Hey guys how is everyone doing? I hope y'all doing just fine.

I have been wanting to write a book for some time now about my life; however, I am not 100% done with it yet and am seeking opinions and feedback.

I hope you enjoy this little preview.

CHAPTER I

The air was cold and crisp; the sight of breath coming out of my five-year-old mouth pushing back into the atmosphere like smoke that drifted out of a chimney. The ground underneath my feet scrunching with each and every step that I took throughout the dark parking lot I was in. My gentle jet black hair swooshing backward and forward by the hand of the wild, freezing, arctic air pushing backward with each and every step that I took. I loved it. The wind was my friend but at the same time my most passionate rival; I envied him so much and still to this day I do. The wind has no limits, no margins, and no restraints, it can just pick up and travel wherever and however it may desire. With a sharp snap, I was back to reality, to that dark, cold half-empty parking lot and slowly warming up. Long, wavy, red hair brushing against my face followed by a gentle and soothing caress and kiss on the cheek. Its warmth came with such a powerful feeling of innocence, purity and unconditional love that was as deep as the deepest and darkest depths of the Mariana Trench. Those red lips that once left a red mark on my face whispered two words in my ear. "Happy birthday". She pulled me in closer and whilst she locked her arms around me shielding me from the bitter cold air, so softly she said again, "happy birthday son". If heaven was a person, it could be my mother. Piercing green/blue eyes, pale white skin, long wavy red hair and lips as soft as butter. She was always beautiful and still to this day she remains flawless like the most beautiful rose in the garden. She grasped my hand and we headed into the tall, brick building that was sitting in front of us inviting to the warmth that was contained within its red brick walls. Christmas had just gone and still present in the air and within the place that we were; buy one get one-half price offers, fifty percent off and many more on all the old Christmas gift sets. Pastries and freshly baked muffins were what filled the air as we walked past the bakery stall, my stomach growling more and more for the distant thought of "tea time" that seemed to be just that; a thought. Despite the fact that I was quite clearly complaining about how hungry I was, my mum would just say "it's not quite time yet". Call it child intuition but she was stalling.

Finally, almost as though I had reached the promised land, Mcdonald was there. The sweet aroma and smell of patties cooking on the stove filled me with joy and excitement. Food glorious food was all that crossed my mind. making our way to the counter, a small blonde girl so cornily asked: "can I take your order please!" despite the excitement of the thought of food arriving, I was quickly disappointed and confused as we were escorted upstairs and into a room that I never knew existed. The suspense was killing me as my heart started hammering against my chest as the creek of the door became more and more ominous. And then the piercing shrieks and cries filled my ears as everyone stated "happy birthday Alex".

Everyone was here, my brothers, my sister and all my friends from school.

The party progressed; we played innocent child games such as musical chairs, musical statues, pass the parcel which all followed by a vast McDonalds happy meal feast and of course, a cake. This cake was exceeding the ordinary pasty sponge you would get from McDonald; it was a rich, creamy and as soft as cotton accompanied with an edible sugar statue of Harry Potter on his broomstick in pursuit of the golden snitch. It was perfect or so I thought. As my eyes ventured the room, scanning and seeking my heart began to sink to the furthest point of my abdomen. The one person that a young boy would ever want to be at his birthday is his father. My mother is a very intuitive woman and can always tell when something is wrong; making her way toward me, with her flawless presence and complexion, she so careful caressed my cheek and asked what was wrong. Me, being the sensible and empath that I am, didn't want to trouble anyone or ruin the spirit of the party so I shrugged it off and told her I was fine. The night went on and the once piercing and deafening screaming of children slowly died down as the night carried on; “these people must really know me!” I said to my self in a bit of a chuckle. Harry Potter gifts were left right and center. Gryffindor scarfs, Gryffindor capes, and much more Harry Potter gift sets and bundles great for a dress-up night; the best gift of them all, however, was a tacky plastic replica of Harry’s Nimbus 2000. If one could die of pure excitement, I would have been the very first victim! Who cares right? It’s Harry Potter and that is all that I could think about at that moment and time. At the time I didn’t quite understand why I had such a deep and lasting obsession with HP; however, looking back now it all makes sense. Children tend to look and turn to something to help deal with a current situation either at home or at school. The magical world ignited my heart and I would a watch Harry Potter and the philosophers stone over and over again! I couldn’t wait to receive my Hogwarts letter. Little did I know at the time that it was not real; or maybe I did? One by one, almost like clockwork, the guests started exiting the room and heading back home to put the kids to bed; a part of me felt jealousy toward them, seeing them head into the car and see them rush over to greet their fathers was more than what my heart could handle. I put the thought to lay in my head as I exited the building focusing on the bags upon bags of gifts that I got. We slowly made our way toward the exit and to the parking lot where my grandparents' car was parked; I gasped and struggled to catch my breath as the arctic air hit me pushing me backward whilst nipping at my nose, ears and wrapping itself around my delicate and tiny ribs. It was silent; I was expecting to hear an owl hooting in the nearby, blacked out trees, however, it was “dead” silent. Snow scrunching underneath my feet as the wind blew harder and harsher as my little frame made itself toward the car; the only calming and warming presence was my mother. Her fiery red hair and red naturally red cheeks made even redder by the cold were enough to both illuminate and warm the room. Trying not to fall asleep, I lay my head gain the pitch black window watching the lights go by as my little mind wondered where my father was and what he might be up to and why he couldn’t come to my birthday party.

Read:  Thoughts on this pseudo-prologue?

I was rattled and shaken from side to side by non-other than my elder sister Lauren yelling at me to wake up. Lauren is just like mother, pale skin, piercing blue eyes and lush blonde hair. She was the complete opposite of me; pure English. I eventually came around me leaped out of the car with my Nimbus 2000 in one hand and my bag of gift in the other. As I made myself out of the car, I gazed upon our small but cozy house and as an easy feeling flooded every fiber of my being. Despite my child anxiety, I made my way into the house and took a deep breath of cozy, warm air letting it fill my lungs and warm through my entire body. Home sweet home. I kissed my mum goodnight and rushed upstairs to bed. At the time there was four of us (kids), and we all shared one small room. Lauren and Josh had their bunkbed on the right side of the room and me and my little brother Matteo had our bunkbed on the left side of the room; we didn’t have much furnishings, however, the one thing that stood out was the built-in closet in the wall. Lauren has always been an artist and she is darn good at it too; she spray painted the entire closet doors with characters from our favorite movie. My side of the closet was dominated by a huge metallic silver painted Harry Potter, Matteo’s side was extensively decorated with numerous Thunderbirds and if my memory serves me right, Lauren and Josh’s side were just plain…dull. I went to sleep pretty swiftly, however, I was woken up by a rattling downstairs; the first thought that popped into my tiny brain was it was father, so I rushed out of bed and made my way downstairs.

The house was fairly old, so I was trying my best not to make any noise and avoid any whining floorboards; hastily I made myself to the top of the staircase and just as I thought, it was father… getting slapped across the face by my mother. I could only watch from a distance taking advantage of the unlit staircase as encasing myself in the darkness as I watched both jumbled and horrified from above. My father is your classic run of the mill Italian; small in stature, jet black hair and dark olive toned skin and has an attitude problem. Looking back at everything, that slap was well deserved. The white work shirt that he was wearing was dotted with reddish patches around the collar region leading onto the neck; at the time I had no idea what was going on and seemed like a dream until my mother started weeping and sobbing uncontrollably. I was alone, sat on a step of the murky staircase looking down at the foulest scene my young eyes could have ever experienced. Nevertheless, I wasn’t alone. Reaching from the shows of the corridor, an arm yanked me back into the room and to “safety”. Lauren. Expecting a scolding I surrendered myself to a brutal telling off; however, to my surprise, I was met with a warm embrace and a four gentle reminder. “It will be fine”. She has always been like that, always playing the other mother and the role of the big sister. One may look at her and think she is put together but she has eyes like the ocean, deep and mysterious. A daughters first love is always her father, and she has already felt the everlasting singe of a broken heart. See, mum was in a relationship with another guy, who so happens to be Lauren and Joshua’s biological father for those who haven’t figured the math. I never actually met the guy, but I have heard stories; stories about how he used to brutally beat my mother whilst Lauren would sit and watched in utter terror; little did I know that this would be a clear foreshadowing of events yet to come. I vaguely remember the next day, but I do remember the feeling in that room; no one was talking to each other but the deafening sound of silence was soon shattered by temper tantrums of my two-year-old little brother Matteo. Oh, he did love to make a scene. They say that when a new day comes, it is like being reborn again, almost like you can start all over again and forget about any heartache that was brought by the preceding day; however, my child mind couldn’t stop pondering about the previous night. About that night. As I was sat on the snug, wrinkled seats of the tram, my mother sat next to me, all became a haze as I curved my head in the direction of the rushing grass, trees, buildings as I remained sat in that seat, almost as if time was moving around me, whilst I remained stuck in that one moment in time. People, faces, voices all disappeared into a sea of time that was “speeding” past me as I continued to look at myself and through myself in the window. I was rudely awakened that a sharp tug and sharp but also soft and almost maternal like voice calling out my name and everything around me became one again. Lauren held my hand as we made our way onto the dark grey pavement of the brick-lined tram stop surrounded by an open emerald field on one and concrete on the other. The winter air nipping at my nose and my breath escaped my body through every breath. It was ritual; we were on our to my nan and grandads house just before school to have second breakfast and most likely to stuff our faces to all sorts of chocolates and sweets. Stuffy, warm air hit my face as my snow-covered wellies made their way through the white door and onto the oak wood flooring, melting as quick as it came in. Perfume as strong as you could imagine twitched your nose upon arrival and the sound of an almost song-like voice traveled across the living room, into the hallway by the door; the door crooked upon revealing a white face, lightly wrinkled, piercing blue eyes, red hair and the warm, loving and embracing smile of my grandmother rushing toward us for that maternal like embrace. In the fading background, whistles from the boiling teapot over the stove accompanied by an old mans voice. My grandfather. Still as white-haired as I remember. My grandfather was a quiet man, not shy or timid but, quiet. Warm laughter and the sweet aroma of tea leaves seeping soon dissipated in the air as time went as fast as we came in; before I know it, my breathe is once again escaping my small vessel, rushing to be free with the rest of the cold atmosphere that surrounded me my feet climbed and crunched stairs covered in thick icy snow. The once evergreen field that was my school seemed like a far distant memory as white filled both the heavens and the land below. What was once quiet and peaceful was no more and the laughter and screaming of tens of dozens of children my age above filled the valley that was my school. My crispy air still pinching away at my little frame and wrapping itself around me tight to quiver as we all fell into line like little tin soldiers waiting to march into battle. As everyone else faced the day almost as though they were struggling for survival, I marched on and submerged my head into books; childrens books, rhyme books and works of art far past my years. Almost like the wind itself had crashed through the windows and wrapped around me, freedom filled the air as my childlike self let loose and seemingly lived more than one life, traveled many places, battled many creatures all from the comfort of a hard-back covered and satin like pieces of paper.

Read:  Everyones story

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