Girl(Name still to be decided) lives with her mum. Points to keep in mind, just in case I'm not clear in the story, her dad left, her old elementry school is dodgy, and she is a young teen (13-15 ish) haven't decided exact ages, I know, disorganised, but hope you like this, please comment, and I warn you, I may update fast, or it could take weeks, so bare with.
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Falling backwards, landing with a soft bounce, I let go of all of my exhaustion and sighed, letting my eyes drift shut. School was manic today. A speech, report, test. You name it, I had it all today. I swear the teachers plan to specifically give us all of the assessments and projects at least within the same week. Why? I don't know. Perhaps it is to prepare us for the future. Train us to cope with multiple tasks, and learn to deal with stress. After all, we might be living a very tough future. Politics, research, new technology. It's all changing, and fast. Just think of how hard we are going to have to work to keep up production in the next ten, maybe twenty years. How are we going to cope?
I sigh again, exasperated. "Why do I have to think sooooo much?" I flutter my eyes open. A spider dances across the ceiling as a tiny black dot against the bleak white paint, which peeled in places. How old is this house?
After lying there on my bed for a while, chills and shivers over took my body, and I was forced to get up, despite the fact that the rest of me didn't want to, and find a warmer set of clothes than the thin shirt and worn kilt I dressed in for school.
I open my draws to nothing, or at least nothing that I was looking for. Only loose t-shirts and one pair of denim jeans. Washing day. How convenient. I lift up a large black shirt, white spray paint formed the words 'The Clash.' It was one of the few things still remaining from my father. My mother hated it, but I convinced her to let me keep it. I don't care what she thinks of him or this shirt, the man she knows, is not the man I know.
My father was a kind, understanding man. He would always help me with school, and we shared that same interests. He would cook amazing curry and wear an awesome leather jacket. He was my imperfect hero. He was always willing to give anything a go, and he never really understood facebook. I love everything about him, but he is gone now. I have no idea where he is, or what exactly happened between him and mum. I know what I know, and I know he is an amazing person.
I slip into the shirt and pulled up my pants before returning to my bed, hugging myself and closing my eyes. Time slowly ticked away, and I felt the rhythm of my heart slow. The bitter cold tapped and pinched at my exposed skin, so I reach for my blanket, pulling it over myself. For a while longer I was still freezing, but soon the little warmth I radiated heated the little cocoon I had made.
A distant thumping sounded through the empty house. I knew it would be mum. Pulling my body up to my feet and tipping toeing to the front door, I see plastic supermarket bag on the step. Ahead, I could see mum rummaging through the back of the car, retrieving more. The bags were heavy. They were mainly filled with milk bottles and juice bottles, along with a few other things like chicken, and sauce.
Mum walked into the kitchen while I was unpacking. "What's for dinner?"
"Chicken stir-fry."
"Mmmmm."
We eat pretty good here, and I know that I am a pretty lucky girl. I go to school. Live in a fairly comfortable house. Got a nice computer. Yes, I am living alright, and I appreciate everything I have. I know I have a bright future ahead of me, but I worry for mum.
Looking at her, I see hollow cheeks. Chipped lips. greasy hair. She wasn't healthy, and is only going to get worse. Even before dad left, she had been fighting depression, and it crashed me to see her like this, but she just won't talk to me no matter how often or hard I try.
She is the best mum, and I couldn't ask for better. I love her, but I don't know if there is going to be much of a future. I try to stay positive, but it is so hard when you are watching her disappear more and more everyday. I see her just stare into space for hours. She picks at her dinner with a look of disgust. The last time I heard her laugh a real, joyful laugh, was when I was much younger.
But what can I do. I have talked to a therapist, who tried to talk to my mum. That ended badly. I have tried talking, yelling and texting her. All a fail. I don't really know what else to do. She is taking medication, but thats about all that she will allow to help her.
"Darling, can you please take out the trash?" Mum croaks without looking at me.
"Sure." I grab the bag and skip down the hallway, grabbing a pair of blue sneakers as I pass my room and slip them on as I reach the front door. When opening the door, I am meet with a chilling breeze.
"One...two..." I count down, preparing to run. "Three!"
Racing down the pathway, leaping the stairs and hoping across the sidewalk to the bin. I made it and dumped the bag into the bin. I was about to turn back and run back inside, when something caught my eye.
I wasn't sure what I saw, it was only a flash, but it seemed rather peculiar. sneaking towards the corner of the street, I still saw nothing. Everything was quiet. Just a little, too quiet.
*Cooo* *co coo*
"Pigeons." I mutter under my breath, rolling my eyes before turning back to walk inside, but froze as I heard the unmistakable sigh of a person. Someone was watching me? Hiding even.
Pivoting round and walking back up to the corner, I hold my breath and listened.
Nothing.
No pigeons. No people. No sighs.
Then broke out into a run right in front of me. "Hey! You!" I started sprinting after him. "Stop!"
He didn't even slow. My heart beat rose, and each step into the ground was a burst of adrenaline. I wasn't getting any closer to him, but nor was he getting any further. I had to keep going.
We turned a corner, and another. The hill rose up creating a steep incline. I strain to keep my pace as my lungs burn for more oxygen. I had to keep going.
Another corner and I knew he mustn't know where he is going, because not too far now is a dead end. Moments later after that thought, we turn once more, and the graffitied brick wall blocking any further progress put an end to this chase. I had him, and wasn't going to let him go.
"Who are you?" I question the back of the boy's head. His slim shoulders move up and down, as mine was probably doing the same. I think he is contemplating his next move, because it took a number of seconds before he turned around to reply.
"Didn't want to have to expose myself, but you've given me no choice. Special agent Wilbur Robinson of the TCTF."
"What?" I cock my head to the side as I slowly approach him.
"Time Continuum Task Force. I'm on a special secret mission."
"And what would that be?"
"I can't tell you, it's bad enough you know who I am and who I'm working for. I won't risk telling you any more."
"Come on. I won't tell anyone. Promise." I plead.
He lets out a deep breath and thinks for a second before asking, "What's the weather been like lately?"
"Excuse me? I thought we were talking about your secret mission."
"I'll tell you, but you have been seen as a witness."
"A witness for what?"
"Shh." He puts his fingers to his lips and I silence myself. The boy, Wilbur, looks around before beckoning me to follow as he slowly tip toes around the corner and races off back down the street.
After back-tracking for a while, we take a new turn in a new direction towards my old school. A pang of dread hits my stomach, but I keep running. On the field by a group of trees, he finally stops. "What are we doing here for?"
"Turn around."
"What?"
"You heard."
I give in, and turn around. Behind me, I hear a metallic popping and start to turn back around before being tackle forwards, body-slamming into the ground. "I said turn around! I didn't say you could turn back."
"You weren't very precise. When you mean turn around, did you mean; turn around 180º, or 360º?"
He pulls himself back up to his feet, bringing me along with him, his hands covering my eyes. "What'd you think I meant?"
"Uh...360? And let me go." I squirm out of his grip, shoving him away when he protested, and turned around to see what he was hiding.
Nothing could prepare me for this.