Young Writers Society

Author's Note: I left typing up my chapter to the last minute and so managed very little in time for Review Day. I am kicking myself for doing this. I also apologise for any spelling or grammatical mistakes that I may have made. I'm deaf. It would be a great help if anyone could point them out. Enjoy!

Chapter One

Aya Petrović jolted awake, her sweaty fingers entangled in her bedsheets. Her breath came in short, ragged gasps, the air hissing through her teeth as she breathed in and out. A thin film of sweat coated her forehead and soaked the tips of her dark and spiky short hair.

Groaning softly, Aya slowly sat up and rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands. It had been happening again: the nightmares haunting her whilst she slept, tormenting and twisting her mind. Sickening images flashed through Aya’s mind: a war torn and bloody scene and buildings reduced to rubble. Bodies were sprawled across the grey and ash coated scenery with some of their limbs still intact. Aya clutched a rifle, donning soldier’s uniform as she gazed at the aftermath of the onslaught…

Aya glanced at her alarm clock which stood on her bedside table. In bright red light pulsated the time 3:24, almost blinding in this thick blanket of darkness. The only other source of light came from Aya’s bedroom window, despite the thick and tightly drawn shut curtains that hung in front of it. The deft and clever fingers of the silver moonlight had managed to prise their way underneath the curtains, spilling like water across the carpeted floorboards and gathering into a single and pale puddle.

Aya’s mind was exhausted, drained of energy and hazy with the after effects of sleep but her body raced with a new found energy from her long rest, pulsing through her veins and waking her once dormant limbs.

She could not quite remember the events from last night. The memories were indistinct, as if they had moulded together firmly into one with a strong glue that deemed it a near impossible task to prise them apart. Though, despite this, Aya could recall a great pain that had begun as a mere throb in the middle of a family dinner. It had quickly grown to become a sensation that felt as though a white hot needle had brutally been shoved into her right eye. Aya had retreated to bed after excusing herself from the table and throwing up the little food that she’d eaten for dinner. She had then collapsed on top of her bed still wearing the oversized t-shirt and beige baggy trousers from earlier, her mind numb and body weak and fragile from the disarming agony of the migraine. Aya couldn’t recall tucking herself in under the duvet covers and pulling out her hearing aids. Leo must have done it for her, knowing how understanding, close and protective he was of her.

Yawning, Aya gently swung her legs over the side of her bed, the springs in her mattress creaking softly at the sudden shift of weight upon them. Her toes brushed against the soft carpet of her bedroom before she planted her feet firmly upon the floor. Aya’s muscles protested in their rude awakening as she stood up, threatening to give way.

Aya turned her head to glance back at the bed lying a metre or so next to hers. It was usually occupied by Archie, her younger brother by four years but he was away and travelling with family in France, Bordeaux to be precise. Instead of Archie lying in his bed, Aya’s cousin Leo was sprawled across the mattress, one leg on top of the duvet and the other tangled in the bed sheets somewhere underneath. He slept with his mouth half open, allowing a thin trail of saliva to track its way down the side of his face and soak into the cover of the pillow that he rested his head on. Soft snores escaped from his mouth, though too soft for Aya’s damaged ears to grasp.

For a fleeting moment, a ghost of a smile tugged gently at the corners of Aya’s lips as she observed him. Then it was over. Aya crept silently across the floor as she headed towards the bedroom door, taking care to not place her feet on the particularly creaky floorboards. Once she reached her bedroom door and had tugged it open, Aya looked back to catch a glimpse of Lee shifting his position. She froze as to not create any more noises or vibrations in case he was roused from his slumber. Aya felt relief flood through her veins when he became still.

The landing was dark and eerily quiet. Just up ahead was Aya’s parents’ bedroom and the bathroom which had been built at the top of the staircase. The staircase wound downwards into the hallway which lead directly into the combined living room and kitchen. To the left were two doors that each opened up to the living room and a study. Like the rest of the rooms, these too, were small. Although it was a rather compact house, it was cosy and nevertheless the perfect place to call home.

When Aya’s parents had first met, they both had very little savings and money. Aya’s mother was a refugee who had fled alongside her sister – Leo’s mother – from the war torn lands of Yugoslavia. Since they were fleeing from the advancing Serbian armies, they had carried very little possessions with them. They had immigrated to England, knowing only the basics of the English language as they began their new lives in the hustling and bustling city of London. Aya’s father came from a lower middle class family that had descended from a long line of generations that had lived in England for many thousands of years.

They both met whilst passing by on the streets. Aya’s mother had become lost within the winding and maze-like streets of London. She had begun to panic, knowing that her sister was expecting her to return to the asylum centre soon. Aya’s father had found her tearful and distressed in one of the quieter streets, standing underneath the harsh orange light of a street lamp. Patiently and kindly, he listened to her words as she timidly spoke in the few English words and phrases that she knew. Afterwards, he’d led her towards the asylum centre once he had realised were she’d needed to go. Aya’s mother had never felt such gratitude towards someone that she had never met or spoken to before.

A month later, Aya’s mother and her sister were granted asylum. Their case had proved successful, allowing the pair to finally walk through the streets of London at ease. They had decided, that when the Yugoslavian War ended at last, they would return to Croatia to reunite with their families once more. With the savings that they had begun to earn from their new jobs, the two sisters brought a small flat, just enough for the pair of them.

A few weeks on, she was once again exploring the cryptic and winding London streets when she stumbled upon a beautiful little cafe. It was one of those tiny cafes hidden away in the folds of the concrete jungle, a rare oasis that seemed to offer the solace and peace that she had been craving since she’d moved to the city. It was out of pure coincidence or sheer luck that she had spotted the exact same man who had helped her only a few months earlier, sipping at a freshly poured cup of coffee at a table of two by himself.

She was shy about approaching him at first, unsure of whether he’d still recognise her after all these weeks between their first encounter. She was secretly delighted when she saw a faint flicker of recognition light up in his dark eyes. Their friendship began there. He showed her the winding and maze-like streets of London, acting as her tour guide until she came to know them like the back of her hand as well as the tiny run down district that he lived in. All the while, he taught her new words of English, helping her to become more fluent and confident in speaking the language. What she learned from him, she taught to her sister.

Their friendship quickly developed into a relationship. Within a few months, the couple were searching to buy a small house together with the few wages that they earned each week. Almost a year onwards, they had both saved enough money to buy a tiny two bedroomed house that had been built in the suburban of London, close to where one of the busiest motorways, the M25, sat. It was all they could afford but it was more than enough. The move took a few weeks for them to adapt their new lives to this new house, but they were now at last living together with a place of their own which they could call home.

Later that year, Aya was born.