In the Sky, Chapter 3

Carried on from the SECOND Chapter 2. (The one with Kieran in it). Enjoy! A bit of a last minute entry, but I hope that I can still be considered? :)


1. Chapter 3

It was still raining when Izalla reached the roof of the Forestry building. She had been here before, once, after her mother had died. It had been the same feeling, then, too. Disappointment. Sadness. Loss. Being alone.

            She couldn’t believe her dad had forgotten about her. Because, presumably, that was what had happened. He wouldn’t have not come if he had remembered, surely. No, Izalla thought, casting the thought out of her mind. No. He wouldn’t do something like that.

            Izalla had waited at the station for two hours without him turning up. She would just have to go it alone.

            She sat up on the roof. The Forestry building was huge; all the buildings were. New London (or just ‘London’ as most people called it) was huge, as a general rule: after it all happened, the Regulators built something that would remind everyone of the old London. Maybe that’s why everyone conveniently managed to erase the ‘New’ off the front of the city’s name. Maybe. Nostalgia.

            She could see the trains from where she was. Snaking, curling, across the city’s outskirts – like ropes, she thought, holding me in.

            The train.

            What had happened? The hieroglyph wasn’t magic or anything. It couldn’t be. Things like that were banished under the New Order, even though it had never existed. Izalla knew that. She just wished everyone else did too. But that didn’t explain the blackout and the clouds covering up the sun. Nothing could, really. She just wished her dad were here. He would make everything better, even after what she did – he would tell her everything was going to be okay.

            Izalla lay down on the hard concrete, looking at the sky – and the clouds – squinting her eyes against what remained of the cool rain. The clouds weren’t moving anymore, and it seemed ridiculous to her that they ever could, but she couldn’t deny what she had seen on the train. Her eyes hadn’t deceived her – they really had mimicked what was etched in to the window.

            She thought about it for a moment. If the hieroglyph had been scratched into the glass, did that mean that someone had done it? In which case, who? Because it certainly wasn’t neat. It was messy. Rushed. Hasty. But really. Who would draw something like that? It was weird, to say the least.

            She decided to think about something else for a while. Izalla stood up carefully, leaning against the door for support. Screw you, Diabetes, she thought. She hadn’t eaten in hours. If she didn’t consume copious amounts of food pretty soon, she was almost certainly going to pass out. She moved over towards the generator and fan for the kitchens, which were, in this building, on the top floor. Weird. New London was weird. She couldn’t manage living here, like her dad did. Too creepy. Like a ghost town, but alive.

With her back against the concrete casing, she watched the clouds. They weren’t moving, whether she liked it or not. She could try and decipher messages, but they weren’t showing her anything. Maybe she just wasn’t seeing it? Too tired? Too…sleepy? Yep. Almost certainly.


Izalla must have fallen asleep, because when she next looked up at the sky, there were no clouds at all, and she could hear a male voice on the other side of the generator. He seemed to be on the phone.

‘No. Like I said, Mum, I decided not to go…yeah, I figured New London was more fun-’ he stopped. Izalla held her breath. Had he seen her? ‘…plus, that train was killing me.’ Train? Was he on that train? No. There were only two carriages. She would have noticed, with that accent. He must have been on an earlier one.

‘Yeah, about where I…can I call you back? I will, don’t worry. Okay, yeah, you too. See ya.’ It sounded like he had hung up. Uh oh. Footsteps.

Please don’t spot me please don’t spot me. He had rounded the corner, and he stood facing the city, looking at the trains, just like I had. Don’t turn arou-

‘I know you’re looking at me,’ he said.

Izalla jumped just as he turned to face her. They stood looking at each other, Izalla sitting shocked and upright, and the boy standing, slouched, and looking mildly amused.

‘I’ve always dreamed of meeting a girl on a roof, with her almost certainly having just listened to me have a whole conversation with my mum. I’m Kieran. And you are?’

Izalla stared for about another ten seconds, mouth open, before she got up too quickly, stumbled to the door, and ran down the stairs, with the boy – Kieran- left standing outside.

If that’s his lifelong dream, she thought, then he reads too many books.


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