D E D I C A T I O N

to you;
for being the idea of love in my life.

in everything I write, I guess
I'll always leave a memory
of you.

---

C H A P T E R 0 0 | Through River Islaire

The river Islaire always reminded me of a painting in a canvas. You see, everything about it was just picture perfect.

Its duck egg blue color was like the early sweeps of a painter's brush; the brooding presence of mountains all around adorned it like an easel. Soft light spearing down from above bathed it like the finishing touches of a tempera wash.

One of a kind, the river was.

Having been in Islaire Town all my life, I could bet it was hard not to fall in love with this place, especially the river.

It had been my love for as long as I could remember. It wasn't a love at first sight though; our love grew with time, slowly and deeply.

When I was maybe five or six, grandma used to bring me to the Riverwater park every afternoon. Lying on the edge of Islaire, this was the best park in town. It gave off the most stunning view of the river.

I remember how grandma and I used to sit on the bench which was nearest to the railings that separated us from the river. Being the quiet kid that I was, we didn't talk much; we just idly stared at the river. Playing with those sand-castle-mud like every other children had never interested me, really.

Then I grew up; grandma passed away. But my habit stayed.

Now I came here in the park everyday and sat on the very same bench grandma and I used to sit on. It was almost as if I own the bench now. No one else sat on it, even if I was late someday.

I had built a strange connection with the river in all these years. It was an escape.

I guess everyone deserved some sort of an escape from everyday chaos. This was mine.

For long, I'd wondered if this need to escape had anything to do with the fact that I was adopted. But I guess it didn't. I was grateful to my parents for adopting me. We all had stuck together through thick and thin, and I did regard them as my real parents.

However, there was always this feeling of detachment. And through the arguments with my father, his need to control every step I took, or through the ever exceeding number of activities my mother joined, the disconnection had only grew stronger.

Hence the attachment to this place had become deeper with time. There was this feeling of security I cannot quite explain. I called it my safe haven.

All through my heartbreak and happiness, joy and love, this place had stood by me. Just by sitting here, and watching the river flow as calmly as always, miraculously made all my pain go away.

The river was indeed like a canvas. And one day, among all of its dull grey and brown, an unusual color caught my attention.

Greenish blue it was; Cyan his name was.

*****

This is my actual attempt at writing a novel, really. It may not be perfect, but I'd hope you guys would accept it the way it is.

It's only a start, so please show your support. It's much like a prolouge, so the real book starts from the next chapter.

Do vote, comment, and share, if you like it.

Also, for those wondering, Cyan is pronounced sai-en.
And the town/river Islaire is pronounced Is-luh-yer or Is-layer (fictitious).