litton, a small town our story had begun in, had not been any different from other places as cozy and settled that surrounded large and noisy metropolises.
Modest double-storey houses were stretching in rows along narrow streets, competing in the neatness of their front gardens. Well-fed cats were strolling down the lawns, guarding their territory vigilantly.
High hedges were out of favour here. Neighbouring yards were separated by squatty, neatly cut barberry and hawthorn bushes. Perhaps that was the reason for neighbours knowing all about each other’s lives, savouring the details over evening tea with great pleasure.
Flit, a hasteless rivulet, separating the town into two parts, was the source of overall pride, and its esplanade was the favourite strolling place.
Flitton’s life itself had been as calm and hasteless, with no incidents disturbing it.
That’s why unbelievable events, witnessed by the residents of town’s Alley Street, burnt into their memories for a long time. As the time had passed, the story had lost its realness and turned into a legend…
… Alice dashed along the cliff. The wind whipped her on the face, and flaps of her cloak resembled wings. That rush could not last long; she was starting to get tired. And the persecutors, have been chasing her from the very forest, nosed her weakness instantly; a pack of black wolves, starving and relentless. Their leader roared and clanged his fangs, almost reaching her ankle.
Alice put all of her strength on, jumped as high as she could and… found herself floating in the air! She didn’t entirely realize how in the world she had done that – she had just forgotten for a moment this to be impossible.
The pack was stopping abruptly, flocking up as they did. The wolves were barking and whimpering with confusion, having not the slightest idea of how such a close and easy prey could ever escape.
Alice looked at them top down, feeling herself to be completely safe. “It appears I’m capable of anything!” the girl thought, triumphing. “I just needn’t to be afraid of believing in it!”
The thought seemed so wonderful that she burst into laughing…
“Alice!” a familiar voice appeared to be Katy’s, broke into her dream, threatening to dispel all the magic. “Wake up; you can’t sleep through the whole time!”
Alice started tumbling in bed, burying herself deeper into the pillow as if it could save her from her sister and let her watch that interesting dream to the end…
… The wolves – proud hunters a minute ago – now resembled a pack of flocked watchdogs. Without any understanding of what was going on, they were leveling terrified eyes at the girl that was floating freely in the air. A moment later they dashed back to their homey forest, stumbling and pushing each other on their way. Only the leader, which resembled a big black sheepdog, remained still. He just sat there, puffing and blowing, eyeing up at Alice.
And she suddenly realized she had no reasons for being afraid of the persecutor: they were equal in fortitude and battle skill. She came down smoothly and settled herself onto the ground right beside him. The wolf, still recovering its breath after a scurry, was glaring with its pitch-black eyes right in her face, and opened its frightful chaps…
“Now this is downright outrageous!” the wolf suddenly spoke in Katy’s voice. “Get up, I say! If you think I’ll let you get late for classes, you are terribly wrong…”
A pillow flew into Alice, well-aimed by her elder sister.
The move came in useful: the junior sister cracked one eye open, then the other one.
“Katy…” Alice gave a nice yawn. “You can’t imagine what an extraordinary dream I had…”
“Oh, yes, I can,” Katy answered, planting the pillow – which had taken its toll – back on her perfectly made bed. “You chuckled in your dream as if tickled”.
“There were… wolves, I was running away from them, and then… What was it?… I did something and then some clever thought came in a flash…” Alice wrinkled her forehead forcing herself to remember. “Ugh,” she said peevishly. “Your pillow kicked it out of my head…”
“This clever thought seemed to be your last one…” Katy uttered mockingly. “What a terrible loss! All right, hurry up; I don’t want you to make me blush!”
Alice got up, gave a stretch, and shuffled off to the bathroom, flapping her bare feet against the floor.
Katy was going to make her sister’s bed as she did ever so often when Alice was to be late, but then she stopped herself. How long could she take it anyway? Alice always was “the baby one”, even though they had only a year of age gap! But Katy got used to her the-elder-sister role, not only taking care of the junior one, but also helping her out when in need. Katy was doing it even now, though both of them had grown up long ago.
So it happened: their mother passed away soon after Alice’s birth and girls had very little memories of her. They knew of her only from their father Michaels’ scanty stories.
All that was left as a remembrance of their mum were the indelible drawings on the girls’ left shoulders.
For this reason Katy, as the older one, felt herself bound to patronize Alice. She had even gone to school a year later to be closer to her junior sister. And now they were studying at the university together. Alice paid this care off with whole-hearted love, implicit trust and… a complete mess pretty much everywhere she cropped up. How long should Katy let her junior sister be that careless?
Having uttered a sigh, Katy swept her eyes over the room’s part, which had been Alice’s domain: books and CDs lying scattered, her whole wardrobe towering on the chair in a crumpled heap, an old shabby toy – seemed to be a hare far back in its past – dwelling in the corner of her bed… As if she was about to turn eight, not eighteen! Alice’s perfect babel was dramatized by perfect tidiness of Katy’s half of the room: all the books were ranged orderly on the shelf, her wardrobe resembled a toy boutique, with all the clothes hanged up neatly on the hangers, and her desk was so clean, that it could reflect sunlight into eyes. Even pens and pencils were placed into an elegant, seed-bead-decked pencil cup. This was the essence of Katy. Perhaps she was being too pedantic, but it was better than Alice’s slackitude…
“Whatever! It’s time to learn to be in charge of herself!” Katy snorted in anger to the mess in the room and headed for the door decisively, having secured her bag.
“Hey! Where do you think you’re going?” she heard from upstairs.
Katy lifted up her head. Alice peered out from the mansard window, not really sleepy anymore, but still in pajamas.
“What about me?”
“Catch up!” the elder sister called as she dashed to the exit.
Katy walked along the narrow side street, called the Alley Street. The drives, leading from neighbours’ houses, were streaming into it like runlets.
Here was the small, well-kept house of the Tartles. There was the residence of Mr. Rain, Mrs. Olivia, their twin sons – Tom and Peter, the seventh-graders – and their three setter dogs. Last year Katy witnessed Tom falling down a tall tree and breaking his arm. Katy called an ambulance and the boy’s parents, and held on to him like a limpet until they came. The time had been enough for Peter to fall ardently in love with his savior and before long the whole Alley Street was aware of it. Writings on the pavement – a kind of “Katy, I love you” or “Katy is a supergirl” stuff – were often misspelled, although
