Well, Cairholm, Wales was indeed a real place. After hours of calculating on how I would exactly get there- by a plane and a ferry- I calculated that I'd need three hundred dollars to make the trip. Immediately I retrieved my money box from my top shelf. I kept it hidden behind a pile of books so Claire wouldn't find it. Not only was it a money box, it held many special things. For instance, I picture I had found a Frames N' Things. At the time, they had a huge display of old photographs for sale at fifty cents apiece. The particular picture I kept in my box was from the Victorian era. It was a young girl, wearing a black, ruffled dress, sitting upon a black steed. I had no idea why, but the picture had called to me, so I brought it home.

I found two hundred forty six dollars in my box. I then began to contemplate if I had another secret stash somewhere else. I knew that sometimes I had stashed money inside my pillow case. I found five dollars. It was no use, I didn't have a job and I had no other way of income. I began to feel frustrated. I pulled out the picture of the house that had come in the envelope. It was truly a magnificent house. It was a well exposed photograph, as well. I began to feel strange inside, almost as if the house was calling to me.

I glanced at the clock, it was seven AM. A thought hit me.

I found my mother's purse sitting on the kitchen table. I stared at it blankly. The sound of my mother's snoring as she slept like a rock in her room filled the air. I set to work immediately. Inside my mother's wallet was a variation of bills. Dear God, I never realized that my mother ever had this much money. I counted almost three thousand dollars. Should I really take from my own family?

Then again, if I asked for money to leave, they'd probably give it to me, willingly. It was no secret to me that I was an unplanned child, which my mother disliked, the fact that I wasn't ordinary made her dislike me even more. I had never been treated as well as Claire had. When I began my Gothic lifestyle, I no longer received hugs or kisses, never got tucked in at night, and had to deal with constant verbal abuse from both my mother and my sister. My father never abused me, really, but he did act as if I was just a stranger living in his house.

I took enough money to attain my travel tickets, plus an extra twenty for all of the constant rude comments that came out of my mother's mouth. No, I am not evil, I am just different minded than everyone else. I see people for who they really are, and not just the fake demeanors they wore for the public. I was not a contender of a fake demeanor; I was myself one hundred percent of the time.

I booked a ticket online for a plane flight tonight at five PM, which means that I'd arrive in Wales sometime tomorrow morning.

I hoisted my huge, white vintage suitcase from under my bed. Inside I packed as many clothes as I could. I also stuffed my sketchpad and graphite pencils into it. I also decided at the very last moment to pack my brown leather backpack that I had found in a thrift shop somewhere on our family vacation to California last summer. That was a vacation I had both loved and hated. I loved visiting Hollywood and all that, but I hated traveling with my family. The whole ordeal had me questioning my sanity, also, whether or not I really was my parent's child. In my own strict opinion, I looked nothing like them.

In my backpack I packed my makeup case, my sunhat, sunglasses, some sunscreen and, of course, my Pentax camera- I would buy film at the airport. As I situated my camera and all its lenses into the bag, I caught something in the corner of my eye. From where I stood, it looked huge. I averted my gaze to my window, where a large bird perched in a tree, right beside my window. I gasped. It was some type of vulture or falcon; it was much bigger than our native sparrows, robins, and even crows. This one was gray, with brown spots plastered all over its body.

Slowly, I took a peek at the frame-counter on my Pentax, and felt a burning excitement when I saw that I had one picture left in this roll of film. I quickly changed my 18mm lens to my 350mm lens. The bird remained in its spot, looking in at me.

I could tell that the bird was readying to fly off. Quickly, yet skillfully, I aimed the camera, zoomed in, and managed to shoot a clear picture of it sitting in my window before it could take off.

I sighed. Success.

This day just keep's getting weirder and weirder.

I had just finished packing when Claire barged into my room.

"Where are you going?" she demanded loudly when she saw my bags.