Okay, I need your opinions.......

Okay, so all of you know that I like to write. Or you know now. Anyway, I've had this story saved in my computer for awhile. I go back to it sometimes when I read dystopians, but because I'm always reading or doing homework, I don't write constantly. But I do try to write when I feel like it. And when an idea comes to my head. So, this is the prologue to my dystopian book called Butterflies or Colorless. Not entirely sure on the title. Anyway, I want your opinions. Comments comments comments. Please. I've asked two of my friends, and they really like it. Soo........what about you guys? Here you have it:

In  2010 the divorce rate was fifty percent.

In 2185, the number has risen to ninety-nine percent.

No, I’m not lying. If I was, I would have said, “Hey, did you know that the divorce rate has gone up to like, ninety-nine percent? I know right? Guess what? I’m kidding! It’s only sixty!”

If only I was.

In my world, there are three types of people.

Fakers: People who pretend to be in love to make their friends envious of what they have when really they hate each other.

Envyes: Single people who put on a happy face but are really jealous of those who fake having it.

And the Survivors, or the Mistakes (as called by adults): kids who watch their parents fight constantly behind closed doors or watch as their parents ignore them and have to fend for themselves. Making sure they have clothes on their backs, food in their stomach, and get at least a high school diploma. Although much of this rarely happens, since most adults don’t want children anymore.

I’m one of the Survivors. In all my sixteen years, I don’t remember when either of my parents was there for me. They weren’t there to help me study for my first spelling test. When I started to ride a bike and I fell and scraped my knee. I taught myself how to cook. I worked down at the local animal shelter since I was seven. I made sure the bills were paid too, since neither of them thought about paying them.

The only time when my parents actually paid attention to me was when they fought for custody of me when I was ten. They showered me in presents, trying to bribe me with gifts to convince me to live with one or the other just so one of them could rub it in. Mom won, and since she doesn’t have a problem, I don’t have to worry about her as much. (One of the reasons Mom and Dad divorced was because of Dad’s drinking problem. He was always complaining about us not having money. Mom would yell at him and say that all the money went to his ‘habit’ and all the medical bills that built up over the years because Dad couldn’t stay sober enough to drive home safely.)

Lovely isn’t it?

Wait, I take it back. There are four types of people. The last ones are the Lovers. Lovers were the lucky ones. The ones who have it all. The fame, the luxuries, the money, the expensive cars, etc. The Butterflies.

They’re the one percent.

In reality, no one has really seen a Lover since it’s rare to see them at all. Most of the time, it’s just Fakers pretending to be in love. Lovers are just a myth. A figment of our imagination. Hope in a time of hate. Some people say that love was never real; it was just people in lust or were very passionate about each other. But they’re wrong.

I’ve seen it.

It was two years ago. My parents were going at it again, and this time it involved throwing chairs at each other. It was over dad’s alimony check. (He claimed it was too small when really……..well, you know the rest.)

I decided to take a walk in the park. One, to get away from my parents, and two, so I didn’t get hit by a chair. I was lucky it was fall. No one dares to go near the park, let alone in it. In the fall, the temperature drops down to near freezing, and the wind that blows through the trees makes it even colder, and the eerie sounds that whisper through the branches makes everyone nervous. Most people have a winter jacket, since we live in north Oregon, but none want to take the time to put it on and take a walk in near freezing weather.

Fortunately for me, that day was nice and warm. The park was empty, but only of people. The birds were out and singing. I saw a few squirrels climbing trees with their cheeks stuffed with nuts. I think I saw a red fox too, but I’m not sure. It could have been a dog.

As I was nearing the Callaleana Fountain, I heard a strange laugh. It wasn’t a laugh like the ones I hear when Mom is laughing at other people’s pain on TV, or the ones I hear when kids laugh at something funny. No, this laugh was different. It was short, soft, and girly. In the book Love: Past and Present, it says (or from what I’ve read online) it’s called a “giggle: a small soft girly laugh that a female produces when they are happy or are in the presence of a male or other females.”

I have never heard one come out of any of the girls in my school. I’ve never heard one period. Until now. I took small baby steps towards the fountain, quiet as a mouse. The breath in my lungs stilled. As I got closer, it was like the world became still. Like someone pressed a pause button on the world. It was so quiet that I thought my heart was the loudest thing in the park.

Then I saw them.

She had golden-reddish hair that flowed down her back in tangles. Her whole face was a glow with a smile. She wore a tattered shirt, holes were frosted all over. Her pants matched but with a patch of random cloth on her left thigh. She had no shoes and her feet were covered in mud and soot, but the look on her face told me that she didn’t care.

He didn’t care either. His face reflected hers. But unlike her, his light brown hair was combed back. He was wearing a black suit that could have paid five bills on my house. His shoes, maybe seven. And they weren’t the cheap knock-off leather shoes; they were the real deal. They were polished so well that I had to squint because the sun reflected off of them.

In his hands were her hands.

I have only seen “true love” portrayed in the old classic films I have hidden under my bed. The Phantom of the Opera, Letters to Juliet, Romeo and Juliet, Beauty and the Beast. There’s a lot. But none could compare to what was in front of my face.

At one point, the man leaned over and whispered something in the woman’s ear and she giggled again. He said something again and it turned into a full fledge laugh. Soon he started laughing.

I knew that only one thing could explain why they were acting like they were. One thing that could explain why an upper classman was holding hands with a woman who appeared to be homeless.

Love.

For years I believed that love was just an old tale mothers told their kids just so they would go to sleep. It was a myth that History teachers taught us ‘for our own good. So we know that it was never real.’ But now I know that it’s real. And it’s beautiful.

The woman’s face grew sad, and I knew that their moment was over. The man put his hand on her cheek and gave her an apologetic smile. Then he did something I only saw in movies.

He gave her a kiss.

Sure, people still kiss today, but usually with lust in their blood. Their kisses are full of desperation or passion, using their tongues to probe the insides of each other’s mouth. It’s disgusting to see people to do it. But this kiss, it was something different. He just touched his lips to hers, and held them there for a few seconds. Then he kissed her again on the cheek and stood. She did the same. They hugged each other.

And then they were gone.

I never saw them again. Every day I went to the park and looked for them at the same time, the same place. I even became brave enough to put a note there to see if one of them would write me back. But no. Nothing but the note would be there day after day. Eventually I threw it away. But my belief in love didn’t change.

That day changed my life. I always thought I was going to be like all the other adults in this world. Getting married and divorcing a few years later and having kids I wouldn’t care two wits about. But now, I want to get married, but to someone who loves me. Someone who will look at me like the man did that woman.

Too bad love is one of the most dangerous things to be in.

So, comment comment comment. Tell me what you think. :D

Thanks guys!

Keep On Reading!

T.