The hot summer days of Ziironie do not nearly compare to the winters of Yance. I think I might have died the second I stepped of aircraft, but if Zufu could cope with this for her entire childhood I think I could cope with the cold for a week. A week. It wasn’t that long was it? I just had to get The Last Phoenix and bring it back to Ziironie. Then all would be well. Easy.
I took a deep breath, reached for the steel bannister and took my first step down the familiar steps. How many times had I boarded The First. The hefty price of machinery glides on wind, floats in water and hovers of ground. A maze of concrete rooms and steel walls and yet on the outside it seems a shiny, brass plate. Ahhh what wonder. It’s beauty would never fail to impress me.
I heard me footsteps eco around me as a strode off The First and over the vast wear-house floor. Seas that I have sailed, skies that I have flew and all the mountains I have hiked and yet nothing would prepare me for what I was about to face. Snow. Oh snow… things of picture books, looks quaint from a distance, soft and white, but when the huge, warehouse doors swung back with a clatter I would not ever recover from the blizzard I saw. The general Ziironie breeze was one thing, it raging sun another, but boy I had never seen Yance’s wondrous snow.
The sky had never looked so blue, Grass had never looked so green. The sun had never looked so bright, The world had never felt so keen.
I walked down the street I had always knew, The same suburb houses and motorway roar. yet the sky had never looked so blue, And my heart swelled with dread no more.
I heard the same cars that buzz down roads, I smelt the same petrol that has me sick. I saw the same houses that stores my debt, But now it was my happiness I had to pick.
I did not now what will happen tomorrow, I cannot change what happened today. I cannot help the emotions I feel, But I do control the things that I say.
Todays mistakes are tomorrows lesson, Tomorrows mistakes still lie uncovered. And I still have a tomorrow to help me, So much to learn and to be discovered.
Money does make me happy, Cars do bring me me joy, But so d9 the smiles on faces, Of all the little girls and boys
I am happy because I say I am, I am good because I know my worth. I am strong because I know I am right, I am more valuable that all the Myrrh.
I work hard to get what I want, I am imperfect and still I try. I am not given the thing I earn, But people’s love for me is never dry.
And some times I get things wrong, And some things I do thing I only regret. And some times I act to fast, And others expectation are not met.
But still for my long life, I still I never do give in. Everyday I still try my best, And every day I always win.
If you want too race then race your self, Then you know you will always win. That doesn’t mean you can’t ask for help, Or admit you are yet too learn to swim
“Dilara” the angel called, her voice a soft whisper. “Where are you going Dilara, what are you doing,”
Dilara froze,her eyes lay on her blood-stained hands and her white dresses pattern with deep, red splatters. Who had she become? She looked up, auburn hair tumbling done her face a glint of emerald marbles peeping through stray strains. The wind howled, a torrent of darkness flooded the night and still she stood, all alone in the evergreen forest.
“You must pay the demand for your debt,” she heard the angel voice call out of the darkness. “You must repay the demon for what you stole,”
“I…I cannot pay the demon,” Dilara managed, her voice a quavering whisper. “I cannot give back the life that I stole,”
“Then you must give something of equal value,” came the dreaded whisper. Dilara… you must spit your soul.
I heard it did you? Oh is it true? I would so love it to be true. Wouldn’t you?
I heard in at the shop last week, I saw old Edward looking weak. What was I to do! Watch him bend there, tying his shoe.
So I help him, He thank me so achkess in the lim. Ripe enough to swim, Was him.
In return he told me what he heard, At the library that day, It left me stirred, Yes it left me stirred. What I heard.
This is what he said, Old Ted, Yes Ted, This is what he said,
You would hear a pin drop, You would hear a bubble pop. So you would certainly hear Pam, Talk about Sam?
You know the marriage has been, Not very clean, You have probably seen, Not very clean the marriage has been.
Pam talk about laces, She talked about faces, She talked about Sam moving places. Yes Pam talked about laces, She talked about faces, She talked about Sam moving places,
Her voice so dramatic, You know she as asthmatic, Yes she is asthmatic, More asthmatic, Than the little, white mouse she keep in her attic, But they are storeys for a different day. Now back on our way.
She said she has told her husband to move, Yes she told her husband to move, Out the house she told her husband to move. Out the house she said, And that startled Ted. You know he is a good friend of Sam, Oh poor ‘ittle lam
It was the worst day to get lost on a mountain.
I’m not entirely sure there is a good day to get lost on a mountain. If I was to choose a day, then it would be a day that I had my rain coat, some food and something to drink. It would not be a day were I had a three hour time limit to get over mount shrababa.
Well…I guess you can’t have everything I thought as I strode over a rocky ledge, the wind pinching my cheeks until they were red. If I could have just a bottle of water that would be great. Now I think of it there seems to be no lack of water around here; The wind against me pushing all the rain into my face.
Still I went on, mustering up all the resilience I still had in me, which was not a lot, and remembered the reason I was here. For generations down, father after son after mother after daughter, it has been up to my family to protect the valleys and the springs of Mount Shrababa and preserve it ancient and rich history without an means of Adam’s Army destroy it stunning glory. All I had to do is, like the rest of my family has or will do, prove that I was worthy of the Shrababa surname and the title of a Shrababian protecter. Simple. All that lay just across the mountain. I could do this… no I can do this.
Snap! Michel peered into his camera expectingly. This was the twentieth time he had tried to take the picture. His smile flickered, then vanished from his face, replaced by disgust. It still was not right. All around him was the hustle and bustle of the city, yet he didn’t even notice it’s frantic beauty. His eyes only lay on his craft, photography, and the cathedral that lay before him.
Stains Paul’s Cathedral was a naturally stunning structure, one could not help, but admire it amazing architecture and delicate dome. Oh what wonder.
At first Michel had agreed, as most would do, that this truly was a phenomenal work of the human craft and yet after many a glance at its charm he became immune to its greatness. Maybe his job prevented him from of seeing what truly was glory, he only wanted to capture its delight it one minute square, not to share, but to swap for money. What good would that do to him? He wanted to hold the memory in a photo, share the memory’s, sell the memory, instead of live in the moment. Surely this is not what opportunities are made for.
Michel pondered this with great consideration. He tried to enlighten his self, rewire his mind to its beauty, but he couldn’t. Fromm then on he only saw to cathedral as a reference to his art.
Tap. I woke up with a jolt. Tap. There it was again. A gentle tapping sound coming from inside my wardrobe. My body filled with fear. I had moved out of my parents house three months ago; no one else was in the house. Yes, that’s right, no one else is in the house. I locked all my doors and windows and… the basement. Oh no the basement. My basement can be opened from the outside. Tap. Tap. Heart pounding, breath racing, I found I couldn’t move. What was I too do? I wanted to disappear. I wanted whoever, or whatever, was behind that door to disappear. My eyes adjusted to the gloomy darkness. Petrified. I was petrified.
“Who….” I managed to whisper my voice quavering. The tapping stopped. This gave me a little confidence. “Who’s there.”
Silence.
Pure silence.
“I have a gun.” This was a lie. A desperate lie. I tried my best to sound assured, my voice without falter. I failed. I knew I was stuttering, yet my head seemed to be spinning a hundred miles per hour and I felt sick. Very sick. Maybe it was the chocolate ice cream from yesterday, maybe not. Maybe it was the fact I was staring at a wardrobe unsure I was talking to nothing… something…someone. I how I hope it isn’t some one.
The next thing that happed terrified me so much, 8 hate to talk about it. A deep, male voice said
“Lila, I am back,”
I looked through the shard of glass that lay in my hand only to find the person who had been holding me back all of these years, stoping me from doing what I truly wanted to do, making me believe I was worthless staring back at me. I was looking into a broken mirror and I was seeing me.
This was the “Cordillera”. What sort of person names a Mirror, I know. But my mother did and she named it after her mother, my grandmother. The mirror was found my grandma fifty years ago at a time of great need. Grandma grew up poor and thus had never had the privilege to own a mirror. The day she found the looking-glass, fully conditioned, in the dumpster was the day her mother , my great-grandmother, had fatally past away. She was only young but this mirror help her realise that miracles really could happen. And yes, finding a mirror, at least for her, was a miracle. I gave her the courage to carry on.
Looking out of my first-class carriage window I saw luscious green fields where wild foliage crawled out from in between the fields like weeds and pavement slabs, nature taking ahold of the ground. I heard the loud huffs and p uffs of the train, so near and yet so distant. There is not a feeling quite like being on a mission and I for one should know, I have encountered many.
I turned the Rebecca only to find that she was sleeping peacefully upon the seat beside me. I smiled. It had been hours since we set of from Paddington Station, their cases filled the brim with the average travelling essentials, some less average. Yes beneath the clothes and passports one may find a magnifying glass, finger print samples, cases books and most importantly the book of all the most dangerous criminals in history. Great pressure was on us to keep a good care of it, some people cannot be trusted with such a object. I don’t think that Rebecca can be trusted very many things, she knows what she wants and wouldn’t let anything get in her way. She seems to think that everything is as they are simply for her own benefit, but look under her hard service and she is as kind as anything. She would hurt a fly… thinking of that she probably would. But still.
As if to answer my calls, at that moment she woke up with a jolt. Still not a blond hair out of place, her blue eyes filled with confusion, then curiosity, then realisation.
“Mathew!” She smiled. A sweet smile… a dreaded smile. “I was just asleep,”
“I see that,”
“I was just wondering if we could be go and get some chocolate cake from the dinning cart,” she said.
“Rebecca! You have already had three slices.”
“I can eat what I want,”
“Then when bother asking me,”
But she was gone. I was left alone with my thoughts again. Just me and my thoughts. This was without a doubt, where I am the most happy. I thought about home, Hashlington Minor, and my family, my parents and my three sibling, then I got down to business. Hidden in the grounds of Trimingford estate, there is a hidden chest filled with treasure. Long lost treasure. It was a reported to us by a old man walking a dog in the public fields of the large estate when he tripped on a mound of grass. His dog began digging deep and found the treasure, the man called us and we were sent to investigate. I5 would of just been classified a petty theft, but there has been suspicious happens going on in the Minor for the last three month now. Gold coins have been scattered around the fields and interestingly there has been a local scandal in the past year at the near by village. A man, mr T.F Smith, who runs a antique shop at the end of Penbrook Avenue under price priceless family jewels be hundreds of pounds! The general happenings are very strange. I wish to find out more.
At that moment, there came a slam of the door and I grinning Rebecca came through a slab of chocolate cake in her hands. Naturally she didn’t think to get me one. I did not bring it up.
“Developments on the case,” she mumbled, her mouth filled with chocolate cake.
“Not yet” I replied after consideration. “You?”
She shook her head.
And that was that. I will not write down the following happening since not much happened. Just thinking of old cases. Reminiscing.
***
I wish I could back in time and not open the chest. Then I would of never found out that it was was my own father, Lord Lawson, was the terrible thief responsible for the mysterious scandals taking place in the area. For that I will live a life time of regret.