First page of Nicholas and Aretha's Story

Hey loves! It's Shani and like Lydia I just completed the first page of my Creative Writing course work so I thought I would share it with you all. The title of my story isn't going to be Nicholas and Aretha's story I just haven't thought of a proper name for the story yet. This story is focused around a group of teenagers who all have supernatural powers. Nicholas and Aretha are twins who were separated at the age of six due to their mother's death, Nicholas ends up living with his uncle Myron, Nicholas and Aretha's mother's younger brother, and Aretha's location is currently unknown. Nicholas thinks that his twin died along side his mother and the story is basically about how Nicholas learns to control his powers and how he meets Aretha again. I am currently writing a prologue for this, however I wanted to attempt the first page to try and show the dynamics between Nicholas and Myron. The narrator is 3rd person so the P.O.V. will probably end up jumping around a fair amount. I hope you guys enjoy this and remember it's only a first draft!

 “Are you sure you want to go?”

Nicholas rolled his eyes at Myron for the sixth time that morning. “Yes, I’m sure,”

Myron frowned at his nephew from across the breakfast table in their kitchen, the worry lines on his young face growing more prominent by day, his concern for Nicholas eclipsed everything, a fact that Nicholas found comforting, but most of the time suffocating.

Nicholas finished chewing his Cheerio’s and dropped the spoon onto the counter. “Look I can’t stay hauled up in this flat for the rest of my life,”

“So you think it’s wise to venture out by yourself; when you have no idea what danger lies before you?” Myron said, raking his hand through his fair, shaggy hair, a habit which he did when he was nervous.

“And who’s idea was it that I hide myself away?” Nicholas bit out. “I’ve wanted to go outside for years, but you insisted that I stay hidden,”

“That was for your protection,”

Nicholas sighed. He hated fighting with Myron, on some level he understood his uncle’s concerns, but that didn’t mean he agreed with them.

“I’m sixteen, Myron, I think I’m old enough to protect myself by now,”

“For goodness sake, Nicholas, you’re still a child!” Myron yelled and gestured madly into the space around him, almost knocking over his cup of coffee. “How am I supposed to look after you when you won’t let me?”

“Can we please argue about this later? I’m going to be late for school,”

Nicholas got down from the bar stool he was perched on and walked swiftly across the room, he reached to grab his jacket from the coat hanger beside the front door and slung it over his shoulder. He could feel his uncle staring at him, his blue eyes fixed on the back of Nicholas’ skull. Nicholas’ fingers began to twitch; a stupid habit he had picked up from his uncle. He could feel the waves of anxiety rolling off of Myron. A tidal wave of skittishness that made Nicholas tingle. Reluctantly, he twisted his body around to face his uncle once more.

“I’m sorry, I know that you’re worried but I’ll be fine,” Nicholas said. He reached for the brass, doorknob on the front door, desperate to twist the handle, throw the door wide open and finally have his freedom. But he hesitated. Nicholas turned his head and looked over his shoulder. “If anything does happen I’ll phone you straight away, I swear,”

The small smile that graced his uncle’s face made the built up tension in Nicholas dissipate. He felt a smirk spread across his cheeks, the ease that the two of them usually shared returning to normal.

“Have you got everything you need?” Myron asked, before Nicholas could turn once more and race out the room.

“Yes,”

“Are you certain? Have you got money for lunch?”

Nicholas fought the urge to roll his eyes for the seventh time. “Yes,”

“Your bus pass? Mobile phone?”  Myron pressed him. “House keys?”

“Yes, yes, and yes! Uncle Myron I have everything, now I seriously need to go!”

His uncle nodded at him in approval, the smile small still present on his face. “Alright, alright get on out of here,” Nicholas whirled around and flung the front door open. He froze for a moment. The empty corridor loomed in front of him, the daunting prospect of what could be out there waiting for him, lurking around the corners, made a part of him want to slam the door shut and run back into his uncle’s arms. But he couldn’t do that, he had come this far and he knew he would regret turning back the moment he did. Nicholas stepped over the doorway.

“Oh, and Nicholas?” Myron called out to him once more, Nicholas turned his body to glance back at his uncle. “Good luck, kid,”

Grinning, Nicholas gave him a slight wave and then practically ran down the empty corridor. Myron came out of the flat and watched him disappear around the corridor, listened for the swing of the door as his nephew reached the building’s stairs, and the thump of Nicholas’ feet as he descended down them. He needed a cigarette. The bitter tang of tobacco would soothe him. He hadn’t had one in months and he knew Nicholas would scold him when he came home. If he came home.

He really needed a cigarette.

London was absolute hell in the morning. People swarmed the streets carrying briefcases, heels click-clacking against the cracked pavements, and greasy packages of McDonald’s breakfast drifted through the open air. It used to frighten Nicholas. The city had burned too brightly for him when he had first moved here. Now the music of London was his own personal symphony, plucking at his heartstrings. Some nights he would open the window in his room, sit on the very edge of the window sill and listen to the sound of his neighbours arguing, of young girls giggling as they came home from a night out, of the music blaring from down the street and the constant hum of car engines drifting across the roads. It would eventually lull him to sleep. He lived and breathed the city in as if it was his oxygen. Myron was the same, he had lived in London ever since he was a child, the city had become a beacon to them both. Though for Myron it held some painful memories too. He didn’t talk to Nicholas much about his childhood, he always said it was easier to forget. Nicholas never pushed him, never asked any questions, because he too had a childhood that he longed to leave behind.

He walked down the street, away from the safety of Myron’s flat and out into the wilderness. It had been weeks since he had last stepped outside, under his uncle’s watchful eye of course, the idea of finally being allowed to walk outdoors without being constantly watched was startling. The prospect of going to school was as if he had stepped into a foreign world. He had been home schooled his whole life, despite his protests, he hadn’t spoken to a person his age for ten years and he would be lying if he said he wasn’t terrified.

Nicholas rounded the corner onto Maddox Street. The Victorian shops and hotels reminded him of his and Myron’s flat. It was an old, dreary, tall building with grey bricks and long windows, the sleek black door had a rounded top and the number sixty-two was fixed on in golden lettering. The letter box was a dull silver and the door handle was brass like the doorknob inside of their flat. There were steps leading up to the doorway, an iron fence lining them, and a bike which had been chained to the fence since they had moved in five years ago. He hadn’t wanted to move at first. Before, they had lived at Myron’s old studio flat on Park Avenue. The flat was cramped, with cracked walls and only a double bed to sit on, it’s tiny kitchenette had smelt of grease and the little washroom had faulty shower taps. But Nicholas had loved it. He had loved the cracked walls and the small space which had bound him and Myron together so tightly. There were nights when Nicholas’ skin would break out into a cold sweat, he would wake up screaming, the smell of burning wood filling his nostrils and the flames licking at his skin. Myron had always been there to hold him. Assuring him that it was only a dream. But Nicholas knew that it wasn’t.