A Calling

Chapter 1 - The Sun

Racing through the grand, monochrome hallway, for once not taking the time to stop and gaze upon the magnificent artworks of the 15th century towers and churches with towering spires and beautiful golden, blue and red stories of which lay rested within stained glass. The frames, British elm wood with lightly engraved spirals of elegance and beauty. Gripping the firm ebony banister for an easy turn to fly down the glossed oak stairs and into the moodset kitchen of deep toned grays in the wallpaper, maroon tiles loitering above the always pristine marble countertop, knife and spatula rack of untouched luxuries and shimmering, clean blades hanging firmly above the untainted glass cutting boards and modern black oven with a built in plate warmer. The empty grey fridge-freezer nestled in the corner next to the virgin, cream colored cupboards. The glistening reflection from the perfectly clean, polished laminate flooring would almost blind me if it weren't for the fact that my interest was held elsewhere. I was looking at something else, someone else. His gaze met mine and I had almost forgotten why I was in such a rush.

"School?" Inquired Arthur,

With the sudden rush of realisation I panicked and began to stutter a response. Unsuccessfully, I had to make myself leave before I could embarrass myself further. Ofcourse he was back. He went on a business trip weeks ago and somehow I'd forgotten all about it. Its not like his absence made a difference to my life, we were never really that close anyway. I guess I should be grateful, after all he did take me under his wing and raise me after I'd been left at the doorstep of a children's home when I was just a few months old. They named me Jake Rowley, Jake after the Greek meaning, "held by the heel." Whatever that's supposed to mean... And Rowley after the building I was found by, Rowley House. I grew up in and out of foster care until about the age of eight, And there she was, Mary Nightingale, and ofcourse her miserly, stone-cold husband, Arthur Nightingale. Mary gave me love as if I were her own, she was a gentle, kind and loving woman. She raised me to the best of her ability although Arthur consistently refused to have anything to do with, "A boy who is not my own." 

Mary died just last year. There were no signs, no warnings. One night she just slipped away from us and that was all. Natural causes? As if! Now I'm stuck with Arthur, I believe his (somewhat) love for Mary is the only thing keeping him from sending me back into the system. I'm 16 currently, 17 in November...Legally. They don't know when my birthday really is, it's just when they found me..

The modern wood door creaked open on its fresh new hinges, shivering from the icy sensation gifted upon me by the shimmering and elegant metal door handle, I awkwardly danced my way through the doorway, letting the sharp ripples of the biting cold deliver its way up my spine. Although I was in a rush, I couldn't help myself from looking up at the grand mansion to marvel at its magnificent structure and white rose bushes of which lined the widened gravel pathway out onto the dull road. Mary's favorite. The house looking almost as youthful as a newborn child, it seemed to peer down at me with its gargantuan window eyes within its smooth, dark-bricked wall face. The wooden door shut and motionless. This place is truly amazing, too much for someone as undeserving as I. Snapping back to reality, the brand new white stallion limousine beeped its horn for me to hurry myself.