The Call of the Mountain Goat - first chapter
1150 days ago
The wind swirled and twirled and danced upon the rocky, rugged cliffs. The sunlight beamed from a point upon the horizon that could not be placed. It cast long, thin shadows on the higher rocks and short, fat ones on the lower rocks. The sound of birds dispersing from their cosy nests in the luscious, green trees that were in abundance in this valley was music to the ears of all that could hear it. Dazzling, pearl white clouds drifted slowly across an emerald blue sky and, if you looked closely enough, smiling face could be seen in the wonderful patterns of the clouds.
Then - without warning or any previous signs of danger - a lighting bolt struck brightly from the mouth of one of the smiling faces that now turned to menacing frowns. The world turned midnight black as all light was vaporised from this once heavenly place.
I awoke in hot sweat. It wasn’t the first time and - I knew in my sad, cold heart - it wasn’t the last time. I ran to tell my mum, but she, once again, ignored me and so I tried to block it out while I heartily ate the breakfast that she had flimsily prepared. I attempted to make simple conversation with her, but she stood outside in the dismal weather smoking her cigarettes. I thought that she hated me so much that she’d rather be in the bitter cold than talk to me. As the old, mahogany clock chimed 8 o’clock, I rushed myself and my rucksack out of the door without saying goodbye to my mother.
The bright green, double decker bus approached and I smiled at the driver as I showed him my pass. I sat at the back, alone, but I was happy for I had time to think and listen to music on the way. My grandad says that I have an "outmoded musical taste" and that morning I listen to Life on Mars by David Bowie. I love how the music moves and dances in my ears. Whenever I listen to it, I find my hands gliding over the seats, mimicking the pianists actions. My strange hand gestures must have been clearly visible that morning for I saw the other kids on the bus laugh at me. I felt myself glow red with embarrassment and so I kept my hands tightly to my chest for the rest of the journey.
The bus was late for school as usual and, along with everyone else on my bus, I was handed a detention for that very day. Once I had finished receiving it, I rushed to my form room to see my favourite teacher: Mr Jones.
Mr Jones was one of those special teachers. He could tell when someone in the class was upset, he would always listen, he was patient with the kids who didn’t understand things and he always stood up for us. As I burst through the door, he smiled and welcomed me.
"Morning Alex." he said.
"Morning Sir! Sorry I’m late!" I blabbered, stumbling over tables and chairs.
I studied Mr Jones carefully when I was in my seat. He had thick, brown hair with a long quiff that he would often run his fingers through when he was reading. His blue eyes twinkled too while he read and he would continually bring his big, ruby red lips into a smile whenever he noticed something that only book geeks would notice. Mr Jones was only in his late 20’s, yet he wore clothes that I would expect my grandad to wear. His cheekbones were perfectly rounded and wonderfully smooth and came second only to his sharp cut, gorgeous jaw line.
I was too busy admiring his face to hear the bell ring and only the smooth, low voice of Mr Jones could snap me out of it.
"You better get a move on Alex. You don’t want to be late again." he smiled.
"Yes sir, of course sir." I said packing my stuff away and racing out of the door.
ivor Well written, but might I suggest a change of title?
Call of the Mountain Goat? Goats don´t usually
call, Might I suggest, Call of the Mountain... leaves
more to the imagination.
1148 Days ago