This Soil ⌖ n.h. [slow updates]

chapter one

Helen sat in her English class, a blank expression on her face. The teacher had yet to walk in, and therefore the class was talking. Of course, lately, all anyone could talk about was the war. The war, the draft, the Europeans; everyone liked to discuss it as if they actually knew what was going on. Which they didn't. That much was obvious to anyone with the not-so-common gift of common sense.

"Hey, Helen. What do you think?"

This voice jerked Helen out of her irritated thoughts, and she swiftly turned to face a boy with dark hair. He was eyeing her intently.

Helen rolled her eyes. "What do I think of what?" she asked.

The boy grinned slyly, almost as if he was impressed. Helen now noticed that the class had gone nearly silent, and the majority of eyes present were trained upon her. "Well, we were talking about the draft. However, I seem to recall that you haven't ever offered any opinions on the war at all."

The young man, whose name Helen knew to be Malcolm Brady, was what one might call roguish. Tousled hair, relaxed posture, and that insufferable smirk essentially gave an individual the marrow of who he was. It seemed to her that anymore, wealthy, ecocentric blighters were a dime a dozen. In other words, Miss Helen Saxton's interest was not nearly peaked.

"A keen assessment," she replied sardonically.

Malcolm chuckled, bringing up an arm to rest his chin on his fist. "And is there any reasoning behind your silence?"

A pin falling to the floor would have been well audible at that present moment. Helen was clearly an attractive, intelligent young girl. In addition, though her family did not exactly have money to toss into the streets, she was in no way poor. Though undeniably pessimistic, and somewhat unapproachable, people cared what Helen had to say. It really is too bad that she didn't care.

"Well, I wouldn't want to sound like a parrot," she answered with faux innocence. Both her expression and voice turned sour as she added, "Incessantly babbling, but never comprehending my words." She crossed one leg over another and adjusted her posture, now sitting up completely straight. Cocking her head to the side, she narrowed her eyes at the young man before her. "Do you really want to know what I think?" She waited for no answer. "I think that is how everyone sounds."

The teacher, Ms. Ralston, who was a willowy woman with chestnut waves always pulled back into a tight bun, entered the classroom. The majority of heads in the class whipped to their right to watch her stride in. However, not even this stopped Helen in her onslaught.

"I believe that none of us really know what is going on across the seas. What I think, Mr. Brady, is that we should all stop pretending that we are more informed than we really are. Just as listening to a fool utilizing an enlarged vocabulary incorrectly is an assault on the ears, likewise is listening to a fool who pretends to be an expert regarding situations he knows nothing of, nor is affiliated with in any way." Helen turned to face the front of the room, folding her hands atop her desk. "That, Mr. Brady, is what I think of your war."

Softly, under his breath, Helen heard Malcolm laugh. "Scathing," he whispered, to which she made no reply.

Ms. Ralston quirked an eyebrow, assessing the state of affairs. Finally, after quite a few moments of cumbersome quiet weighed down the room, she cleared her throat. "Hm. Interesting opinion, Miss Saxton," she commented, then began to cross over to her desk and grab a book with a dark green cover. "I will keep it in mind."

Helen did not reply to this comment either, simply retrieving paper and something to write with for the coming lesson. Eventually all students followed suit, and thus ensued a lesson on the works of Shakespeare.

Helen found solace in this fellow compatriot of reason. Of witty remarks and biting irony. A companion through not the dark, but the hazy gray.

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a/n: so so so

was that incredibly boring

is helen irritating you with her pessimistic ways

am i getting annoying now

if you answered yes to any of those questions you may qualify for compensation which is my deepest apologies and a cookie

the picture to the side is helen bc this is my book ok

this story takes place in america sometime between 1917 and 1918 aka during world war one so yeah keep that in mind. i will determine an exact time frame (just like in 'one year for fire') when i can

if you could vote and comment that'd be awesome