Chapter 1 of my Story :3
Hi all, I wanted to post the first chapter of the story I've been writing recently so you guys can tell me what you think. It's science-fiction-ish, and I kinda based it on Frankenstein, sort of but not really. But yeah, tell me what you think please!!
A simpler human would begin an account of the events I have played a part in with a statement such as “I regret my actions”. However, I am not a simple human and I do not regret my actions. Nevertheless, I realise that my actions may have caused some distress to the majority of people less fortunate than myself, and so I feel it necessary to give an explanation for my actions. You will see, I am sure, that this is not the story of a strange woman who, with her stupidity, caused misery and suffering, but the story of a woman whose talent and power have left her misunderstood by the society she is surrounded by.
My story begins in the mysterious valley of Stowchester Moors, where I was born and raised by a woman equally as eccentric as myself. I never enjoyed socialising, and mostly stayed in my bedroom with my ever-growing collection of books. However, I once wished the village we resided in was less dilapidated and more of a bustling night-city. In many of my books, I had read about the city life and it had always held a certain allure to my younger self; nowadays, I appreciate the quiet, as it allows me to do my work in peace.
At six years of age, while I ached to stretch my legs outside the confined walls of my mother’s undersized house, I once managed to slip into her office: I was instantly struck by how informal it was. My mother always told me to never enter her office, as there was too much paperwork I could knock over with my over-enthusiastic six year old antics. Until this point, I had been blind, and followed her orders, but always retained a level of curiosity about the only room in the house I was forbidden to enter. I would hear my mother enter the room with a customer many times a day, but never dared to follow her in, or enter alone.
Looking back, I am now able to compare my mother’s place of work with my own; a feat I swore to never fulfill once I found out the truth about the divine. Her office was painted a dark red, with a sturdy wooden table and three chairs installed in the centre of the room. On the table were a vast selection of books about the supernatural, an unusual set of playing cards and what looked like a large pearl on a golden stand. Now, as an adult, I am aware of what these items were for, and am aware of why my mother wanted me to stay out of this particular room: I have discovered first hand that the occult is not something to be taken lightly. It can bring the downfall of anyone who dabbles carelessly.
Soon after, I discovered my mother was known by the rest of the village as a medium, an oracle, a soothsayer. Upon questioning my mother on what these names meant, she described herself simply to be “perpetually smart and talented”. As I was a curious young child, I desired a legitimate answer, and so set out to discover for myself what the truth was.
For hours every day, I would sit in the local library, enveloped in the delicious smell old books, and research what it meant to be a ‘medium’. I was captivated, and yearned to be able to learn this newfound knowledge for myself, but knew that my mother would not approve of me copying her in such a way; consequently, I decided that when I reached the ripe age of thirteen, I would leave the village I felt so restricted by, and begin to learn this divinity companionless.
Had my mother found out about my most recent plan for my future, she would have been less than content. Even at the age of twenty nine, I can imagine her disapproving tone had I told her of my interest in the occult.
“Gwyneth Kendrick, I will not allow you to be part of this business, not even over my own dead body.” And so, at six years of age, even though I had these plans for the future, I feared my mother’s discovery of my interest and managed to quench my thirst for the knowledge temporarily and await the prime opportunity to depart from Stowchester Moors.
At the age of eleven, my opportunity to find a more appealing place to reside came sooner than I had expected. The townsfolk of Stowchester Moors had grown tired of my mother’s line of work, and as a result I came home from school to find my house reduced to ashes and my mother nowhere to be seen. This was most unusual; my mother always stayed at home whilst I was at school, but fortunately the investigators, who proved to be less than useful, found no human remains.
All of my belongings had been destroyed in the fire, apart from the clothes I had worn to school that day and my backpack of novels and non-fiction books. For a moment, while townsfolk muttered amongst themselves and pointed at me, I stood beside what was once my house, and decided subsequently to use what remained of my lunch money and my emergency money to board a train to somewhere, anywhere away from Stowchester Moors.
The walk to the train station was a strange one; I had only ever walked this route through the village with my mother, pointing out anything I found interesting. Today, I saw nothing worth pointing out to anyone: the only mildly interesting situation in the village was the smoking ashes of what was once my home. Indeed, whether on my own or with her, I was the victim of many whispered comments and pointed fingers. In small villages such as that one, news spread like a disease, and it appeared everyone had already heard about my destroyed house and missing mother.
Some people were sympathetic and offered me a place to stay, which I kindly declined, but others were less happy to see me and pulled their curtains tightly shut or ushered their children away from the window. It seemed they had forgotten that I was a mere child, not the monster that hid under children’s beds, haunting people’s dreams at night.
To this day, I refuse to accept that my mother is bereft of life; I also refuse to use my talents to find her, for if she left by choice, I believe she had a reason, and whatever that reason is, I will not be the one to question it. However, if I find evidence that she was forced into departing our home, I will find whoever forced her into it. Over the years, I have used my talents to prevent certain events from happening in the future; mostly for good, but I can also make bad things happen to people that commit dark deeds.
Once I had arrived at the train station, there was already a train waiting, beckoning me towards freedom, a new beginning. Without hesitation, I purchased a ticket and boarded the train, settling into a seat and gazing out of the window, waiting for my new life to drift into view. It wasn’t until the train crawled out of the station that I discovered I was heading towards a humble town named Hawkescastle; the town was notoriously plain and uneventful, something which I yearned after years of strange events with my mother.
As I watched the fields fly past outside my window, I began to believe that my mother, if she could see what I was doing, would want me to carry on her legacy. Subsequently, I vowed to visit the library and eagerly devour every hardback and paperback, newspaper and magazine which contained anything about the occult, and begin my practicing of the divine. Now, I realize I should have kept well away from the supernatural: things might have been different should I have led a normal life, forgetting what I witnessed my mother practicing all of those times in our home.
Aboard that train, I pulled out one of my books from my backpack and began to read, attempting to ease my mind, when I considered changing my name to prevent anyone from knowing me or my mother. After searching the book for an hour and testing each synonym for fate and destiny I could find, I settled with Meskhenet, the Egyptian goddess associated with the concept of fate.