Chapter 2: Hayley
I made a really stupid bet with a friend a few months ago. I quickly came to regret it, but at the time I had no idea what far reaching consequences it would have for me, and for my mother.
My name's Hayley, I'm 18 and in my first year at university. I share a flat near the campus with two other girls. Simone's a huge black chick who throws the discus for the British junior team.
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I had an uncomfortable few days after I ran into my former lesbian lover out at our village fete. I hadn't seen her for 25 years, I hadn't heard a peep from her in all that time, since I was 18, in fact. I'd married and raised an adult daughter, become a respected pillar of local society -- and then one day she turned up out of the blue!
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For generations, the Royal Family had been protected by the elite Royal Guard, given the best training and the most advanced weapons to date. With a proud heritage which stretched back generations, the Royal Family had always been under the protectorate one family.
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We buried Brennan on a typical July afternoon, hot and restless. Heavy, dark clouds hung overhead and the smell of rain was sharp and sweet. Mr. Kennedy, Patrick and my father dug Brennan's grave beside his father, mother and younger sister, spilling dark soil across the verdant grass. Father Landon stood at the head of the grave and read from his ancient bible.
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Neeta stared out of the window of the coach, the mountain air cool against her warm face. As the wind fanned her face she felt all her troubles falling away far into the depths of the valley below. Looking towards the mountains, she fervently hoped that this holiday would revive her sagging spirits and confidence in herself.
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The morning is so bright and clear. The sounds of the birds playing in trees could reach me from where I'm sitting under a huge oak tree. The park is still not crowded as it's still early for most people to come out. The sound of the birds and the gentle breeze coming from the trees combined to put me in a peaceful mood, which is exactly what I need.
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I lay on my side, on my expensive 600 thread count Egyptian cotton sheets. At that moment I felt childish for crying like a baby. People died all the time and no one knew that better than me. As a heart surgeon it was my job to repair the otherwise irreparable and I was good at my job. Years of careful planning and dedication had gotten me that.
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"Just look at the view from this place!" screamed the excited new associate. The balcony at the Metropolitan Theatre overlooked the multitude of rows of patrons shuffling to their seats, getting ready for the show to begin.
"Get used to it," said Heather Franklin. "We're in the big league now."
"And to think we're barely starting out at the firm," said her animated friend. "Did you see the signing bonus? It's more than everyone at our old place made put together."
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The sun shone blindingly, its radiance and emanating warmth serving as a deceitful mirage, a false comfort that belied the earth's frigid cold. Yet, its beauty was genuine, reminiscent of vintage holiday greeting cards. The snow sparkled with what seemed like an endless bounty of fragmented diamonds, its vast blanket spread out across pure expanses of slopes and dipping valleys, their virginity untouched by the invasive violations of civilization.
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I stood at the altar of Holy Cross Cathedral, slowly suffocating. The church was filled with candles and despite the snow falling outside, I felt as if I were melting. I wore my mother's wedding dress and while photographs proved it to be was beautiful and elegant on her, I was crushed beneath its weight.
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