Humans is powered by Vocal creators. You support Diana Sol by reading, sharing and tipping stories... more

Humans is powered by Vocal.
Vocal is a platform that provides storytelling tools and engaged communities for writers, musicians, filmmakers, podcasters, and other creators to get discovered and fund their creativity.

How does Vocal work?
Creators share their stories on Vocal’s communities. In return, creators earn money when they are tipped and when their stories are read.

How do I join Vocal?
Vocal welcomes creators of all shapes and sizes. Join for free and start creating.

To learn more about Vocal, visit our resources.

Show less

Whole

Chapter 1

4 am – yes 4:00 – it was what my alarm said in a flashy pink color I adored when it actually showed 6 am and not some ridiculously early time of the morning. I bet it had been simply another shitty night during which I had remained sleepless. I had stopped counting them, not only because I had lost count of them, but mostly in order not to be more depressed than what I already felt. It was quite usual for me to wake up during the night, it also explained why I owned more books than clothes. When I couldn't sleep, I used to read, and read, until I fell asleep again – when it actually happened. It was my escape. It gave me some hope. I'd never been someone who believed in fairy tales. I'd learned when I was quite young that fairy tales didn't exist. Reading gave me a way to be someone else, another person with a perfect life in a world where everything ended well. I envied these girls with perfect curves, a social life and an handsome man they weren't supposed to meet.

Everything I wasn't.

Everything I would never be.

In my romances, they always meet the one who will change them for the best. For a little while, I was someone else, someone I could never be in real life. So far, I only had met people who had destroyed me, who had changed me … for the worst. Well … it is going to be fun at work today ! At least I have time to hide those bags under my eyes and have all the coffee I need. My day was going to be very long, and at this precise moment, I had no idea that it was actually going to be a turning point in my life.

It was 7 in the morning, and as usual, traffic was dense in the streets of London. Everyone was running late for work and cars were hooking everywhere. I snidled in the middle of lifeless people who were either looking at their phone, or looking at the floor. They knew by heart their way to work or to the nearest underground station, they could do it with closed eyes.

I'd always been amazed by how people could live as if they were alone when in reality, they were surrounded by thousands of people. There was no interaction with the world, everyone took care of their own business, so did I.

I have learned to live for myself, to be a little selfish sometimes, but this wasn't me. I was not that girl. I've always wanted to explore the world and live every moment of my life to the fullest. I loved to share and meet people. Some days I could spend hours outside with people, some days I would stay home the entire day. I loved life. I truly did.

Now? I wasn't sure anymore. I didn't know what was keeping me sane. My job, my books, and probably the city itself. I felt in love with London since the first time I had walked these streets, and I loved it more and more every passing day.

I crossed the street leading to Hyde Park, where I sat on a bench with my take away coffee. I stared at people passing by the street, the stress of being late on their face, a smile or their tired eyes. Some carried their private problems at work, while others were very good at hiding it. Cheerful kids, full of energy, added some color to this quite grey and sad landscape. I deeply breathed the air of the city slowly waking-up. I felt relaxed despite the night I had, and right now, I was enjoying some quiet time for myself, not that my life was exciting, but I cherished that time before heading to work. That park was my escape from home, a place where I usually felt well and where I could think about my life.

There wasn't much to say to be very honest, after my parents died 15 years ago in a car accident, I went to live with my uncle and aunt, I travelled a lot between France and London, and quite quickly, I felt in love with the city, and with its language. Other than reading and travelling, I hadn't done much with my life so far, and relationships were far from being my best skill. My last relationship had broken me in a way I could never be fixed. I wore scars - invisible scars maybe - but still scars of past wounds. It had never been easy for me to keep my head out of water, and most days I felt like drowning in an ocean of insecurities, unable to swim. What comforted me was to believe that a broken heart was a heart that had been loved. I held to this as much as I could, because without it, I would go crazy.

Now Reading
Whole
Read Next
How Many Genders Are There?