Decipher Chapter One

This first chapter is in the perspective of Ronnie, the protagonist of the story. Introduces to main characters, setting, and conflict.

1

Ronette Quinton

Saturday, February 11, 2040

8:00 am

I love reading, ciphers, and my mother’s bookstore. That’s basically it. It sounds awfully depressing and yet I wouldn’t have my current life any other way. I hate the state that humanity is in right now. I read stories that take place centuries ago about people who did amazing feats simply because it’s the right thing to do. But as of now, it feels as if everyone is ignorant and uncaring. Most people seem to think that anything in the universe humans discover should instantly belong to them, reducing the profound to mere property, as if the true essence of existence could be encapsulated by a label.

The alarm clock beeps insistently, pulling me from the depths of sleep. I fumble around, clumsily shoving my round-frame glasses onto my face before squinting at the blaring red LED numbers flashing 8:00. Most kids probably prefer to sleep in on Saturdays, but today I have somewhere important to be. I swing my legs out of bed and stretch, feeling the chill of the morning air against my skin. Making my bed, I carefully tuck the red and black checkered quilt beneath the mattress, ensuring everything is just right.

After rummaging through my closet, I settle on a cozy sweater and a pair of jeans, their warmth comforting against the brisk autumn air. I take a quick shower, and soon I’m fully dressed, any lingering trace of tiredness now completely gone. I vacuum the wooden floor in my room, the sound of the machine echoing in the quiet house, and then I make my way downstairs. In the kitchen, I pour my Birman cat, Céleste a bowl of cat food and another bowl filled with milk. Afterwards, I pour myself a bowl of Cornflakes, the crunching sound filling the silence as I chew. Once I’ve finished, I wash the bowl, my mind racing with thoughts of what awaits me at the bookstore. As I race out the door, I pass by the bookshelf where the Book is sitting regally, and I can’t help but pause.

The Book of Ciphers is a sort of family heirloom, its leather cover worn and cracked, a silent testament to the many hands that have cherished it. The brass clasp glints, hinting at secrets locked inside. I trace the embossed symbols, feeling a thrill at the thought of what lies within. Mom often recalls how she cracked a code that stumped her grandmother during the war�"her eyes sparkling with the joy of discovery. I can’t open it yet, but the weight of the ciphers presses against my thoughts, each pattern and faded ink whispering of hidden messages. I stand before the book, torn between longing and hesitation. What if it holds wisdom beyond codes? Each passing day, I feel the pull, a sense that it’s a gateway to something greater�"answers woven into my family’s past, waiting for me to uncover them, perhaps revealing parts of myself I’ve long kept hidden

With a sudden jolt, I blinked away my thoughts, slipped into my boots, and buttoned my coat, determination fueling each movement as I stepped toward the door. Stepping outside, the cold air bites at my cheeks, a clear sign that winter has settled into New England. Leaves swirl around me, fluttering like dancers caught in a breeze, their crisp edges rustling softly. A few land on my red coat, and I quickly brush them off, noting the season’s change. Towering trees line the street, their bare branches swaying slightly with each gust, shedding brittle leaves that crunch underfoot. The earthy smell of damp soil and fallen foliage fills the air, mingling with a hint of smoke from a distant chimney. Ivy-covered houses and quaint shops stand nearby, their familiar shapes offering a sense of comfort. Occasionally, a car drives by, its tires crunching on the gravel, the engine rumbling softly as it fades into the distance. For the most part, the neighborhood is quiet, and I find that peacefulness refreshing, interrupted only by the faint chirping of birds hidden among the branches.

Sadly, the moment of peace slips away as I step onto the bustling sidewalk. The short walk to the bookstore, though close, often feels like the most exhausting part of my day. People weave in and out around me, their chatter a constant buzz that grates on my nerves. I can’t help but scowl, glancing down at my brown leather boots as they tread the worn pavement. Fortunately, no one seems to notice me, and I quicken my pace, the icy sidewalk sending a chill through my feet. I maneuver through the crowd, eager to escape the noise and find solace among the shelves of books.

Finally, I reach the door to the shop, and the little bell at the top chimes cheerfully as I step inside. My mom is behind the counter, a warm smile breaking across her face when she sees me. The pendant of her necklace, a silver key, glistens in the morning light. The store is completely empty, just like I expected. Sometimes there are one or two customers browsing, but way it should be a more common occurrence. What’s even more unusual is when they actually buy a book; most just come for the free Wi-Fi. On one hand, I can’t help but feel a twinge of sadness about the lack of sales and how it hurts the business, but on the other hand, I secretly enjoy the blissfully quiet atmosphere and the almost certain lack of people.

There were way more people that showed up when I was younger, in fact, there used to be people every single day that came and went. I remember back then Mom actually had to work the cash register, instead of it collecting dust on the counter. I actually had to help around the store back then, cleaning up messes, organizing books, and assisting customers. Of course nowadays, the thought of assisting anybody but my Mom makes me shudder, but things were different back then. People were different- better, and their flaws weren’t so horrible. I could actually view humanity in a positive light when I was younger, something I haven’t been capable of doing for a long time. As Jean-Paul Sartre once said, “Hell is other people.”

First I stomp on the yellow doormat until the snow is gone from my boots. Then I walk to the far corner of the room and sit down at my favorite table. It’s there, course, there has never been a day where it wasn’t there. I stare at the white envelope usually love solving them straight away, but today I wanted to read first and figure it out later. I had started The Catcher in The Rye by J. D. Salinger yesterday, and I loved it so far. I took it out of my bag and began to read. About 90 minutes pass, before I finally slide my bookmark in between the pages and set the book down. I divert my Resting there, like some sort of gift finally acknowledged, is my daily cipher.

DSVM BLF SZEV WVXRKSVIVW GSRH NVHHZTV, XLNV NVVG NV

I figure it out almost instantly. The cipher used here is an atbash a type of mono-alphabetic cipher that’s incredibly easy to decode. The way that it works is that it encodes a message with the reverse of the alphabet. For example, A would be substituted for Z, B for Y, and so on.

So, after decoding the entire message, you would be left with this:

WHEN YOU HAVE DECIPHERED THIS MESSAGE, COME MEET ME

This was easy-too easy. I wonder what the deal is. I push out my chair and walk back to the counter where mom resides, admiring the sea-green wallpaper and mahogany bookshelves the whole way there. Mom is still behind the glass counter.She’s reading Great Expectations by Charles Dickens, one of her favorite books. The only TV in the store is across from her, rambling on about the news. Mom’s short brown hair was frazzled. The light from the lamp reflects off her glasses as she bends down to read

She looks up suddenly, fixes her glasses, and smiles.

“Hi, dear. I see you’ve completed today’s cipher? You don’t usually take so long to solve it.” She smiles, and I give her back the puzzle. I adjust my own glasses and frown.

“I was reading my book first and I lost track of time. Did you need me for something urgent?”

“No, its not urgent, I was just wondering if we could talk about me teaching you some more complicated ciphers.”My breath got caught in my throat. Finally, after all this time she’s gonna start teaching me everything she knows. My mind races. Will she finally start teaching me about the intricate ciphers used in past wars? How about the ones that have taken the most elite cryptologists months or even years to master? Perhaps one day, I’ll be able to piece together messages that can turn the world on its head, as easily as pulling a note out of an envelope.

As if sensing my excitement, her gaze softened. “You’ve come so far since we first started,” she continued. “I think you’re ready for this. It’s about time you’ve started studying and learning from the Book of Ciphers”

“Sure! I’d love to learn,” I said, trying to keep my excitement in check. “What do you want to start with?”

Before I could answer, we both hear the mail truck drive down the street and slowly stop in front of the store in an almost eerie fashion. The mailman of course steps out with the mail and pauses in front of our rusty old mailbox, but rather than just stuffing it in there, he turns and slowly makes his way to the front door. The store is so quiet that we can both hear the crunch of his boots walking on the sidewalk. After what feels like an eternity, he makes it to the shop door and opens it. Chunks of ice fall from his boots onto the doormat. The bell, which sounded cheerful and welcoming when I entered, now sounds dark and foreboding upon his arrival.

“Good morning, ladies.” The mailman seemed relieved to have reached a temporary oasis from the merciless cold. “I’m sorry, I’d normally just place it in your mailbox, but for whatever reason yours can’t seem to open. I’d advise getting that fixed as soon as possible. Anyways, have a nice day, and stay safe from the cold. He places our mail on the counter and leaves just as ominously as he arrived. The bell rings again, announcing his departure.

The mail is cold to the touch and gives off the acrid smell of ink. In the pile, there is spam junk and politics ads, nothing unusual. However, there is one envelope that stands out, but not in a good way. A chill runs down my spine despite the warm atmosphere inside the store. I look down at the light yellow envelope. The letter seems to be from some sort of collection agency I’m not familiar with. Mom opens the envelope, revealing the letter inside. All she takes is a single glance and I can already see the color slowly draining from her cheeks. She starts rubbing her silver key necklace, a telltale sign that she’s distraught.

“What’s that sheet of paper for? Let me see it.” Deep down, I already had a pretty good idea of what it was, but I didn’t want to believe it, refused to believe it, until I had any proof. Mom slid the paper over to me. I looked down.

My eyes are met with “Delinquency Notice” in bold print at the top of the page. Below it are the taxes that we failed to pay on time, as well as the additional fee for being late to pay them.

The bookstore’s financial troubles weren’t news to either of us. It had been in our family for generations, but when my mom was younger, it was a buzzing place where people came to study and learn together. Each decade that passed brought fewer customers, and now it feels like my mom and I are the last two people in the world who actually read. I’m not talking about being forced to read a textbook for school or pretending to read just to look smart; I mean really reading�"getting lost in a book so completely that nothing else matters. It’s just you, the story, and the satisfying sound of turning the page every so often, as if that simple action can transport you to a different world.

My eyes started to water, and I froze in place. The store closes at 7 PM, and according to the vintage wall clock, it’s only 12:34. Yet, for the first time ever, I feel an overwhelming urge to go home early. I glance around at the familiar shelves, each one brimming with stories and secrets, but today they feel suffocating.

I think of Mom, her gentle smile and the way she always makes this place feel like home. The thought of losing the shop makes my stomach churn. That delinquency notice looms over me, a dark cloud of uncertainty that makes everything feel more fragile than before. What if this is the beginning of the end?

A knot tightens in my throat as I fight back tears. I blink, willing them away, terrified of the reality ahead. If one of the only things holding me together disappears, don’t I have no choice but to fall apart?

Author's Note

I'm hoping to identify my writing style as well as how to improve it. Any and all reviews and constructive criticism welcome!

Reviews

[Dennis Wolf]

This is certainly an interesting start. I get it, the character's idea of normal and so forth.. And before someone starts yelling: just start with action...

Yes, that's usually how you'd want to start a book, with an excerpt of the complication, the conflict in progress.. However, while drafting, we need to explore things at our own pace. After all, you as the writer, have to know these tidbits and know the important members of your cast inside and out. Revealing these bits of information about other people around the MC is also helpful in creating a sense of "real"

For some, this 'knowing their characters' means a pile of notes and stuff always at hand for reference.. For others it just takes to write down the slow parts and writing side content before getting to the meat of the story.

In general, the more you write, the easier it should become.

I'd dive into more in depth suggestions, but for one, my own skills aren't anything to brag about and I, I too have a work in progress... But here are a few general tips.

Try writing from third person perspective, in past tense. It'd be more like following a character around in the world.

Sensory information, visual details.. These are always welcome, and, for the more important parts the more specific the details (within reason) the better.. So instead of adjectives, precise details (those that are important) are generally prefered.. But! When dealing with supernatural elements, it's often best to maintain a level of obscurity, because you want to put forth that supernatural thing as something 'other' perhaps even frightening.

All in all great start.