Pirate Pirø, a young woman with a near god complex, has her life changed around when she is given the opportunity to attend a high achieving college in Industrialised Kregoria. The woman quickly begins to realise the struggles of keeping the balances of being social, being psycho, and being intellectual. This is thrown to the side when she meets the charismatic President on a night tram. With just more than love at first sight, she sets out to find him, and begins to find herself in a inescapable web.
(Contains very mature themes like drugs, suicide, murder, and intercourse references, swearing. ect. - um, enjoy? ��)


2. The West And The Letter

The Western Prefecture, to Miss Pirø, was a crude place. It was a a City that would astound tourists, and then publically abuse its citizens in eyeless corners.People would arrive eyeryday, she would see, and they would interrupt the hubub of alienated brifcase-holding humans, much to their demise. There would be tourists from all over Kregoria and St. Lucia, and from England and Spain and Germany (never from France), and they would stand and photograph all aspects of the place.  

No one understood why they came.

 Not many citizens liked the toursits, as they would often be stereotyped and seen as annoying and disruptive. Industrialised Kregoria had introduced a new law months ago which had limited the ammount of tourists into the country. Soon after this, the country became high in demand, and there was a year long waiting list for people to visit. The tourists, when they came, would look lost and agrivate people with millions of questions. You were lucky to find someone who would talk back to you, never mind answer your godamned questions – especially in this place. The tourists were always made fun of here; getting laughed at when thye didn’t understand the language, being downtrodden in streets and in queues, and occasionally even spat on if they did anything out of place, and yet the people came. It was like Donald Trump and young Americans; they admrie him for not being politically correct, just like the tourists love the West for not living up to other Prefectural standards.

                           Miss Pirø was never fond of the Western Prefecture. The woman longed for the right form of freedom, just so that she could escape the Prefecture and travel North – to England. Ever since she was a young girl Pirot had dreamt of going to a different Prefecture; the hot Spanish influenced South, the Multicultural East, the English speaking North, or maybe finding peace in the Capitol Mathe. Anywhere but the plain, soul – sucking West.                          

The Wetsern Prefecture was always in some form of dilapidation, whether it be the buildings or the people. The Party that was in charge of the Prefecture eliminated all visual forms of the place that may distract the tourist and generalised public, making rundown places lively with markets and giving the "aged with grace" effect. Some citizens couldn't even see past that façade. There were lots of alleyways and secret hideouts where drugs delaers and smaller gangs would hide out, many of them being part of a larger group: the Krego Mafia (-which had a legend about it saying it had dispersed into hiding decades ago, now breeding thug offspring to "reclaim the Capitol" or something). It was always darker on the West, mainly due to the ammount of factories within the Prefecture, emitting large smoke clouds over the West Sea. The place was putrid, and Pirø didn't like it.

 Miss Pirø lived on the 15th street within the Prefecture, in the 8th house - not that it mattered. The house was quite pleasant albeit barely, painted a faded navy blue. It's structure was similar to 7th, 9th and 10th: a stone block with a pointed roof made of copper coated slate, and small windows which allowed choking sunlight to ebb through. They were all very similar, though some were not painted navy blue and instead remained grey; some had rose bushes laying outside their territory and plant pots providing homely feels; occasionally you would find the odd house with larger windows or a garage. But no matter where you went, all the houses were surrounded by a large walls - the ones you would see in Japan - maybe they came from Japan - which you could not look through. Kregos did live up do their stereotype - they adored their privacy and their plants.

Pirot shared the house with her mother and her father, two middle aged people who were more often than most at work, or avoiding each other. She herself did not make efforts to bond with them, or her larger family. She saw them all as controlling, for they never allowed her the freedom she had waited decades for. I guess you could say she felt trapped, caged in the Western Prefecture, being led around by some woman who called herself Pirot's mother.

Pirot had begun to question what a mother was.

The time was 6am. Pirot had not slept, and it was one of those nights. Usually she would stay in her room with a candle, keeping the light off in fear of being caught, but today she decided to go on a walk. It was an eventful walk, she talked to a "suicidal", stopped by a night café, and explored more of the canals. Pirø was a careful woman, she knew how to get past low radar, and she was successful at staying alive in dangerous places. She knew how to befriend, and betray - keeping a smile in the process. And she did it all under sleeping eyes. Luckily, today, victory hugged her.

She opened the door as silently possible, and crept inside. The morning sun has now illuminated the kitchen, giving it a warm glow which made her want to succumb to the residing sleepiness within her. Still, she would not, and proceeded to go and sit in her room, where she waited for her father to awaken, make his morning honey coffee with two sugars, retrieve his daily newspaper and post, and sit in the kitchen - where he would wait for her mother to wake up so he could demand his egg and soldiers. Pirø knew that her mother would be up as soon as a presence was missing within her little radar. Her mother was like an army built submarine, she could detect almost anything - well, maybe not all the things Pirot did. She decided to change into a pair of flannel pyjamas..

Miss Pirø's room was a mess. Pointless childhood tat was stuffed into spare corners, and there was a funny smell of age where game boxes and teddies resided. Pirø's bedroom walls were white, just like all the rooms in the house, and a line of wardrobes and draws and bookshelves covered one side of her room. Pirot did not read much, but she adored all the paperbacks as if they were expensive jewellery. She hated most of her room. Although, she liked her bed - covered in blankets and large pillows. It was a form of comfort in this place.


She was snapped out of her thoughts by the mention of her name. Hurrying down the stairs, with a slight panic of the assumption of being rumbled, Pirot went to the kitchen. She saw her father sat at the plastic table, mother at stove, both avoiding each other. Her father looked up from his coffee and stared at her with a look of concern in his black eyes. Shit!!

"You have mail".

She breathed a sigh of relief, albeit a quiet one, so they didn't hear, and sat down. There was a small, white envelope laid on the table. It was quite unusual for her to get mail. The last time she got mail it was from her nearly-forgotten friend stating that she had moved to Canada - much to Pirot's mild envy and dismay. This letter was too formal, it only had two stamps on it, and she recognised one of them from Mathe.

She opened the letter and pulled out a folded piece of paper, with a large crest logo stamped onto it in navy blue ink. She immediately recognised it. She turned it round to show her father, and now her mother who had joined the table to converse.

"Mathe High Academy for High Achievers!", her mother gawked, yanking the letter from her hand, peeling away at the folds with pristine red fingernails. Her mother always loved her nails. They weren't in the best condition, but hey were the brightest thing around in the house.

Pirot's parents were now speed reading the letter, even though that it was intended for Pirot, mumbling to each other, which was a rare thing in itself. "....mmmm we have looked at your overall academic results.... And with the addition of your application..."

Pirot looked at them the way you'd look at a pigeon picked at a dead rat. She was apprehensive that the letter would decline her. She was quite surprised that her parents had agreed to let her go if she got accepted, with compromises of course. Pirot had longed to go, not because of the infamous, glorified degrees, but because it was a long way from the West. A long way from a cage. She hoped that she would be accepted, although she was not too optimistic; her grades and her application were okay, but she was facing some real smart arsed, big headed, destined for fame, geniuses.

She was snapped out by the unison of her mother and father...

"You have been accepted."

(Sorry this is a bit shit, but the next chapter should be more interesting. The story is taking a while to develop. Heh, it's also taking me a while to write - sorry!!! )

Join MovellasFind out what all the buzz is about. Join now to start sharing your creativity and passion
Loading ...