The Things That Matter Most Chapter 1

Ten-year-old heartless trillionaire, Charles McHills III, loses all his money after his parents die in a fire.

Prologue

Now before this story starts, I need to make a few things clear.

1. Charles McHills was a very spoiled little boy

2. There are several tragedies in this book

3. Charles was practically never happy

4. A last note: I do love seeing a friendship bond between two unfortunates

To tell you the truth, I’m just stating the obvious.

By now, you are wondering just who I am, and how exactly I know this story. Well, I shall now introduce myself.

I am the Narrator.

I am not a who, and I am not an it. So what am I? I am the thing that you cannot see or stop from circling around you. I am the person that watches over you, like a dream, perhaps. I try to make your life like smooth sailing rather than a storm at sea.

But Charles was one little boy that I couldn’t reach for many years. He was so dark, so cold, that he simply shut everything out, including me. I couldn’t make him be happy. I couldn’t make him understand. He caused his own misery for ten long years.

I cannot help but feel responsible.

This is his story, and his alone. It takes place in Boston, several decades ago. In Charles’s tale, he learns many lessons, gains a friend, reads some books, makes some enemies, and learns what the things that matter most are. So sit back and relax. Try not to wince when Charles comes in the room, or smile when Olive Todds does. Flip through the pages with care, and read every word.

You may learn something, too.

Alright.

Go on and read this tale.

It’s time for Charles’s story to be told.

I think you’re ready.

Chapter One: The Boy That Had No Heart

IF YOU EVER MET Charles McHills III, you would deduce that he was a very rude boy. And yes he was, indeed.

You see, this Charles was rich. His parents were trillionaires, living in a grand mansion that almost seemed like a palace, with servants on every floor, working dawn to dusk. Charles McHills had silk blankets, golden cups, hundreds of toys to play with, his own riding range, exotic gardens, and more delicious food than he could eat.

All these rich things went to his head, until he was a spoiled young gentleman with no friends and no heart.

This boy has such an unfortunate tale, I am beginning to wonder why I am sharing it. But alas, I will go forth.

Our quiet story begins with Charles waking up one late morning, with his regular scowl upon his face. Perhaps I should describe this ten year old a bit more before I go on.

Charles had flat, shiny brown hair that barely reached his dainty ears, cold brown eyes that would leave you feeling empty, was about four foot eight, weighed roughly 65 pounds, lots of freckles, and a small body.

As Charles woke up, he thought about how unlucky he was. He had to meet another child today, and try to become friends. His parents were hoping that Charles would be kinder to this one than the rest. Next, he had to study his history books for Mr. Ganson, his tutor.

Instead of being thankful for all that he owned, Charles chose to look at the bad rather than the good. He had a rotten heart, if he had any heart at all.

Charles smoothly changed into his usual day outfit; a clean, fancy white shirt, a belt, black pants, and buckle shoes.

He marched right down to the first floor dining room, to a quite nice breakfast sitting on the rectangular table, and made a servant pull the chair out for him, and then push it back in. His parents were already eating in front of him, and winced when Charles first spoke.

“Just who is this child that I have to play with, Mother?” he demanded, and began to pour his morning tea in a glass cup.

His mother looked up from cutting her eggs. “His name is Landon Bromsday II, and he enjoys reading as you do. Perhaps you two will get along,” Mrs. McHills suggested.

Charles narrowed his eyes. “I severely doubt that. I dislike reading, Mother. I thought you knew that.”

His mother sighed and looked at her husband for help, but he was too occupied in the morning paper to notice. “Please just give the boy a chance, Charles. And you go in the library all the time; if you don't like reading, then what are you doing in there?” she asked.

Charles scoffed. “Mother, the only reason I go into the library is because Mr. Ganson told me to. I have studies that you arranged, or did you forget?” he snapped rudely, and began to slice his ham.

“Charles, manners,” Mr. McHills II reminded rhythmically, not looking up from the paper. The parents of Charles McHills were used to his complaints, and more than three times a day they would have to remind him to be polite and unselfish.

The ten year old scowled harder, expressing his disgust. “I can’t do anything around here without something coming up that you two decided to do, and didn’t even tell me first,” he said grouchily.

Mrs. McHills raised an eyebrow at her son. “We tell you plenty of things, Charles. Now, would you like to go riding after breakfast? I know it seems to calm you,” she offered.

Charles shrugged, showing that he didn’t care. “Perhaps if I feel up to it. Now, may we eat in peace? I’m tired of this conversation,” he sniffed, and began to eat his eggs and ham in a delicate manner. His parents exchanged knowing glances and sighed.

The small family ate their meals until they were done, and the maids quickly took the dishes away to wash. Mrs. McHills had to go to a business meeting in the third floor office, Mr. McHills scurried off to his brand new car, and was being driven off to the bank to discuss taxes and such, so Charles was left alone. He was used to this routine, but didn’t fancy it. He thought about what his mother had said he could do; go riding. Well, I don’t have much else to do, he thought grouchily, and then headed out the back doors to the stables.

On the way, he passed his mother’s bright garden, which I shall describe. It had twisting vines, spotted and striped flowers of all colors, a white wooden arch that more flowers hung from, and thick, tall grass that tickled his ankles in an annoying way.

Charles crossed under the painted arch, walked for another, say, ten minutes, until he reached a long, firmly built, barn like structure, which was the stables where his many horses were kept.

“Master Charles! How nice of you to stop by! Would you like me to saddle up a horse for you to ride?” the horse keeper, Mr. Brunski, offered the child, coming out from the inside of the stables.

Charles straightened himself. “Yes. And make it the fastest horse there is. I want to be the best,” he snapped, glaring.

Mr. Brunski’s smile faded at the ten year old’s rudeness. “Of course, master Charles.” He went back inside the stables while Charles waited impatiently. Several minutes later, the horse keeper came out of the barn with a beautiful black thoroughbred, who wore a leather saddle and shining eyes. “This is Rocker,” he introduced.

Charles sighed, not caring. “That took longer than expected.”

“Many apologies, sir.”

“Now,” the boy began, ignoring him. “Help me up onto it, and I’ll do the rest.” So, with quite a few insults and grunts from Charles, he ended up on the tall stallion with Mr. Brunski’s help. Charles locked his feet in the stirrups, and then looked at the horse keeper. “Give me the whip,” he ordered, and held out his hand.

The grownup sighed, and pulled one out of his pocket. He warily dropped it in the boy’s hands. “Master Charles, I would advise you not to whip Rocker. After all, he is the fastest horse here, and if you startle him-”

“Be quiet,” Charles interjected. “I know what I’m doing, so step aside so I can enjoy myself.”

The horse keeper bit his lip, and knowing that he could do nothing more, he stepped out of the horse’s way. “Have fun.”

The ten year old rolled his eyes, not replying, and kicked Rocker in the sides. “Giddy up, you ugly mammal,” he said. The horse instantly took off into a slow trot across the huge field. “Hurry up!” Charles yelled, raising the short whip and slapping it down. Rocker whinnied in protest, and charged faster and faster.

Charles looked around him as the scenery rolled by. It didn’t impress him, and neither did the horse’s incredible speed. Suddenly a crack of thunder that very much sounded like a cannon rang out, and the boy noticed that there were many large clouds showing their grey bellies in the ash-colored sky, threatening to burst with rain at any moment.

“Turn back!” Charles ordered, and angrily forced the poor horse to turn left and head back.

That’s when the rain started to come down.

Millions of raindrops were released from the clouds, and soon soaked Charles to the bone. He got angry. This is all Mr. Brunski’s fault; he should’ve known that it was going to rain, and now he is going to pay, the boy thought.

With Rocker’s speed, Charles reached the horse keeper in a matter of moments. The man was standing there in the rain, dripping, and looked very nervous as Charles rode up.

“Master Charles, I-” he began, but Charles cut him off.

“How dare you send me out there when a storm was coming! I’ll speak to my parents about this!” Charles threatened. “And I know that they’ll agree with me that you are a rotten horsekeeper and we need a new one! You will be FIRED!”

Mr. Brunski looked helpless. “Master Charles, I had no idea that a storm would come. Now let’s go inside before we get any wetter. Then you can get a nice cup of cocoa and wait until your friend arrives,” he suggested, helping Charles off the horse. The boy was very frustrated now. More frustrated than he had been before. He didn’t want a cup of cocoa, he didn’t want to have a play date with a boy he had never met, and he surely didn’t want to go inside with this man.

So he did the one thing that popped into his mind.

He ran.

He ran all the way back to his mansion, through the door, up the rows and rows of stairs, across the recently cleaned halls, and into his bedroom, leaving Mr. Brunski and his horses behind. He slammed the door shut and belly flopped on his stiff bed, trying to hold back burning tears.

If Charles McHills III didn’t get his way, he would pout. And that’s what he was doing at that moment.

And now you can see why this chapter is called, “The Boy That Had No Heart”. It’s because it is true.

Little Charles had no heart.

Author's Note

Please ignore grammar problems and the rest of that junk, and leave a comment below!