It was starting to get on his nerves. Sometimes he felt like pushing them away. Even if he did decide to use force on them, the sheer weight of their bodies would be like trying to push a fully loaded train with an egg without it cracking.