June Peterson had always had her compass. It was tiger gold and had this amazing glimmer when it was caught in the sun. But what she didn't know was that long-lost memories were sealed within.
June Peterson had never understood where her compass had emerged from. Now and then, it continued to dangle lightly on a chain of pure gold, though it seems that the soft weight it used to be is now gradually developing into a heavier weight against her bare chest. As the wheels clicked and clacked, and the window panes were enveloped by solid fog, June quickly brushed her hair out of her face, revealing her brown hazel eyes.
Her life was in fact, a patchwork quilt of mismatched squares, filled with laughter, tears, sweat and blood. But, there was always that one square, she thought, that lay empty and blank from the moment she sprung into a life of her own. That tingling feeling to discovering what it was, lingered inside of her every minute, every second. And that was what she was going to do. Discover. But for now, she was on a train, on her way to England, to visit her father. Not long ago, was she in an argument with her father about who her mother really was. Her mother had disappeared from her life mysteriously and never was it explained. And for sure, she was going to find all the answers to her questions when she meets her father. No matter the cost. As she stared silently out of the window pane, a tint of fresh light pierced through the fog, and that was when June knew that there was hope.
June's father, John Frederick Peterson was always her only family from the moment she was born. It was never her decision to be in this family, and never was it her choice for it to be the base of her identity. Nevertheless, there she was. The rattling rain drummed down on the tiled rooftop of the ancient Victorian semi-detached house, and the arched window panes were no longer translucent, but dripping wet. The rigid brick layers were the scorching scales of a dragon, though more crumbled than the last time she had visited her father.
June pressed solidly on the rusty doorbell, producing a shrill ringing sound, debilitating her eardrums. Once, twice the doorbell rung with a piercing screech. At last, a middle-aged man of identical hazel brown eyes opened the pale green door, and realising who it was, swiveled and attempted to close it. But, that wasn't enough to stop her. June had already swiftly jammed her foot into the doorway just before John Peterson decided to turn away. Now, it was the time to find answers to what she had been searching for her entire life. "Father, why won't you tell me who my mother was, and where she is?" she spat, hurling her arms into the air with anger, yet soft tears began to cascade from her weary eyes. But that didn't stop her father from charging further down into the antiquated hallway. Suddenly, without notice, her father whirled around, and locked his bold eyes on what she couldn't see. But, it was too late for that. Clasping her beloved compass, he tugged it with great strength, causing the delicate golden chain to snap within an instant, leaving only shattered pieces of frail glass– of frail hope.
Her feeble feet were quivering with pain as she plunged further and further away from the place that had fractured her hope. Her only hope. The world she once knew seemed to grow larger and larger as she shrunk smaller and smaller. The spring green trees once rich and healthy rotted away and gradually decomposed into darkness. That was her heart. Her soul. Her mind. But the problem was, June didn't understand that it just made her even stronger. The wind was a ferocious lion howling with all its might. The trees were towering sky-scrapers as the rain plunged down onto the Earth's fresh wet soil like knives surging into what June thought was her only drive to discovering what she needed to discover. The warm street lamps created a livening light show on the drained surface of the concrete footpaths as June's shadow casted a feeling of misery over her every footstep. An old swinging sign 'Molly's Café' marked a place of refuge for June. At least for now.
Slowly and steadily, she paced over to the dry doorstep while covering her tangled wet hair with the cold hood of her blue ocean coat. A warm gush of sweet-scented apple pie and the tangy smell of burnt coffee overwhelmed her feelings of downheartedness and all was forgotten in that instant. The dark red stools lay empty like the rest of the café, but that didn't bother her at all. Quietly, June pulled out the photograph, the one that had floated out from her broken compass– a middle-aged woman and her young child. It was unmistakable. It was undoubted. It was her. Who she had been looking for. Flipping it over, was a message inscribed in jet black ink in curly handwriting 'The home of a mother, the home of a daughter: 86 Lanchester Rd, London.' Nothing could stop June now.
The train murmured a soft whistle as it crawled sluggishly away from Lanchester Station. June was ready. Ready to face what she had to face. She had learnt the road to the house off by heart now. It only took twenty-six minutes to do so, after all this was a massive leap to finding her long-lost mother. The rain left traces of a moist and salty texture that lingered on her tongue. The building was a mighty mountain of grimy windows, with vines slithering across the wooden door entrance. From outside, June could caught the faint sound of laughter and footsteps trampling quickly across the floorboards. "Welcome to Lanchester Orphanage, how can I help you?" a deep feminist voice remarked. June briskly swerved around to meet an elderly woman with a large apron and bib with threaded lace lining. She didn't expect this at all. An orphanage? This can't be! "Excuse me Madam, I'm looking for the lady in the photo, however I can't expect her to still be at this very age?" June stuttered. The woman paused sternly as lined wrinkles began to appear on her forehead.
Abruptly, she screeched, "Oh my! It's Sophina, she was one of our devoted maidens who was working here a few years ago, but... she's passed away." June stands frozen, her eyes blinking like she had never been so shocked before. One at a time, warm tears started to trickle down her pink cheeks and she couldn't handle it any longer. Grabbing her handbag, she raced down the street, not understanding what was happening to her world. June was empty-minded, she had nothing else she could do. She decided to return home...
The arched window panes were never been so smeary... the pale green door had never been any paler... the rough bricks had never been rougher... It was just too much for her, too much. Soft tears rolled down as she wiped them with her damp coat. June's hair wasn't hazel brown as it had used to be, but now it was dirt brown. Without awareness, the door creaked open and the next thing that happened flew by without doubt.She was met in warm arms and tears rolled faster than before. This wasn't the sad tears, or the angry tears, but it was the tears of love and understanding. "No one really knew who your mother and father were. They left you to the orphanage in Lanchester. You were always my daughter, and always will be. Even though I adopted you, it probably wasn't a coincidence that we have hazel-coloured eyes, we were just destined to be a family. I didn't want to tell you this because it would of just separated us," her father spoke, quivering. "I love you father," June replied, sobbing happily. "I love you too, June," John Peterson responded quietly.