CHAPTER 1

The Life of Enya Byrne

Some say the world will end in fire;
Some say in ice.
Form what I've tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.
~Robert Frost

I always enjoyed the poetry of amazing and gifted writers. They filled me with joy even if they are sad.

Fire and Ice was always my favorite. It said so much in so few words. It was so well written.

I smiled at the page of my poetry book before coming to the next poem: The Raven by Edgar Allen Poe. But before I could read it to myself for what seemed like the hundredth time, my mother called to me, "Enya, time for bed! Turn out the lights please!"

I called back, "Okay." Sighing, I put my favorite book away and climbed into bed. I turned out the light and looked out my window at the moon.

As I stared at the giant glowing orb in the sky, I began to sing a song about it as I did every night, seeing that it was my way to fall asleep quicker. I picked a rather sad poem by Giacomo Leopardi and began…

"Oh gracious moon, now as the year turns,
I remember how, heavy with sorrow,
I climbed the hill to gaze on you,
And then as now you hung above those trees…"

I couldn't finish as I fell into unconsciousness.

Since it was winter, I woke up feeling chilly and depressed. I had been born in late summer, so I enjoyed the heat much more.

When I got downstairs, I saw my mother messing with the thermostat. It had broken a week before and was acting terribly now, even after my mother got it fixed.

My dad was no where to be found, obviously, because he and my mom had divorced. He had left with my two brothers and I was left with my mom.

It was something I actually appreciated because my twin brothers were constantly mean to me and getting me in trouble and my dad never believed the truth because he was so sexist.

I sighed sadly at the thought, but at least when he left I was happier, or at least as happy as I could get being at the adolescent age of twelve.

These days, I was either at school or helping my mom out at her community charities. She was one of the leaders of three giant charities in our big community. I enjoyed helping mainly because she helped kids my age and younger and other folks who really needed it.

She was a really good person. And I was proud to be her daughter.

Because I worked hard at school and at the charities, whenever my mother thought it was time, she would get me something I wanted. Most of the time, it was literature because I loved reading.

That's how I memorized all the poems. There's just something magical about literature that makes me smile. I feel happier whenever I'm with my books.

I looked around the kitchen and saw a pot on the stove.

"Um, mom, what's that you're cooking?"

My mom is a very imaginative cook at times. She likes to experiment and sometimes it actually works. But not always…

"Oh, it's something I call bean stew. I put leftover beans, some chips, water, chicken broth, and red powder with no name tag together and heated it. Would you mind tasting it?"

I was a little hesitant because of the red powder and the fact that it was made up of all sorts of weird things, but seeing as it was my mom who made it, I didn't want to be rude."

Taking the spoon she used to stir, I took a sip and nearly spit it out.

Swallowing most of it, I ran tot he sink and tried to rinse my mouth of the spicy liquid but accidentally knocked an open jar of something my mom had made in the past into it as I rushed away.

The next thing that happened was both amazing and terrible…

TO BE CONTINUED...