There was something wrong with the Rosetta Complex. It wasn’t that each and every house was identical from the green and red Christmas lights no one had taken down to the layout of their flowers bed; those type of things happened with new complexes, though this was not one of them. It was that they all owned navy blue cars, that everyone’s lawn was the exact same shade of green and everyone backed into their driveway. Sandra had a horrible suspicion that—if she woke up early enough to see it—they would all come out and take their newspaper at the same time. It was like walking into a science fiction story about a town of clones—or robots. All of whom were programmed to think they were individuals but weren’t.
And there was definitely something wrong with the way everyone had the same beige curtains—and the ones on the first floor of every house in sight was pulled aside a little so that the curious faces within could peek out to see what was going on.
Pulling her hair back behind her ears, Sandra marched up to the door and knocked. The woman who opened the door confirmed her worst fears: these people were some kind of perfect society wannabes. The woman was short, thin, and was wearing a black skirt and white blouse. She was dressed like she was going to a work party.
“Oh my,” she said, seeing the water logged girl looking at her with as much uncertainty as she had looking back. “Dear, there’s someone at the door.” And without another word the woman vanished into the house.
Sandra sighed—so much for her new family. When the director came to visit in a week, she could only pray they hadn’t conformed her so much she forgot to beg him to let her leave.
“Good morning. Can I help you?” The man who came to the door was just as bad as his wife. Black dress pants and a dress shirt with a tie. Sandra secretly prayed he’d just come home from work.
“Um…” Sandra pulled her copy of the adoption form from her bag and handed it to him. He looked it over, his eye brows shooting up as he looked from the paper to her.
“Here’s a towel, darling,” the woman—Miss Tenneson, Sandra guessed—was back and offered her a towel from behind the safety of her husband.
“Thanks.” Sandra took the towel and started to dry herself off as best she could. Now she felt silly.
“Who is she dear?” Miss Tenneson asked.
“It would seem,” Mr Tennson began, with particular accent on the ‘seem’, “ that she is the newest member of our household.”
Who used the word household anymore?
“Oh! Well then please do come in. We weren’t expecting you—we have some guests over. I’ll just show you your room. I’m sure Madison has something you can wear. Do you have any other luggage, dear?”
Sandra shook her head. She did have other things at the orphanage, but they would only arrive if at the end of the week she didn’t want out. It was the deal she had made with the director. It would be their little secret that she’d tied him to a chair and threatened to shave off his moustache to get him to agree.
Miss Tenneson was rushing her through the door and up a set of stairs to the right. Sandra only managed a glance at the house but could see it was spotlessly clean—a sure sign of robots. A curious set of faces glanced their way from the living room as they passed. Sandra took note that the living room was just off the left of the entrance, promising to come back and find the television later.
“This is the second floor, dear. This is the bathroom, our bedroom, Madison’s bedroom, the guest room—that’s where you’ll be—and down the hall is the art room.”
Sandra blinked. Art room?
She followed Mr Tennerson into ‘her’ room and smiled, but inwardly she was cringing. It was an assault of the colour beige. Actually, it looked like all the walls in the house were beige. She just hadn’t expected the carpet, walls, curtains and sheets to be the same. She half expected the dresser and clothes to all be in the colour too.
“I’ll be right back.”
Sandra dropped her bag unto the bed. The closet and dresser were empty.
“Here you are. You can wear these.” Miss Tenneson was obviously trying to measure and see if Sandra would fit. It was a long white dress with red and pink flowers that was meant to reach her down around her ankles but it only reached her just past the knees—Madison must be younger.
“Thanks,” Sandra said numbly. “My clothes will probably arrive tonight.” She wasn’t sure if this was a prayer or not.
“Wonderful,” said Miss Tenneson, going to the door. “Please feel free to join us downstairs, the Jekroy’s are over form across the road.” She smiled warmly and left, shutting the door gently.
Sandra looked at the dress with distaste. Please, she thought, please let me survive this.
*^*^*^*^
Still into the old 'having fun writing this' part. >_> I might not get all of the stuff I did up though, after a certain point it stops being relevant to the plot.
