“Peanut butter cup?” Andrew offered, blushing slightly at the sugar plum girl beside him. 

“No thank you” she politely declined, walking past him, down the aisle of the university convenience store.

Yellow. A simple sunny yellow dress, was what she wore the day he had first met her. A blissful yellow it was, inviting him into her warm and comforting presence. Flowered in all shades of orange and soothing pink gems and beads, she smelled of warm caramel that spring.  

“That’s a pretty bracelet” he complimented,

feeling his pulse quicken to her voice.  

“Thank you” the girl replied, grinning up at him, “I like your shirt” she returned, gaining a bright smile from the boy, who only looked away. Feeling naked under her curious gaze, he shuffled his balance under the white light of the convenience store. 

“So you’re studying medicine?” he questioned, eyeing the fat books she cradled. 

“Yes. I don’t like it much though” the girl nodded, tilting her chin up at him, she asked “And what about you?”. 

Andrew was infatuated. 

And it didn’t take him too long to befriend her, for she had burrowed her way into him. A white hare. That was what he’d seen her as. A white hare he’d rescue and keep protected. And as each day passed, Andrew continued to water and nurture his admiration for the girl. Allowing himself to float away in the rapid tides of his feelings, his love soon blossomed into a ripe carnivorous flower eating away at his petty little heart. And as the saying went love did blind him, for he only saw what he wished to see her as. Unlike the white hare he’d painted her to be, the girl was far from it. She was stained. 

“Andrew” Anjali choked out, fear flooding her veins. 

“Anjali” the man greeted in a loud voice, as he pulled her in for a hug, “it’s been forever. How are you doing?”.

“I’m good” Anjali replied, her voice falling flat.

“I… I’ve missed you” he smiled at her. 

Who’s this?” Eleanor whispered, interrupting the now reunited pair. 

“Oh…you remember Eleanor right.” Anjali stammered, “Ellie this is… an old friend of mine, Andrew”.

“Yes of course I remember” Andrew gleamed, “little Eleanor. Erik’s Eleanor”. 

“You knew my father?” Eleanor questioned, feeling uneasy at how he threw Erik’s name out. 

“Yes, yes I did. We were friends” Andrew chuckled, “and who might this be?”, he asked, turning towards the 13 year old boy. 

“This…this is my son Ezra” Anjali stated in a hurry, “we better get going now”. 

“Son?” Andrew peeled up, “I didn’t know you had a son”.

If fate were to ever have been so cruel, this indeed was it. 

Studying at the same university together had always been their dream. From planning out their futures at sleepovers to discussing their higher education plans, Erik and Andrew had always wanted to be together. 

“Don’t tell me you bought that for her?” Erik snorted, pointing at the silver bracelet coloured with variegated gemstones, Andrew caressed.

“When did you turn into such a romantic, Andy?” Erik teased, “you’re acting pathetic, mate”.

“You’re one to talk,” Andrew shot, chuckling back at his best friend, “you’re way worse than me, mate”. 

“Please.” Erik defended.

“Café dates, chocolates, flowers… oh the list goes on” Andrew sang, throwing his arm around his friend as he tackled Erik onto the navy-blue carpeted floor. 

“My bloody foot. ” Erik laughed, pushing his friend away. 

“I’ve got to get ready now” the taller boy stated, as he put on his black leather wrist watch. 

“Great,” Andrew replied “and when do I get to meet the girl you’ve been seeing?” 

“When you tell her” he mocked, grabbing his coat off the coat rack. 

Ezra took in the sight of the man in front of him. His ruffled golden air, walnut shaded eyes and square jaw all resembled the younger boy. Like the welcoming winds of the fall season that sprung up with unfamiliar faces, Ezra felt an odd sense of familiarity. It wasn’t unexpected to see the leaves transcend into their burning shades of orange and decaying brown. But it was unexpected to be greeted by an isolated green leaf. 

“May I hug you?” the boy blurted out, surprising the adults. Ezra wasn’t a bubbly child. He was quiet and kept to himself. But seeing him speak to a man he’d never met, Anjali was astonished. 

“Ezzie, I don’t think he’d like that” Anjali tried pulling her son away. 

“No. That’s alright.” Andrew cheered up, “I don’t mind”. 

A green leaf that still breathed fresh air. Feeling a flutter of warmth engulf his little body, the boy soaked it all up. That feeling of comfort and security. The very sensation he’d been longing for his whole life. The need to be held, cared for and loved. Ezra had now found it. And he had found it in the arms of a man he’d just met. 

…Are you my father… the boy had dared to entertain the thought that the man in front of him could possibly be his father.

“That’s enough” Anjali said, feeling a rush of panic overtake her, she peeled off the boy from Andrew’s arms. “I’m sorry but we’re running late. It was nice seeing you Andy” 

“Will it be another decade?” the man called after her. 

“What do you mean?” Anjali turned, only to see a look of forlorn painted across his face. 

“It’s been more than a decade actually” Andrew explained, “14 years since you last spoke to me before disappearing”. 

“I…” the woman sighed. Guilt bubbling up inside her, for the way she’d treated her good friend. She knew Ezra deserved a father, and she knew Andrew deserved to know his child. Was it the pride, the fear or the complete lack of sheer will, Anjali had no intention of bringing it up. 

“…I… we’ll talk later” she managed to speak out. 

“I think I’m in love with her” Andrew blurted out in a daze, sitting back up on the bed.l, as he cheerfully grinned.

“She’s incredibly smart and she’s ambitious, and she’s…” he listed, smiling down at the thin bracelet in his hands. A silver chain bracelet, engraved with coloured gems, he’d specifically made for her. 

“I seriously don’t understand you, Andy. You keep daydreaming about this girl” Erik exclaimed, “You know you should just tell her how you feel. Let it out and get it over with, Andy”.

“I will. Just not now. It’s not the right time” Andrew began, “I have it all planned out. I’ll tell her in October, when the trees look ablaze” he continued to preech poetically. 

“Whatever mate. Just give me the book I asked for” Erik sighed. 

Handing over another gift Andrew had picked for Erik to give his date, they exchanged their goodbyes. 

From the dates, to the gifts, it was all Andrew. He’d imagined what it would be like to take Anjali to a quiet suburban cafe, the museum and a flower garden. And he’d written it down, instructing Erik to do so with the girl he’d been dating. Unaware Erik had been meeting up with the very same girl he’d fallen for, Andrew played Cupid. 

October 15th. Crisp. The dry orange leaves were crisp, crying under his shoes as he ran to her dormitory. Salted caramel. The air smelt of salted caramel in the dormitory hallway. Skidding through the glowing orange halls, he neared the lobby and waited patiently for her.

It was then that the rose shaded bubble Andrew had been cuddled up in for so long burst, sending uncontrollable shivers and shocks through him. It was unforgettable. 

The love he had for her morphed into a parasite feeding upon his flesh, as he watched her laugh and kiss another man. All the books, all the flowers, all the dates. He’d unknowingly set them up. He’d unwillingly tethered them together. They were all disgusting chained together, in a knot of blood-red threads. He knew then that she’d remain in his heart for as long as he breathed. 

“How’d it go?” Erik asked, taking his coat off. 

“Not as I’d expected it to. She’s with someone else” Andrew spoke out truthfully, feeling his heart sting at the sight of his best friend. 

“Ugh Andy I’m sorry to hear that” Erik tried comforting, falling onto the couch beside Andrew, “well… she’s lost a good man”.  

“Not really. She looked happy” the boy muttered in pain, “here, give this to your girlfriend” he finished, dumping the Tiffany box into Erik’s palm. 

Pain. Just pain. That’s what he looked like. Pain. His face was drenched in the pain of heartbreak. He loved Anjali. And he loved Erik. And it killed him to see them together, but he knew that he would never be able to tell her how he felt now. She was his. She was Erik’s. 

Seeing her here. Aged and almost faded, his love for her still ate at him from within. Pain. That’s what he looked like now. And that’s what he’d looked like back then. 

Fate had indeed been cruel. 

Chapter 10 of The Paragon will be released next Friday, the 8th of October 

By Kisavi Jayawardena

The post The Paragon Chapter 09 appeared first on ChoKoLAAte Blog.

By Kisavi Jayawardena

Chapter 08 

“I agree, we should write about it” Savannah spoke out, shooting a sly smile at Eleanor, who only glared in return. 

“I don’t.” Eleanor disagreed, “it’s not relevant to our school, so I don’t see why we should include it in our newspaper” 

“Why not? Is it not a good topic?” Savannah questioned the crowd around the old coffee-brown table. Not getting a response, the blonde girl continued on, “think about it. J can give you all the time you’d need.” 

“Let’s move on” Eleanor tried, before getting cut off by Savannah. 

“What do you think, Julia? Marina? Casey?” Savannah called out, pressing her palms onto the table, she leaned against it, smiling menacingly. 

“We agree” Marina answered, nudging the others to nod along with her. 

“Great then, I’ll write about it” Savannah smirked at Eleanor, taking the sheet of paper from Eleanor’s hand before filling it in. 

Savannah caught up with Eleanor after the school newspaper meeting. Running up behind her, she threw her arm over Eleanor’s shoulders. 

“Want to walk home together, Eleanor?” she chirped up, before getting shrugged off by the girl. 

“Aw come on Ellie, don’t act like we’re not friends” Savannah teased, poking Eleanor’s cheek. 

“Did you hit your head?” Eleanor stopped walking and faced Savannah, who only pretending to cry, before laughing. 

The sarcastic smile on the blonde girl’s face fell, leaving behind a hideous scowl, “Ellie that’s no way to talk to your friend”, Savannah muttered, emphasizing the word ‘friend’. She pushed Eleanor to the ground, and yanked away her backpack. 

“Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten everything I taught you” Savannah shook her head, looking down at Eleanor, as she rummaged through the bag. Savannah kicked the books and stationery, and she hunched down, “never ever oppose me” she whispered. Pulling Eleanor’s hair, the bully continued on, “because you will lose. You’ve always lost to me, Eleanor. So don’t even try, alright?”. 

——————————————————————————————

Alex was Pandora’s first friend. And she was his. He confided in her, and Pandora trusted him as well. They had met as children, near the lake separating their houses. She had befriended him, and they soon grew inseparable. He had supported her through it all, and so had she. They both found comfort in each other, knowing that no one else would ever understand them, as each other. 

Pandora and Alex could relate to having been born on a pedestal. They both had monsters instead of fathers, and each suffered a different kind of pain. Alex was forced to study in order to one day take on the role his father held, while Pandora was simply being raised as a possession and not a child. They both wished to escape their parents,  and it saddened Alex that only he had succeeded in doing so. After being sent away to live with his grandparents, the stubborn boy ran away with a few of his grandparents’ valuables. Alex later sold it, and used the money to fend for himself, studying hard, he took on many part time jobs as waiters and cleaners. It was at one of his cleaning jobs, where he first saw an art studio. 

Alex had had a passion for drawing and painting, but had never been given the opportunity to fully embrace it. The boy knew he was skilled but was never given any recognition for it, and so he hid it away. His father only frowned upon his talent, breaking all his art possessions and beating his fingers purple, his father warned him not to draw anymore. It was when he came across Alex’s secret stash of charcoal pencils and sketch books, and he burned his son’s palms and the insides of his fingers, before he packed up and shipped him off to Japan. Alex had found it difficult to draw since then. Every ounce of ambition and dreams burnt away to ash, the memories and scars haunted him. But he found comfort in the silence within the cream-colored walls of the studio, and he soon found himself drawing once again. He felt at ease. 

He joined an art school, where he studied architecture and continued to pursue his dream of meeting his childhood friend again. He believed that Pandora would too free herself from Clifford’s clutches, just like he’d freed himself from his father. Alex gripped on tightly to the yellow flicker of hope inside him, where he knew that he’d meet Pandora again. 

Leaning against the black jaguar, Alex flashed a smile at Louise, taking off his sunglasses. 

“What are you doing here?” Pandora questioned, striding out of the hotel, she looked towards Louise. The driver got out and greeted Pandora, reaching towards the door. Louise was cut off by Alex, who only smirked at the driver, and bowed comically at Pandora. 

“Let’s catch up”.

“I’ve got a bust schedule today,” Pandora rejected, “maybe another time”. 

“I can’t believe it. You’re blowing me off to go to another book signing?” Alex pouted. 

“Not a book signing, I’ve got a meeting. Now if you could pleas…” Pandora excused, pushing him off the door of her car. 

“Come on now. Do you even like heading off to meetings? Or are you just doing it to please your father?” 

“Of course not, I’m…” the author began to defend, “I don’t need to tell you anything” she shot back. 

Alex laughed. He couldn’t believe how stuck up she’d gotten. And he found it sad that she’d turned out the way Clifford wanted her to be. 

“Pandora” Alex said, his smile fading away as he saw the chilly emptiness in her eyes. “Why are you doing this?”.

“Because you’re blocking my way” Pandora answered, rolling her eyes at him. 

“I meant, why are you an author? I know you loved writing, but I never pictured you as an author…” The man asked, leaving Pandora in silence. Writing was just an escape to her. And she too never imagined she’d be an author. 

Breaking the silence Alex tried again, “I didn’t think this would be the path you’d choose”. 

“It wasn’t” Pandora admitted, “it was destined for me” she said in a cold and monotonous tone, before getting into the car. 

“I’m sorry. I …” Alex attempted to apologize, but found it difficult to finish. He didn’t know where to begin, apologize for suddenly laving the country, knowing he was her only friend, or for the way she’d turned out. Just like Clifford Alex thought, feeling nothing but disgust for the older man. 

“Don’t apologize,” she interrupted, closing the black door, before Louise drove off. 

He was upset. He had managed to fight the will of his father, the destiny he was given. But she hasn’t. Instead she’d allowed herself to drown in it. Pandora didn’t even have a dream, for she had never had the privilege to dream, unlike Alex. He knew that. And it saddened him.  

——————————————————————————————

Eleanor threw her bag against the wooden book cupboard in her room, shocking Anjali. 

Anjali had noticed her daughter growing distant from her and she wanted to mend this issue. She didn’t understand the reasons behind Eleanor’s sudden bursts of anger, but she didn’t want to press on it and question Eleanor. Anjali believed that if she gave Eleanor her space, the teenager would eventually confide in her. And that’s what she did. 

“Wanna go out today?” Anjali peered into the teenager’s bedroom, “it’s Friday. We can head to the mall”. 

“Yeah, sure mum. Let’s go”, Eleanor agreed. 

There was no doubt that Eleanor loved her mother dearly. And they were close, close like best friends. But neither of them knew how to talk through their arguments, as they’d never really argued up until last week. Anjali ignored the situation, and let Eleanor be, in fear she’d turn out like her mother if she questioned her daughter. Anjali’s mother was strict, which had led her to where she was today, and she could never imagine her, Eleanor resenting her and leaving. So she ignored the change in her daughter’s behaviour. Eleanor didn’t know how to apologize to her mother, but she wanted to. She felt bad, as she could understand the difficulties her mother had been through to give her the life she led today. And Eleanor was grateful to Anjali. 

The three of them wandered around in the mall, window shopping and laughing at the way Anjali would annoy the sales staff. 

“Anjali?” A man questioned them, “it’s been forever”. 

Anjali recognized him. There he was. The man she had once trusted. The man she had once relied on. There he was, the father of her second child, Ezra. 

Fear flooded her veins, Anjali grew pale as she choked out “Andrew”. 

Check up next Friday the 10th of September for Chapter 09 of The Paragon.

By Kisavi Jayawardena

The post The Paragon – Chapter 08 appeared first on ChoKoLAAte Blog.

By Kisavi Jayawardena

CHAPTER 07 

“Can I have a biscuit?” Ezra chirped, eyeing the baby-blue packet of biscuits in Eleanor’s hand. 

“Not unless you say please,” Eleanor teased her brother. 

“Please Ellie, please” Ezra begged, stretching across the kitchen table. 

“Here you go” the teenager offered, “now what do you say?” 

“Ellie I know what to say, you don’t have to act all bossy with me” Ezra whined, “thank you”. 

The 13 year old boy continued to munch on the snack, “Did you apologize?”.

“What?” Eleanor questioned. 

“To mum. I’m guessing you haven’t.” Ezra said, shaking his head disapprovingly.

Eleanor hadn’t spoken to Anjali since her outburst. She’d been ignoring Anjali, shutting her out every time she tried to approach her. And Eleanor had begun to regret it. 

“…I…I” 

“You should. She’s really upset, Ellie.” Ezra sooke, not getting a reply from his sister, he admitted, “she cares for you a lot”. 

It hurt him. Ezra was envious. He knew that Anjali loved him, but he was also aware that she loved Eleanor much more. And it hurt him. He’d seen Anjali look longingly at her old pictures of Erik and her. And Ezra understood. He understood that his mother still longed for the man she’d lost 18 years ago. He understood that. But it didn’t help him from feeling any less envious of Eleanor. He too wished to know who his father was. And Ezra wondered if Anjali still longed for him like she did for Erik. 

Ezra was nothing like Anjali nor Andrew. And as ironic as it would seem, the boy resembled Erik’s character in every possible way. Maybe it was the way he reflected Eleanor’s traits. Ezra was shy and quiet like Erik. He was sensitive and selfless like Erik. The irony of it all, for Anjali had never realized how precious her son really was. A blessing to her. 

The boy was a dreamer. Ezra dreamt of a candy life. He dreamt of meeting his father, of having Anjali and his father together, of celebrating at least one of his birthdays with both his parents by his side. He dreamt of a warm childhood, where his father would buy him a dog, play with him and tuck him in bed. That was all the boy ever wished for. But even as he continued to paint different scenarios, he could never put together his father’s face, for Ezra had never seen his father. All he had of his father was his name, which Ezra desperately clung onto, hoping to reunite with him one day. It was in his mind where he was truly and wholeheartedly alive. His imagination. 

“I don’t have that kind of money. You know that” Anjali said, her fist tightening as she crushed the yellow eviction notice.

“What do you expect from me?” Erik’s mother spoke out.

“I’m not spending that. I’ve saved it all up for Eleanor’s university fees.” Anjali stated, “please mother, this is for Eleanor”.

“Don’t call me that you selfish girl. You turned my son against me, eloped and ran away with his baby after he…you murdered him.” Erik’s mother began accusing. 

This was the usual. She was like that. She hated Anjali. A carnivorous hatred that ran deep within her veins, the root of it being racism. Erik’s mother couldn’t stand the fact that her son had brought home a Sri Lankan. She despised Anjali’s black curls, brown-pearl eyes and honey coated skin. It killed the 50 year old woman to picture her grandchildren being born “brown”. Her worst nightmare. At least that was how she’d phrased it to Erik. 

Erik had introduced Anjali as his pregnant girlfriend, and had asked for his mother’s blessings to marry the girl. And he was deeply saddened by his mother’s response, “not a chance in hell, you get that girl to have an abortion”. It was only then, that he realized that the mother he loved so dearly would never change. Erik was faced with the decision of having to choose between two lives, between living as the son his mother had wished for, or living with his lover. So he did what he could, and eloped, choosing to support both Anjali and the baby they were expecting. 

“You stole my son. And you didn’t even let me see her. My only grandchild” Erik’s mother went out, earning a deep sigh from Anjali. 

“I can’t pay my rent. I don’t have enough to even feed my children. Please. Please lend me some money, and I promise I’ll return it back” Anjali begged. 

“What are you doing? What do you mean we don’t have money?” Eleanor questioned, as she appeared in the living room. 

“Is that Eleanor? Let me hear her voice” Erik’s mother demanded. 

“Eleanor…” Anjali stood in silence, before she hung up on Erik’s mother. 

“Did you hear all of that?” 

“Yeah. Do we not have enough?” 

“It’s not that Ellie, it’s nothing you need to worry about” Anjali tried changing the topic, as she pounced on to the mauve floor cushion. 

“I’m confused. It sounded like you were begging.” she interrogated. 

“Eleanor don’t. You haven’t spoken to me in days, and now you’re…” Anjali began, getting cut off by her daughter. 

“What? I need to know. Of course I need to know” 

“We have enough. I lied about not being able to feed y’all.” Anjali tried joking, “I’ve just put it all aside for your university fees” she admitted. 

“University fees? Are you kidding me?” she kicked the side of their sofa, “we can’t afford to pay rent because you’re saving up for uni?” 

“Ellie calm down” Anjali said, getting back up off the floor. 

“Oh I’m sorry, do you not understand how stupid you’re being” the teenager continued. 

“Eleanor! I’m not being stupid. Is it stupid for a mother to want their child to go to university” Anjali retorted. 

“Of course not. I want to go. University has been my dream. To be a writer.” she yelled, “But I don’t want to be homeless”. 

“Eleanor! I told you. I’ll take care of it”.

“Yeah I’m sure you will” Eleanor muttered, turning away from Anjali as she walked out of the living room. 

Anjali was a dropout. She’d gotten pregnant with Eleanor in her second year, and she dropped out, choosing to work and support her baby. Which was why Anjali desperately needed for Eleanor to go to university. She wished for her daughter to lead the life she couldn’t. Anjali wished to see Eleanor graduate from university, prepare for her first job interview and get her first job. For Eleanor to date, get married and have a family of her own. To welcome Eleanor on the sunny days in summer and the frosty days in winter. That was all she ever wished for. 

And it never crossed her mind that Eleanor might not share the same dream. 

“I wish I was Pandora. I wish I was a successful author.” Eleanor whispered, reading a news article about an upcoming movie Clifford would be directing. “I wish I had been born as Pandora”. 

All her life, Eleanor had desired to be a writer. She was raised by the books she’d read, and she had admired Clifford Warren’s work. Eleanor was 12, when Clifford held a press conference, introducing his daughter Pandora Warren as an author herself. And Eleanor was infatuated by Pandora. Her first novel managed to sell out in just a month. By the age of 25 Pandora had been worked on the scripts of two of the greatest thriller movies. 

It seemed as though everything Pandora touched, had blossomed into a golden pot of success. And Pandora had expressed her admiration for Eleanor. She was already aware of the skill she possessed, but now she was convinced that she too would make it big. This was the hope Eleanor now clung to. She believed that she too would blossom into a successful author, for Pandora had chosen to be her mentor. And now all she had to do was follow through with everything Pandora instructed her to do. 

“I’m going to be the best author. The best there is. I wish to be like you Pandora” 

Stay tuned for Chapter 08 which will be out on the 03rd of September. 

The post The Paragon CHAPTER 07 appeared first on ChoKoLAAte Blog.

“This isn’t good.” Eleanor muttered, ripping out the pages of her notebook, “this sucks”. “I wish I could write like her,” Eleanor uttered in frustration, pulling at her hair, she eyed the novels written by Pandora which were placed on her bookshelf. Her mind was famished, for she hadn’t been able to write anything in the past two weeks, suffering from a drought of inspiration. Eleanor was deeply distressed. Being a perfectionist, she was unsatisfied with every piece of writing she had come up with. Tearing out the pages, she’d crumple it and discard it in the bin. Drenched in a pile of self loath and discontent, Eleanor was desperate to break out of her writer’s block. 

It wasn’t just the writer’s block that bothered her, but rather the menacing red “64” that sat on the top right corner of her English paper, mocking her. Eleanor had not received a grade below a “B” in the past four years of her IGCSEs and her first year of Advanced Level Education. She had never in fact received a “C” for English. And in any other situation, if she’d felt like she deserved a better grade, Eleanor would speak to the teacher regarding her work. But not this time. Eleanor knew that this time, she deserved a “C”. And that devilish “64” weighed down on her like searing bricks. The teenager had begun to doubt herself. 

Eleanor didn’t have much growing up. Born part Asian, poor and raised by a single mother, the girl was continuously made fun of and bullied in school. She felt as though she’d been given an unfair storyline in life. She’d have girls trash her locker, write racial slurs on her desk, and vandalize her belongings. They’d steal her lunch, spitting into her meals and water if she ever refused to hand it to them, and bathe her with their leftovers afterwards. The girls had even once attempted to “whiten” her by painting her with correction fluid, “we’re only helping you out” they’d hiss. And Elanor tolerated it all. She tolerated it all alone. Not mentioning it to Anjali, Eleanor went to great lengths to cover up for her bullies. Which in turn only gave them further power over her. She never once complained to Anjali, for she cared for her Anjali, and feared seeing her mother cry. Eleanor believed that breaking her mother’s heart was far worse than any harassment the girls in her school could put her through. So she endured it all, and all alone. 

 Always three steps behind, Eleanor desired to be better. She soon grew out of that mentality and felt thankful for her riches; Anjali and Ezra. Eleanor prioritized her academics, as she believed that her education was one of the world’s greatest gifts. She indulged in the pleasures of reading, writing and studying. And she loved education, refusing to hold back, Eleanor feasted upon all the knowledge the girl could lay her eyes upon. Eleanor valued knowledge and education. And above all else, her talent for writing. She was overjoyed seeing Anjali’s face gleaming with delight over her first “A”. And so she seeked out for validation in the grades she’d receive. Carrying herself with her new found confidence, Eleanor stood up to her bullies. She was comforted by her grades, and wore it with pride, like a soldier with his color bars. 

So you can only imagine how heartbroken the teenager felt when she’d received her exam score. A horrendous red “64”. It hurt her. Not like the stinging pain from a slap. But rather the blistering pain from being torched alive. Eleanor’s fragile confidence, and self-esteem built upon her academic achievements came crashing down with one blow of a red “64”. 

“I’m not going to get into university if I keep this up” Eleanor teethed, her eyes releasing the tears she’d held back in class when she had received her paper. Eleanor finally let herself cry. She had a week left, to hand in her writing to the universities she’d applied to. Feeling utterly disgusted with herself, Eleanor coloured over her grade on the paper. Shielding it with black ink, the teenager tried to comfort herself. The grade was no longer leering at her, but she still felt it’s burn upon her soft skin. “What do I do? What do I do? What do I do with myself?…I wish I was like Pandora. I wish I could write like her” Eleanor cried. Eleanor looked unto Pandora, as the 27 year old author was her paragon. And so she decided to take Pandora up on her offer, and have her mentor Eleanor. 

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

“You just need to find something to inspire you” Pandora advised, patting Eleanor’s shoulder. 

“I really want to, but I don’t have any inspiration. What usually inspires you?” Eleanor questioned, smiling at Pandora who sat beside her. 

“It’s a secret. I cannot possibly let you in on where I get my ideas from. If I did, you’d be just as successful as I” was the practiced answer Pandora would recite at every interview. But sitting beside Eleanor on a faded grey painted bench in a cabbage-green park in Leigh-on-Sea, Pandora was tempted to pour her heart out. She wanted Eleanor to know the truth. The truth behind Pandora’s success. She didn’t want the teenager’s pity, but rather Eleanor’s understanding of what she had to do to succeed. Pandora enjoyed the admiration captured in Eleanor’s brown pearl eyes, liking how significant she was to the girl. Pandora only wished to wreak havoc in Eleanor’s life, like the tragic plots in her’s. She desired to carve the girl into a great writer just like herself. And Pandora knew exactly what to do. She was Clifford’s daughter after all.  

“Pain.” Pandora answered, shocking Eleanor, “pain is my inspiration”.

“Oh, I didn’t expect that.” Eleanor stuttered.

 “Sadness, fear and anger are great for coming up with gruesome plots.” Pandora flashed a charming smile at her fan.

“Really?” 

“I used all the unfair and painful situations in my life, and I made money out of it.” Pandora explained, “see Eleanor, a thriller novel has to grip your readers and keep them in fear. Fear for the survival of your characters”.

“I see”

“And in order to really leave your reader wanting more, you need to come up with…” Pandora continued before passing, “come up with a disturbing plot”. 

“I’m starting to understand” Eleanor nodded.

“Now Eleanor, don’t go sharing this with anyone else. I’ve never let anyone in on my secret to my success. Only you”

“Ms Warren, you didn’t need to” Eleanor tried, twirling the straw around in her milkshake. 

“Eleanor, come on. I just shared a valuable piece of information with you. Are we still not close? You should feel free to drop the formalities with me. We’re friends now.” Pandora announced. 

“I’m so sorry Pandora, I didn’t mean to offend you.” Eleanor apologized. 

“Of course not.” Pandora brushed off, throwing Eleanor her classic smile. She asked, “now what event will you use as inspiration?”.

“I haven’t really thought about it yet.” Eleanor admitted.

“That’s alright. Just remember that your writing will be better, when it’s something very painful and personal to you, Eleanor.” Pandora reminded her, gaining a smile as reassurance from the teenager. 

Pandora relaxed on the bench, sipping on her coffee. She sat there for a minute in silence with Eleanor, before she lifted herself up, “I better head off now Eleanor”

“Oh okay. Thank you so much for everything Pandora. I’m really glad that you’re helping me out like this” Eleanor bowed in appreciation. 

“Don’t mention it. Do send me your writing once you’re done with it, Eleanor”. Pandora felt an odd sense of familiarity and comfort with Eleanor. And she enjoyed seeing how naïve the younger girl was. You’re the protagonist, Pandora smirked, you Eleanor, are the protagonist.  

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Eleanor followed through with her mentor’s advice, and she channeled out all her pain. She used the pain she felt from being bullied. Eleanor worked on her writing, sharpening her skill, Eleanor was gaining back her self confidence. And Eleanor loved this new found confidence, savoring it, she dedicated herself to her writing. 

“Want to watch a movie with me?” Anjali invited Eleanor. 

“Not really mum. I’ve got a lot to do”

“Can’t you do it later.” Anjali suggested, “take a break and come spend some time with Ezzie and me”.

“Mum! Stop being so annoying. I can’t watch a movie with you right now, are you kidding me? I don’t have time” Eleanor yelled, leaving Anjali in shock. 

“Ellie…” Anjali found it difficult to speak. Eleanor had never yelled at her before. Of course the mother and daughter had argued, but Eleanor had always given into Anjali. And hearing the rage in her daughter’s voice, left her speechless. 

“Don’t bother apologizing. You always do this. You play the role of the victim” Eleanor spat out. 

“Ellie calm down. What’s troubling you? We can talk about it” Anjali attempted to ease Eleanor, by wrapping her arm around her. 

“Do you not understand that I don’t have any time for you” Eleanor shot, pushed Anjali away and out of her room, the teenager slammed the door. 

“I hate having to be the mature one” Eleanor hushed. 

Anjali had wanted Eleanor to think of her as a friend more than a mother. And that’s exactly how Eleanor saw her. Anjali believed that she had done her best in giving Eleanor a happy life. And she was right, to a point. Eleanor grew up having to wipe her mother’s tears, meet her mother’s needs and put her mother first in all and every situation. She wore the big hat of the role of a parent, and Anjali had allowed her to. Pushing Eleanor to be the best, Anjali projected her insecurities and shortcomings onto her daughter. Eleanor had to try, and had to be the best at everything Anjali hadn’t. This was unrealistic for the teenager. 

And so she hid her flaws in a grey envelope, sealed tightly, away from her mother. Eleanor didn’t mention the shame she felt having to wear torn uniforms. Or the humiliation she was put through due to rumors of Anjali and her affairs. Or the pain she endured, hiding the fact that she’d been harassed and abused by the bullies in her school. Eleanor grew up catering to her mother’s fantasy of the “perfect daughter”, which was everything Anjali wasn’t. And Eleanor was beginning to question if she really was the “perfect daughter” herself. 

“I’m so sick. I’m so sick of you.” Eleanor cried out, her pulse rising as she felt overwhelmed. Falling to her knees, Eleanor hugged herself. Pandora’s words had shed light upon Eleanor’s childhood. Allowing her to perceive it with a new pair of eyes, Eleanor finally understood that she’d been treated unfairly. Not by fate or by her bullies. But treated unfairly by her own mother. She’d been forced to grow up too soon, and Eleanor began to question if she’d ever really had a proper childhood. 

“I hate you. I hate myself. I hate that I can never put myself first.”

Living between the safe walls of the novels she’d read, it was evident that both the paragon and the fan were raised by books. Pandora and Eleanor were both stripped of their childhood, shoved into adulthood, and had their identities crafted to fit their parents’ liking. They both suffered. Each a different kind of pain, but still pain all together. 

“I just want to be a child” 

Chapter 07 will be out on the 27th of August. 

By Kisavi Jayawardena

The post THE PARAGON – 06 AN ONLINE THRILLER NOVEL BY KISAVI JAYAWARDENA appeared first on ChoKoLAAte Blog.

Pandora huffed out a small breath of exhaustion, tugging on a thin strand of her neatly brushed caramel-brown hair, as Clifford coloured her manuscript in red. She’d been saturated in his tobacco-scented room. Her mouth tasted foul, not from the vodka she’d been swirling around her mouth, but from the disgust she had for her father’s voice. His rough stone-like voice burrowed through the frail  layers she’d piled up over, trying to blanket herself away from the shivering beast. Pandora knew the bitter truth. That she was nothing but a badge of pride, Clifford wore on his crisp star-like white shirts. 

Pandora deeply detested her life, and the skill she had been gifted with. She had imagined what it would’ve been like, to not have been born with hands. Fantasizing about the life she could’ve lived, if she hadn’t been made to write, young Pandora had desired to chop them off. The girl loved writing, as it came naturally to her. She was undeniably talented, and Pandora adored the praise and admiration she’d receive for her work. But her talent left her scarred and bruised, chained to the very beast she’d been seeking to outrun. She developed her skill, narrating herself stories each night, as she fell asleep, it’s all the child could do. Nestling safely inside the warm walls of her imagination, Pandora escaped Clifford, her monster.

Sharp stings of jealousy brewed within her like the acidic contents in a cauldron. Her nails dug deeper into the thin sheet of paper-skin on her palm. Why was I born as your child? Why did I get trapped in this cruel joke with you? Pandora’s mind rushing back to Eleanor’s joy-coated voice “I’ll be hanging out with my mum tonight”, her skeleton fingers skinned further into her hands. “That’s enough Pandora!” Clifford roared, “you think I don’t notice what you’re doing? You’re hurting your hands”, his voice softened. Clifford reached out, taking her puny hands, his coarse fingers brushing over hers. Clifford gently pressed a serviette over her palm, whipping away the slight drizzles of blood. “You must take care of yourself, Pandora.” Clifford uttered, his face glamping with a warm shade of fatherly care. “You’re my daughter Pandora. You’re my child. When you walk outside of this house, you don’t just represent yourself. You represent me:, Clifford re-informed her, his grip on her delicate wrists. The healing marks of her wound, being ripped open, as he coloured her arms purple. “You’re not just Pandora.” He shot, “You’re a Warren”. Raising to his feet, Clifford’s rugged claw brutally hit her face, “don’t you dare humiliate me this way”. 

Pandora stood in shock, her glass eyes sprinkled with tears. She bit down on her tongue, rage rushing through her veins. Why the hell am I scared of you? Pandora thought, not being able to accept the fact that she still hadn’t gotten used to his ways. 

“You may leave,” Clifford finished, dismissing her. 

“Thank you father. I’ll do my best.” Pandora promised, swallowing back her tears.

“Of course.”

Fiona. Pale. Fair. White. 

Fiona was Pandora’s birth mother. And if Pandora had been granted the chance to have met her, she would’ve seen just how much alike they really were.  

Autumn scented hair, rosy-plush skin and naïve deer eyes, Fiona was the epitome of innocence. Fiona derived from a long line of great wealth. She was educated, polite and a student hoping to be a writer of children’s books. Fiona was unarguably beautiful. Strawberry-brown soft curls fell across as bangs on her rose-white face, with the rest lifted up above her head into a ponytail. She had lotus-pink coated plump lips, and a thin strand of pearls kissing her neck. Fiona wasn’t just beautiful. Fiona was adorable. And it was that child-like innocence that entrapped Clifford. 

The 39 year old author had been infatuated by the younger woman when he first met her at a fan sign event. She’d conjured herself in his distorted world of delusions. Falling head over heels, for the charms of the sharp-tongued, intelligent and divinely handsome author, Fiona agreed to his courtship. And it was only a year later, the naïve 21 year old accepted Clifford’s marriage proposal. If only she had said “no”, for Fiona hadn’t realized that she’d shot herself in the foot.

Marrying her paragon was a dream come true. It would be for anyone. To be with your paragon. To love your paragon. And to be loved by your paragon, was what every fan dreamt of. And Fiona had too. 

It started with the small things. Clifford felt a sense of authority over Fiona, as he was 19 years older than her. He’d asked Fiona to change her diet, stating that he cared for health. He then requested her to keep her hair ironed, straight at all times, again stating that it was for her own good. Clifford then instructed her to wear white, and only white, cutting her up to fit the image of the characters he held in his mind. Clifford groomed the 21 year old. 

His caring suggestions soon turned into harsh insults and critics. Clifford enjoyed how submissive Fiona was to him. And he felt great pleasure in seeing how powerless she was. He knew the value his words held over her, and Clifford played his cards well. He tore bits and pieces off of her, creating dark holes of insecurity and fear in Fiona, Clifford wanted more. So he did what all egotistic men yearned for. He cheated. 

Clifford cheated. And cheated. And cheated. He left a trail of his red-rose affairs for Fiona to watch, hurting her even more. He’d abuse Fiona, each time she’d bring his infidelity up, forcing her to drown alone in her silence and grey isolation. He drank to her misery, and slept beside a different woman each night, smirking as he pictured Fiona’s pained face. 

Fiona was a naïve deer wheedle in a trap of roteening honey. She was also a hopeless romantic, as she’d been raised that way. Raised in a family full of laughter, comfort and love. Her fairytale childhood led to her death, for she delusionally clung onto Clifford, believing he’d change. Fiona was blinded by Clifford’s empty honey-jar promises, and she refused to take off her rose-shaded glasses, hoping for a better version of him. She stayed. 

Fiona stayed. Even when one of his mistresses had presented herself, with a round belly in front of Fiona. She stayed. That mistress birthed Clifford’s first child. A son. Tobias. Leaving the baby at the foot of their porch, the mistress vanished. 

Fiona didn’t mind that the baby she held in her arms was an illegitimate child. He was Clifford’s son, so he was her’s. Fiona accepted him into her heart of unconditional love, and she raised him. It was Clifford who found it outrageous at this point. He hadn’t planned on birthing a child with any of his mistresses. All he desired was to taunt Fiona. And it deeply upset the narcissistic beast within him, when he saw her smile at the baby, she carefully cradled close to her chest. 

So he woke her up one night, feeding her rose-lies, Fiona was quick to forgive him. Clifford led her to the garden, directing her towards the pond with the statue of Mother Mary inside it. Fiona had designed the statue to have placed in there, symbolizing the love of a mother, she desperately desired to give. Inside that very pond, was where Clifford had left the stiffening body of Tobias. And he led his wife to it, knowing just how heartbroken she’d be. 

Clifford had drowned his son. And it was at that hour, when Fiona finally broke, giving Clifford exactly what he’d been craving for. Fiona broke in his arms. And Clifford rejoiced at how powerful he felt, seeing her break character. 

Not too long after, Fiona, now 22 found out that she was carrying a child. Letting shrieks and squeals of excitement spill out of her, she’d spend her time reading fairy tales in the garden. 

“Your brother was once here. And he still is.” She’d caress the fabric of her dress covering her womb. She soon brought life to Pandora, a character Clifford had been working on in one of his novels. And the infatuation he had for Fiona disappeared just as soon as it had trapped him in her candy world. He grew obsessed with Pandora. With his authoritative shadow casting over Fiona, he held all the power over Pandora, and he forbade the woman from seeing her child, killing her. 

Fiona gave up on herself, and fought to hold Pandora in her arms, for she had fantasized loving a child her whole life. Pandora was all Fiona had ever wanted and needed. Fiona carried a golden pot of overflowing unconditional love for Pandora, and she longed to hold and kiss her baby. Fiona would’ve never given up on Pandora. Fiona didn’t. The 23 year old never jumped from the balcony. Clifford had pushed her in a fit of rage, a howling battle to win Pandora. Clifford killed Fiona. 

How ironic it was. Their fates twisted up into the brown pages of Clifford’s novel. Pandora lived with a ghost inside her, feeling empty and desiring to be loved. While Fiona died, longing to give that love to her child, Pandora.

The post THE PARAGON – CHAPTER 05 AN ONLINE THRILLER NOVEL BY KISAVI JAYAWARDENA appeared first on ChoKoLAAte Blog.

“Mum, mum look” Ezra chirped, holding up his report card. 

“I’m so proud of you Eleanor” Anjali gleamed, hugging her daughter, completely ignoring her 13 year old son. 

“Thank you mum” Eleanr returned the affection. 

“Let’s go out and celebrate tonight. We can have pizza at Enzo’s” Anjali squealed, excitedly embracing Eleanor. 

“Um! I’m here too you know. Listen to me” Ezra burst, his doll-like face, now red, glittering with glass beads of tears. “Why don’t you see me? I’m here too. Why don’t you ever listen to me?” .

“Ezra…” both mother and daughter stood in awe, amazed at the 13 year old’s outburst. 

It didn’t take too long for anyone to realise that Anjali favoured Eleanor. Anjali had lost Erik, and Eleanor was the closest she could ever get to being with Erik. Her heart still lay, beating alive, beside Erik’s body deep underneath the earth, for Anjali stubbornly refused to move on from her chocolate-box romance, her first love. And she died. She died along with her lover that unforgiving winter. And just as she had died, she was reborn, knowing she held a golden light inside her womb, her Eleanor. It was no surprise she loved the girl, desiring for Eleanor to have the very best life, the life Anjali had been stripped off of. Anjali favoured her daughter.

Ezra felt it. He had grown to understand his mother, and he accepted the fact that she missed Erik, from the way she’d talk about him. Ezra understood the pain his mother felt, and he adapted to her ways. Not wanting to disrupt the flow and come in between Anjali and Eleanor, he’d stay quiet, watching them through a frame he wasn’t a part of. It did deeply upset the 13 year old, but Ezra was selfless. He didn’t wish to speak up and hurt Anjali, for he loved her unconditionally. But today, the boy had lost his composure, he had addressed the truth, and he regretted it, once he saw the pained look in Anjali’s brown eyes. 

“I’m sorry mum” Ezra apologized, attempting to ease his mother, he hugged her. “I didn’t mean that, I was just being silly.” 

“That’s alright Ezzie” Anjali hugged back, swallowing the sourness of her guilt. She was aware that she loved Eleanor much more than she did Ezra. She knew. Although her guilt stalked her day and night, she’d never admit to it. Anjali hid behind her grey curtain of shame, like an embarrassed child, allowing Ezra to parent her. And he did. 

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

“Bloody bastard” Pandora released under her breath, biting down on her lips as she tossed away a crumpled tissue onto the painted olive-green table. She leaned into the tall garnet-red armchair, her spine crafting the shape of the slope of the chair, as her empty icy-blue eyes lost themselves amongst the streets of London. Pandora had agreed to Clifford’s term to have the draft of her next novel ready for his viewing in thirteen days. Although Eleanor had struck up a fire inside Pandora’s barren heart, curing her writer’s block, the 27 year old author didn’t have any ideas of a thrilling plot and eye-catching characters. She had wanted to get to know the 17 year old, in hopes of gaining inspiration for an intense plot to write about. 

Eleanor had turned down Pandora’s offer to meet up, and it had deeply upset the adult. She’d rather spend time with her mother?, Pandora scoffed, with disbelief. She was deeply offended by the thought of her fan rejecting her, so she drove over that thought again and again, her jaw tightening. Pandora couldn’t accept the fact that the girl who admired her had chosen to spend time with her mother, rather than with her.  Fool. What an absolute fool. Oh who am I kidding, all children are fools, her anger churned up inside of her, melting together with the hatred she had for her father, along with her self pity. Eleanor, you fool. How could you possibly choose to be with your mother over me? Why?, swiftly combing her bone-like fingers through her hair, she sat up straight adjusting the thin straps of her dove-grey dress. Sighing, Do children actually enjoy spending time with their parents?  Pandora gulped the piping-hot espresso, her mind wandering off to Clifford. “Ugh, how atrocious” Pandora spat out, shaking off the nauseousness she felt after thinking of him. 

Why would you choose her over me? What could I possibly lack?, she huffed, crossing her legs beneath the table, Pandora rearranged her ankle-length grey slip on dress. She needed to meet Eleanor today. She chugged down her eighth espresso shot, throwing back her head, her unbrushed caramel-brown hair fell over her shoulders, curtaining her oval-shaped face. Running her fingers through her hair once again, she exhaled, her chest heaving down, as she tucked in a bill into the little elf-shaped tip jar on the table at the coffee shop. Collecting her brown paper bag of croissants, she exited the cafe. 

Pandora carried an immense amount of disgust for herself. And she was only attracted to Eleanor, because the teenager had what Pandora didn’t. Eleanor had a mother. And Pandora didn’t. Her egotistical mind would never allow her to take in the truth that she was jealous of Eleanor. Pandora Warren was jealous that Eleanor had a mother to go home to, a mother to cry to, and a mother who’d hug her. Her spite bit at her each living second, whipping together with the bitterness of her childhood, that she’d hidden in the pits of her mind. Why can’t I be happy? Pandora shuddered, wandering across the streets of London aimlessly, Why can’t I ever be happy?

Distracted by the thick tar of self pity, her splintered and chipped heart soaked it all up, like a soiled sponge. Pandora stood at the edge of the pavement, waiting for the walking sign to shine green. I’m young, rich and pretty, she thought, but why am I not happy? Why? Why am I never happy? She forced back her dry hair that blew wildly in the frosty winds of London. Why do I feel so empty? What am I missing in my life? Pandora pondered over, driving past her thoughts in repeating circles. Taking in a quick bag of air, Pandora noticed the car bull-running towards her. Huh, a car. I should moveI. Like a lifeless mannequin, her feet were fixed to the ground. It wasn’t that she couldn’t move. Pandora just didn’t want to, Oh would it be so bad if I didn’t? Her mouth stained with poignant pity, she refused to get herself out of the way, from the blaring red Ford racing towards her. How funny. 

Oh how funny. Pandora had been pulled to the sidewalk. Slender arms cradled her, and Pandora could feel the broad muscles of the chest beneath her puff up and heave back down. Hoisting herself off of the man that had pulled her to the pavement, Pandora shifted her glare towards him, feeling a rush of rage take over her. 

“Alex”, she gasped. Alexander Uragirimono had saved her. Her eyes softened as she identified the face of the man who had fished her out of the main-road. Alexander Uragirimono stood in front of her, concern shadowing his face. Pandora’s sweet Alexander Uragirimono had walked right back into her life. Or rather pulled her into his. 

She had been homeschooled by various tutors, her whole life, up until university. She hadn’t had the luxury of experiencing a normal day in school. She was kept hidden away, like a starving book collecting dust on a broken shelf, in the old Warren mansion. And she’d only ever interacted with the maids, house workers and Clifford. Pandora had been abandoned from the very start, not having anyone to care for her, she didn’t care for anyone either, for her heart was a barren land. 

Alexander Uragirimono had moved to Broxburn at the age of 3. Flying across the world from Japan to England, his parents chose to lead their business and live in England. Gifting him an English first name, Alexander Uragirimono was the only son of the Uragirimono Technology Firm. It was carved in his destiny, to take over the business, fitting himself into the mark of his father. The boy had met Pandora the day she’d witnessed the brutal suicide of her biological mother. She’d run off to the lake behind the mansion, where Alex had been weeping. A wailing little boy, painted flower-y shades of red and purple across his frail arms, by his father. She felt pity towards him, and he did too. Covered in a thick coat of tears and abuse, they found comfort knowing that they weren’t alone. They were both caged birds, singing together, no longer alone. Their voices merged into an uplifting chorus that freed the children. 

Alexander loved her. His little-boy-heart was drenched in pure, innocent love for the colourless bird. And as unbelievable as it seemed, she did too. 

“Alex” the name slipped out with such ease. His name slithered out delicately, along with a soft breath of disbelief. It was so very effortless for his name to roll right off of her tongue. Warm-shaded reels of memories cast a yellow beam within Pandora. 

“It’s you” She managed out, her voice a bit louder than a bare whisper. 

“Hi Dora, are you alright?” Alexander’s lips curled into a thin tail, “What were you doing?”. Alexander snaked his long arms around her, “I’ve missed you so much Dora.”.

Her pulse rang shrills and sirens, not returning his physical gesture, she pushed him off gently. 

“Dora are you alright? What were you thinking…” Alexander interrogated her, sharp jolts of sorrow hitting his heart thinking of her standing there stiff.

“When…when did you get back?” Pandora bit her bottom lip, tightening her grip on his white shirt, “you left me”.

“Dora I, I didn’t have a choice.” Alex defended thinking back to that very horrible day, on his 15th birthday. Alexander’s father had hunted through his room, and found a sketch he’d done one night of Pandora. His father ripped it apart, the chauvinistic man’s fury burning it. He threw away the shredded scraps of the drawing along with his very own son, to Japan.  

“Don’t bother.” Pandora’s jaw tightened as she shook away the memories of her first love. 

“I never meant to, Dora. You need to understand” Alex tugged on her sleeve, holding her in place not allowing her to leave him. “I’m here now, Dora. I’m back for good. I won’t leave you again” 

That was all it took. Just five words was all that was required to shut the raging storm inside of her. Pandora tasted his words,  I won’t leave you again , a sugar promise that she longed to hold on too. 

“Alex” Pandora buried her head on his chest, listening to the soft shivering beats of his heart. You are what I’ve been lacking, Alex. You are what I’ve been missing all along,  Pandora believed, gripping onto the back of his shirt. 

My whaling boy. 

By Kisavi Jayawardana.

The post THE PARAGON – CHAPTER 04 AN ONLINE THRILLER NOVEL BY KISAVI JAYAWARDENA appeared first on ChoKoLAAte Blog.

“In order to bring your characters to life, you need to imagine that they exist in your own reality. Speak with your characters and get to know them. Spend time with them. If you imagine them as real life human beings, your writing will change drastically. This will allow you to have a natural process of character development in your writing, while making your characters realistic to your readers.” Pandora explained retucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

“That’ll be all for the questions and answer segment.” The moderator’s voice beamed through the auditorium. “We would like to thank Ms Warren, for taking time out of your busy schedule to visit us and conduct this session on creative writing. I am sure we’ve all learnt a lot of insightful ways to improve our writing skills.” the moderator finished. 

“Thank you for having me. It has been a wonderful experience” Pandora replied. 

Eleanor was one of the first to rush outside, running through the doors with the other students she’d once considered immature. She stood outside, heart in hand, feeling giddy. 

I met Pandora J. Warren today. Pandora Jane Warren wanted to speak with me. Pandora Jane Warren wanted to see my writing, Eleanor thought, twirling the end of her fish-tail braid around her finger, she leaned against the wall. Pandora Jane Warren said she liked my hair, Eleanor smiled to herself. 

She had been a major fan of Clifford James Warren. She grew up reading his books, and when Pandora released her first novel, Eleanor was overjoyed when she found out her favourite author Clifford Warren had a daughter. She re-watched all of his previous interviews and reread all of Clifford’s novels, thinking about his writing from a father’s perspective. Eleanor soon became a fan of Pandora, and she bought every novel Pandora released. She envied Pandora for being a successful writer. Pandora’s life was magical to Eleanor, she admired her for having been born to a famous author. Eleanor had chosen to pursue her future career as an author, because of Clifford and Pandora. Desiring to write like her, Eleanor wished to have lived the life Pandora had. Pandora was Eleanor’s paragon.  

“I can’t believe I’m sitting here with you” Eleanor muttered, her cheeks blushing shyly. 

“Why not?” Pandora asked, inching closer to Eleanor over the small coffee table in between them. 

“It’s just…you…you’re Pandora Jane Warren…and I’ve always been your biggest fan” Eleanor squeaked out, her insides twisting with glee. 

“That’s so cute” Pandora smiled, taking out the silver clip in her hair, she let it fall freely. “I think you’re extremely talented, Eleanor” her voice dripped with sultry, placing Eleanor’s notebook on the walnut-brown table. Eleanor melted at the way Pandora’s soft but husky voice embraced her name. 

She stammered “Thank you, thank you so much…You…you have no idea how much that means to me.”, her stomach filling with glee.

“Aw, it’s so endearing how my words have so much meaning to you.”, Pandora gestured for Eleanor to drink her iced mocha. 

“I wish I could be a writer like you,” Eleanor admitted, placing the plastic cup back down on the table. 

“You can be Elle.” Pandora encouraged, “you’re more than capable”

“You really think so?” Eleanor perked up on her seat  

“Of course Elle, I can help you out with it, if you want. It’s your wish, right?.” she said, brushing past a curl from Eleano’s face. 

“Uh…what do you mean?”

Sinking back into the chair, “You want to be like me, yes?” Pandora stirred up, “I can make you become a successful writer.” 

“Uh…that means a lot but I…I’m not really sure.” Eleanor hesitated. 

“You can be an author just like me, Elle. Imagine how proud you can be of yourself, when you achieve that success. I can help you meet this goal.”

Pandora leaned closer to Eleanor, “I can transform you into one of the best authors to ever exist. Like my father and I, our legacy. You can be like us, Eleanor” she offered, tempting the 17 year old.  “I can give that to you Elle.”

“I really don’t know…” she tried refusing politely. 

“I like you, Elle. I see that spark in you. And I wouldn’t just ” her matte-coated lips laced out, “It’s what you wished for. Right?”  

“Yes…I do wish that I could write like you.” 

“You can. You’re already so talented and bright. All you need is a bit of practise.” 

How naive Pandora thought, took a sip from her espresso. Her eyes scanned the teenager in front of her. Eleanor’s cheeks were sunkissed, with dazzling deer eyes and a fuller-bottom lip, she trickled with child-like purity. Adorable, she smirked. 

Pandora was captivated by Eleanor’s innocence. The teenager was naive, and that was just what she wanted. An easy target to manipulate into her new plot. The additional benefit in this was that Eleanor was captivating. They had similar interests, yet Pandora could tell that they were different. Eleanor’s childhood had shaped her into the teenager she was, just like Pandora’s had caned her into the woman she was. She couldn’t understand why the girl was so different from her, and Pandora’s curiosity nibbled at her. Struggling with her writer’s block, Pandora was desperate for some inspiration. And Pandora felt electrified, adrenaline rushing through her veins. She wanted to write again. 

That night Pandora slept well. For the first time in seven months, she wasn’t consumed by her insomnia. She wasn’t tormented by the woman she’d seen dying. Pandora floated off into her subconscious, as soon as her paper-like body had been seized by the soft comfort of the silk sheets. 

Eleanor… Pandora called in her sleep. Shooting up from the pillow her head had been resting on, Pandora was greeted by Clifford. Clifford has settled himself in her maroon arm-chair, beside her bed, reading one of Pandora’s old manuscripts. 

“Eleanor?” He questioned, keeping the stack of papers back. 

“I’m going to start writing again” Pandora changed the topic, not wanting to share the girl she’d met with him.

“That’s good” Clifford approved, ” send me the draft in two weeks”. 

“Two weeks? I’ll need more time th…” 

“Writing is all you have Pandora. You’re an author, and you haven’t published anything in over a year. You haven’t written anything in months Pandora” Clifford interrupted her. His voice roared within the ivory walls of her bedroom.

“Father…” Pandora tried, and yet she couldn’t manage to speak to him. He’s been harsh on her for as long as she could remember. And she thought she had adapted to his ways. But every time he raised his voice she’d feel herself shrink into the broken child she really was. She couldn’t breath. She couldn’t move. She was paralyzed, and she didn’t understand why. 27 years, living as his daughter, Pandora knew the animalistic man he truly was. But she shivered at his touch. Broken and naked, her mind gave out. “You’re my daughter, Pandora, so I’ve been way too lenient with you. You’re a writer for God’s sake.”, he yelled. Clifford grabbed her frail face, “You are nothing if you stop writing. You’re nothing without your writing, Pandora.” he dug his nails into the skin underneath her chin. “I made you into who you are today. The least you can do is write.” Clifford spat out, sawing his way into her mind, “if you don’t, you’ll be thrown out just like your mother.” he threatened, getting back up. “Two weeks.” He instructed. 

Clifford had gotten his way. Again. 

Carrying herself up, Pandora pulled open the heavy curtains. And with a thud she let her head hit the frosty glass of the French windows. Seven minutes. Seven minutes had gone by, with Pandora standing against the window, lifeless. 

I’m trapped. I’m trapped in a burning building. No doors to run out of. No one to save me. I’m trapped in a burning building. 

Peeling her forehead off of the glass, her hands shivered as they wiped away a tear that had escaped her hollow mannequin eyes. 

I’m fine. I’ll do my best. Pandora nodded, gliding across the room, she reached for the hair brush. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7… she continued obsessively, pulling the brush through her hair. I’m fine. I’ll do my best , her heart picked up her mind’s pace. 36, 37 Pandora continued with the brushing, not releasing the strands of hair jailed within her fingers.64, 65, 66 she heaved her hair out, dropping the baby-blue brush onto the carpeted floors, followed by her puny body. I’m fine. I’ll do my best, she promised, embracing her sickly figure, Pandora nodded, I’m fine. 

Chapter 4 will be released on the 30th of July.

By Kisavi Jayawardena

The post Online Thriller Novel -The Paragon – Chapter 03 by Kisavi Jayawardena appeared first on ChoKoLAAte Blog.

“This is ridiculous. I can’t believe I’m doing this” Pandora ached, pushing her satiny, salty-caramel hair behind her shoulders.

“Your father wouldn’t like that, Ms Warren” Lousie uttered, throwing a quick glance at Pandora before he focused on the road again.

“I know,” Pandora muttered, scanning the school gate outside of her window. “I wish I could just…ugh I don’t know” she said, gaining Lousie’s full attention. “I’m always tired. I have no appetite and I can’t sleep… I’m just so tired…” Pandora admitted, combing her willowy fingers through her hair once again.  

Pandora hated her hair. Mid-waist warm caramel brown hair that fell straight down. She absolutely hated the way it perfectly matched Clifford’s crown. Clifford had never allowed her to cut it, put it up nor braid it. He’d have the maids brush her hair one hundred times exactly, every morning, evening and night, having them repeat this exhausting process if they miscounted. And Pandora never bothered to do it herself, after he’d had the maids beat her for tying it up. She didn’t care about changing it after that incident. Starving and locking her away in his musty work room, for dressing, writing or living in any way he didn’t approve of, Pandora eventually broke. She accepted the fact that she didn’t live for herself, and that she belonged to Clifford, giving in and submitting to him. 

“Don’t mess your hair up too much. He won’t like it” Louise warned. 

Sighing she replied, “I won’t”, releasing the strands entangled in her fingers. 

Pandora had no relationship with her biological mother. She’d witnessed the woman beg Clifford to let her see Pandora. Young Pandora was curious about the woman that yelled her name and pleaded with Clifford every day. Unruly hair in a frizzy braid, with a sickly face and disgustingly thin body, Pandora found her unpleasant. But she felt comfort in knowing that there was someone who wanted her. Pandora wanted her as well and she wanted to speak with that woman, look at her up close. 

On a murky Thursday evening, after violin class, Pandora heard the woman’s voice again. No longer holding any anger, fight or urgency in her voice, the woman sounded weak and desperate. Following the frail voice that led Pandora to the main-room balcony, and just like she’d witnessed the woman beg to see her, she witnessed the woman’s conclusion. With a strident thud, the woman fell to the ground. Her disfigured face, demolished head and razed body, fractured Pandora’s schoolgirl mind. Pandora fought the instinct she had to embrace the lifeless body. A part of her 7 year old mind did believe that the woman she’d always seen loved her. And young Pandora craved motherly love and affection. So she reached out and touched the fallen corpse. Waiting for the woman to get back up and call out her name once again. Pandora laid down beside it, and hugged the woman whom she believed was her mother. Burying her head in the woman’s hollow chest, Pandora felt an odd sense of familiarity and comfort. 

Days passed by, with young Pandora eyeing the windows that displayed the front yard. Hoping for the woman to return, she waited. She waited through bustling summers, quiet autumns, beautiful winters and she waited through the unsatisfying springs. Pandora longed to see her again, and so she waited patiently clinging onto her decaying hope, which fell apart as each day passed. 

It was only when Pandora was 10 that she realised that the woman she’d been waiting for was never coming back. Her frail mind refusing to accept the death of the woman, Pandora painted a different picture, a one with hope; her biological mother had left her to go on a short trip, and would eventually return back to collect Pandora. Seasons changed and Pandora grew into her teens. She was coloured with betrayal. She was 15 now, and the woman she prayed to see every night, was never returning.

Pandora tasted the bitterness of heartbreak.

And her heart deteriorated into a barren land.

Left all alone to the maids after the passing of her mother, she clung onto Louise for a sense of security. 

“I can drive you to the sea-side after the session today. Let you clear your mind” Louise suggested, smiling warmly at her. 

Pandora smiled back, bare with emotion, she clipped her hair to the right side of her face, clasping it back with a silver, white stoned serpent clip. 

“Thank you Lou”. 

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

“Utterly ridiculous” Eleanor vented, “I cannot believe I need to attend this stupid session on creative writing. What more could I possibly learn?”. Buttoning her crisp white shirt up, Eleanore continued her rant, “ I know everything there is to know about it. Plus writing isn’t something you can just learn, it’s a talent you need to be born with.”Eleanor bragged. . 

“I thought we agreed on trying to make an effort, Ellie,” Anjali reminded, unclasping Eleanor’s bear-black curls. 

“I am trying” Eleanor said, placing heavier emphasis on the am , “Can you do the fishy braid?”.

“Fish-tail braid” Anjali corrected, smiling at her 17 year old. 

Anjali was more than satisfied with the way Eleanor had turned out to be. She felt pride in seeing just how much her daughter had grown up into Erik. And Anjali felt comforted knowing that Eleanor was nothing like her. 

Eleanor had her deep-black curls arrested into a long fishtail braid, while Anjali had hers form a luscious dark cloud surrounding her heart-shaped face.

“All done” Anjali sang, wrapping her arms around Eleanor.

“Thank you” Eleanor chimed in, hugging her mother back. Lifting herself off the mauve velvet floor cushion, “we better get going”, Eleanor suggested.

“Yeah” Anjali agreed before calling for Ezra.

Ezra Andrew Liyanage was the result of Anjali’s winter fling that stuck on for way longer than she’d anticipated. She’d only desired a brief encounter with Andrew, not wanting to feel lonely during Christmas. It had been her third Christmas after Erik’s passing, and with the 26th being his death anniversary, Anjali longed for romance. Choosing to believe that romance was all Anjali wanted,  what she really needed was a sense of grounding in the harsh winds of December. Anjali hated the winters in Leigh-on-Sea. With no snow but unforgiving chills and hail storms that frightened her. Anjali was terrified. She was a single mother with no university degree working at a convenience store in a foreign country. But little Eleanor kept Anjali warm, as she welcomed her second child Ezra. 

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

“Thank you for taking time out of your day to show me around the school” Pandora flashed her classic-beauty smile at Mr Gregory.

“It was my pleasure Pandora” The headmaster replied, eyeing her elongated physic. 

Feeling his eyes wondering over her, Pandora excused herself heading into the bathroom.

“You can call me Ms Warren” Pandora shot back, towering over the headmaster in her silver heels. 

“Oh I’m so sorry Pan-Ms Warren” Mr Gregory managed, adjusting his tie. 

She was never truly comfortable with men, and she despised the way they perceived her. All men were bastards to Pandora. Clifford certainly was, and every other man she met was. All except for Louise. 

Pushing open the heavy steel handle on the bathroom door, Pandora glided into the pink-tiled room, ramming herself into Eleanor, as they both crashed to the ground. 

“Oh. I’m terribly sorry about that” Pandora excused, helping Eleanor up, “Are you alright?” 

“Yes. Don’t worry about it” Eleanor responded kindly. She was awestruck by Pandora. Azure smart-casual knee length dress that perfectly complemented Pandora’s figure and complection. Her hair was as light and warm as honey. Her eyes were glowing jade beads. And her voice was soft but husky. Pandora carried herself with grace and confidence, and Eleanor desired to be like that. 

“You’ve got beautiful hair” Pandora complimented, “may I have your name?”

“My name is Eleanor Liyanage” Eleanor chirped.

“I’m Pandora Warren. It’s so nice to meet you Eleanor” Pandora said, tilting her head to the right she smiled. 

“I know who you are. I’m a big fan of your work. I loved the Butterfly Boy. It’s my favourite book of your’s.” Eleanor cheered on, grinning from ear to ear, making Pandora smile wider. 

For the first time, Pandora didn’t need to force herself to smile. It came to her naturally, when she’d seen Eleanor. It felt refreshing. 

“Are you a writer yourself?” 

“Yes! Yes I am.” Eleanor answered.

“Then would you like to meet up after the session today?” Pandora invited, “I’d like to see some of your work” 

“Yes of course. I…I would really like that” Eleanor spoke out excitedly. 

Pandora’s heart had become barren, when she had realised her mother would never return to her. And for the very first time in forever, she felt a viridescent, green seedling sprout out inside of her. How adorable Pandora thought, seeing Eleanor’s innocence twinkle in her eyes. There was something irresistible about Eleanor and Pandora felt a strong pull towards Eleanor. The uncontrollable hungry sensation a fox felt for a rabbit. 

Pandora now wanted Eleanor, as their worlds had collided. She knew she’d grow increasingly attached to the teenage girl.

So very adorable, Pandora smirked.

Chapter 3 will be out on the 23rd of July.

By Kisavi Jayawardena

The post Online Thriller Novel -The Paragon – Chapter 02 by Kisavi Jayawardena appeared first on ChoKoLAAte Blog.

“What an obnoxious blockhead” Pandora sighed, sinking into the steel-grey armchair, she rolled her eyes for the seventh time. She’d been slouched in his office for the past hour, attempting to remove herself from  anything concerning him. 

“Wednesday, 11 am, Leigh East High School. You will be there” Clifford instructed her, “you don’t have a choice here, Pandora. You don’t just represent yourself, you represent our family.  My name.” 

Pandora sighed again, straightening her posture, “I’m not…”.

“It’s the least you can do” Clifford interrupted, taking another sip from his glass of Irish whiskey, “And I don’t expect much from you”. 

He’d been that way. Stubborn and persistent, Clifford Warren got his way. Author of best selling novels and movie director, the man was a psychotic perfectionist. Clifford raised Pandora on his own, and he’d trained her to be nothing but the best, drilling his ambitions into her. His life, his success and his glory were constantly projected over Pandora, along with his flaws and failures. Flaws and failures he’d never allow himself to accept. But it all weighed down on Pandora. 

Pandora was never a part of Clifford’s plan for his life, or more so his career which indeed was his life. He’d never expected her, and never did he truly bond with her as a child. Clifford wanted to cover his past up, bury it along with this unwanted child fate had tossed at him. But he couldn’t bring himself to abandon her, like the others he’d thrown out, over the years. Pandora was special to him, for some inexplicable reason, he was fascinated by her. She was a gift to him, and he perceived her as nothing more than another one of his characters in his books. Clifford wrote Pandora up into the woman she was today, and he felt pride with seeing how much she had evolved into being him. 

Pandora was gifted. She was intelligent just like Clifford, creative and imaginative just like Clifford, and had a striking talent for writing just like her father, Clifford. Top achiever in academics, sports, music, arts, Pandora was an ace. She had to be. Pandora reflected him in all the artistically beautiful and sickening ways. Her bewitching physique, brilliant mind and sharp tongue left many speechless. Pandora was indeed a gift to all. 

“That’ll be all then Pandora. Make sure you wear blue or green” Clifford listed “Gold jewellery won’t do, so stick to silver. Nothing too flashy. And pin your hair to the right side of your face, and have Linette do your makeup.”

Pandora didn’t bother with a reply, she lifted herself off the comforting armchair and snatched her caramel brown coat from the coat rack., “I’ll do my best”. 

“Of Course you will” he pressed. 

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

“How obnoxious” Eleanor sighed, pressing her forehead against the cold foggy glass, she stared out at the empty streets of Leigh-on-Sea. She was bored, bored beyond words. Eleanor replayed the events that happened that afternoon. She’d earned herself an evening of detention. Throwing witty remarks at the biology teacher was nothing new to Eleanor, but getting detention for doing so, was. 

“This is ridiculous” Eleanor huffed, rolling her eyes back at the headmaster. 

“Ms Liyanage” The headmaster tried “You will not speak that way to me, nor will you harass my teachers.”. 

“I was not harassing her. I was correcting her.” Eleanor rose up, pacing around the brown shelved room. 

“Correcting her? Our teachers don’t need to be corrected” he defended. 

“It’s not my fault she didn’t know the syllabus well.” Eleanor started, “we have a syllabus we need to stick to, to finish in time for our Advanced Level examinations.”

“I’m aware Ms Liyanage” Mr Gregory roared, “and I can’t guarantee you will get to sit for the examinations if you keep pulling these stunts.”. 

“I was only correcting her. for giving us inaccurate study material. She should be here instead of me.” Eleanor shot back.  

“That is enough Ms Liyan…” a knock on the old oak office-door halted the headmaster in his attempt to discipline Eleanor. 

Mr Gregory’s secretary chimed in, cutting through the tension in the room “Ms Liyanage is here, shall I send her in?”.

“Yes Linda.” Mr. Gregory replied with annoyance . 

“Good evening Mr Gregory” Anjali greeted, her smile stretching out widely across her glowing, dusky face. She pulled a chair and sat beside Eleanor, adjusting her silk-like cream camisole. Anjali tried pulling her denim mini skirt over her thigh, not being able to bring it down to her knee, she rested her well-decorated hands on top, receiving a glare from Eleanor. 

She’d always been that way. Charismatic and friendly, Anjali Liyanage was able to win over anyone. Dressed in warm shades, soft fabrics and bedazzled with layers of multi-coloured jewellery, she oozed charm. Luscious black curls dripped down to her waist, where you’d be able to spot her scorpion tattoo. She was nothing like her daughter Eleanor, who instead mimicked her paternal grandmother’s mannerisms, much to Anjali’s horror, although she’d named her daughter after her boyfriend’s mother. 

Anjali had had her in her second year of university. She dropped out and left London all together. Nesting down in Leigh-on-Sea, Anjali lived in a one-bedroom annex over a convenience store, where she worked to make a living. Choosing not to drown and wallow in the sorrows of losing her lover Erik, Anjali did not allow herself to fall into a pit of self-pity. Too afraid to face her parents, who’d frown upon her choice to have a baby out of wedlock, she couldn’t begin to think about returning to Sri Lanka.

Anjali had met Erik while studying at university. They were a chocolate-box couple; red roses, soft kisses, long walks and dances in the rain. Their romance was a whirlwind with all its fairy-tale cliches from the prince charming rescuing the damsel in distress, to the evil witch and curses, they had it all. Anjali always thought that it was too good to be true. Her life was finally perfect with Erik beside her. She’d been through a lot growing up with unnecessarily strict parents, and Erik was everything Anjali had dreamt of. She loved everything about him, and it killed her when he passed away.

Anjali never cried, not once after his death. She bottled up all of her dissolution and buried it along with his decomposing corpse. She didn’t understand the feelings that devoured her. Anger, resentment, sadness. Anjali didn’t have time to wallow over Erik, although she missed him she didn’t feel lonely. She was carrying his seed inside of her and that was all she had left of him. His life. And Anjali did her very best to project the life that grew inside of her womb. The last hope she had, her little Eleanor. 

“Ms Liyanage, I apologize for having to call you in today.” Mr Gregory began. 

“That’s alright Mr Gregory” Anjali gleamed up at him, singing, “I don’t mind dropping in here anytime, Mr Gregory.” 

“Ms Liyanage…uh Eleanor caused a bit of a stir today”. Mr Gregory tried playing down, finding himself at a loss of words. 

“What kind of stir Mr Gregory?” Anjali asked, her voice soft and sticky-sweet. 

“Oh, nothing too bad. Don’t worry about it Ms Liyanage” Mr Gregory croaked out, losing himself in Anjali’s web of charisma, “Just make sure Eleanor doesn’t make it a habit to haras…uh voice out her opinions.”

“Yes of course, Mr Gregory. I’ll make sure Eleanor doesn’t make this a habit.” Anjali caroled, making sure to use his name each time she spoke, twirling her jade beaded necklace in her hand. 

This was usual for Anjali. Flirting, chatting up and leading others on to paint up the illustration she wanted her situation to be. And she’d pull any stunt to clear out Eleanor’s name.

Chapter 2 will be out on the 16th of July. 

New chapters to be released every Friday. 

By Kisavi Jayawardena

The post Online Thriller Novel -The Paragon – Chapter 01 by Kisavi Jayawardena appeared first on ChoKoLAAte Blog.