Onsra: A novel

Chapter One: Moth To The Flames

The moth is entranced with how the lamp could give such light amidst the darkness, as if the light was hope itself, offering its hand, to be held by those who have been buried into the hell of hopelessness; It was not just about the beauty of the light, like how Gods and Goddesses' beauty together with their light, has made the mortals kneel, but it is also about the mercy and hope it brings. But, too much light can burn, as much as how too much positivity can be toxic, and when a vulnerable moth comes close to the light, its wings will be burned, and it will die.

So much realization in just a moth drawn into the flame of my lamp while writing—that I consider as a writing prompt, well everything I see is considered to be one. That's one of the many reasons why I've become a writer. Being a keen observer also has its perks, even when most find it as something creepy to possess.

In this night time, my study table's light is merely coming from the lamp in my table that casts a comforting glow of dim orange against the wooden, brown and black painting hues this room used. It speaks of how classy this study is with gigantic globe in its 3 feet glory staking its claim on the right side of my table that is across my double doors carved in swirls of ivy; in between, is a Victorian sofa of velvet black and coffee table, the sofa's back facing the the double doors and it's front is facing both the coffee table and my table; three wooden brown floor to ceiling bookshelves are on the right— falling in line systematically, in the genres where they deserve to be placed; and on the left, is a floor-to-ceiling sliding window that is open that leads covered with a white see through curtain to the balcony where the street's beauty and the people that pass by can be seen.

I still haven't thought of a*********s to write and I have a deadline to chase over, or else, I will lose my job. But atleast, they gave me more time than they ever have given me since I started working.

I was about to blow the ignited lamp to sleep, when the wind coming from the floor-to-ceiling-length glass sliding window on my study table's right, already did me a favor. Shrugging my shoulders, I stand up, and go to my room for a rest. This is what I want, to exhaust myself that c***k bones and head aches, until I never think of anything that reminds me of something that should not be remembered in the first place.

The bed feels like clouds of Van Gogh's Starry Night, it feels so cold and warm at the same time that drift me to sleep in an instant.

I wake up groggily from a loud ring from something I can't identify—it kind of sounds familiar to me though, but because of the sleep's spell that is still ruling my body, I don't know. Finding out, it is my phone ringing that stopped. It is my editor, bombarding me with calls—for the reason that I don't know of; she called for about 22 times already—and my phone rings again for the 23rd call!

I'm having second thoughts on accepting the call, or just let it be; She's the worst editor when angry among all the editors in the company, and I'm so lucky to have her! Of all people to deserve such reward, why me? With shaking fingers, I still tapped the answer button, even if I know I will surely get an earful from her.

"Saxia," her voice sounds stone cold and authoritative, that makes me shiver from fear.

"I'm sorry, Diana! I just woke up from my fitful sleep and—"

"Is that my fault?"

"Of course not! I did not say anything like that, I just…" voice shivering, I tried to laugh to lighten up her mood, but it sound awkward and forced! Oh My God! I'm really in a big trouble!

"Why are you calling, anyway?" I sound like a rat ready to be eaten by its prey!

"You do not know what date today is?" She slowly and precisely uttered the words, as if her patience is nearly cut in two! She's going to kill me!

Shit, what date today is, anyway? I can't remember! And it seems my silence gave off my ignorance. If rage can possibly jump from her line's end to mine, it surely did just now; I can feel her rage coming out of my phone, and my phone is reacting to it: it's hot!

"Saxia Quaraine, come see me at 8 am sharp in La Femme Café. That's an order." She hung up. I checked the time in my phone…

"s**t!" I ran towards the bathroom

I am so dead. It's already 7:45!

I'm standing in front of Finlan Diana Sanchews, my editor whose horns are visible only for me, and she's smirking. I don't know if she knows my secret.

"You're 1 minute early, Saxia. That's good." Her smirk still does not leave her face.

As she gave that remark to me, I still remained in my place— standing. I would rather grow roots under my feet than be burned by her fire for sitting across her without her consent; I could not afford to be in her bad side again.

Looking satisfied, she motioned me to sit. Finally! As much as I want to slouch so bad, I can't, with Finlan in front of me.

"I wonder how you came one minute early, when in fact, when I called, you just woke up?" her voice is skeptical, while her eyes are scanning me from head to toe. I am about to defend myself when, she added, "Nevermind. That's not my business anyway."

My mind just did an exaggerated

sigh of relief. I don't want her to know that I just wet my hair, washed my face, brushed my teeth and changed! Out of haste, I even hailed a cab, even though the café is just a walking distance from where I live—and that's where I did my make up.

"Have you eaten?"

"Uh, I am planning to have my breakfast here, after our talk," I honestly said.

"Order your breakfast now. We don't have much time."

  I did what was told, or should I say reprimanded? I ordered a brewed coffee and a French Toast as breakfast.

"So, what are we going to talk about?" I asked her while waiting for my breakfast to arrive.

"Like seriously, you forgot what date today is? Or that we're going to meet? Did you check your planner?" She leaned her body towards me.

"Anyway, we will go for a vacation."