Young Writers Society

The cold breeze met with my face, brushing my hair out of my eyes. It’s not even the cold season, yet the wind is getting rather chilly, I will never understand this weather. As the wind picks up, it begins to whistle throughout my ears as leaves begin to rip off the branches, dropping to the ground in fast pace. Clouds come from afar and decide to stay seated in their spot, glaring down upon everyone. As they come, the sun shy’s away behind them, hiding from prying eyes. I sigh; walking in the direction of my home, there’s no point of staying here.

I’m not going to the abandoned library is because I don’t trust that guy, he’s just too random. I’m minding my own business when all of a sudden a guy demands me to go to the place that is forbidden, that’s very wise. I roll my eyes at this thought, walking throughout the park. Why would anyone want to see me anyway? I’m just fifteen; I don’t need this mystery in my life. I already have enough on my mind, trying to fit into this world is hard enough, not to mention everyone’s beliefs.

Apparently their opinions about life and society are more important than mine. It’s always been like this, I would go up to a person and state some I truly believe in, and they argue that it’s wrong. I remember this one time last year, I was in class and the teacher asked me to give an opinion about the society and how it’s run. I simply said that it could need some work, but their rants soon piled on after that. I went home that day and told my father what I had said to the class, he did the exact same thing; rant out on me about how the society isn’t a bad place. Life is not fair, only mother will understand me. I wish she was here in my life right now, that way she can tell me that everything will be okay. Unfortunately, she’s not, so I have to put up with this life for as long as I live.

I never realise where I am until I look around. The park seems to be getting gloomy when the weather is depressed, the wind speeds up, pushing my hair behind me. The sky is looking greyer than before, the clouds get darker as I take one step further to home. Also, I sent rain, heavy downpours of it. The sun seems to be going off to its uneasy sleep, creeping away from anyone’s sight. I sigh, rushing home in the dark. I can’t even see, but I can make out a few things.

Cars light blink in my vision, making a pathway for me to follow. I chuckle; I have this song in my head that will not go away. It’s this beautiful piano that my grandmother plays for me when she comes to visit. I think that my grandmother is, besides my mother, the only person who believes in what I say. She is a wise person, always telling me tales about her past and how father grew up. Father says that she’s the worst mother he could possibly have when growing up, but I don’t see how though. Her hair once golden threads now white silk hanging from her back, shinning off in the sun’s light. Her brown eyes hold happiness and a warm field to it, having warm welcoming arms.

I make it to my house an hour later, an hour than expected. I hope father doesn’t get mad because I’m late, he usually yells at my face for so long, it always feels as if times dragging when he scolds me. I open the door, peeping in. I clear my throat, “Father?” No answer. Strange, he usually answers me when I call his name. I gulp, stepping into my home. No one has been in here, the fire isn’t burning in the fireplace, nor has it been lit. The stack of papers on the desk in front of our door isn’t there, they either turned invisible or father has taken them. The door close closes with a dull thud, I turn on a light. Looking around, I could not see any sing of father being home, yet he’s isn’t here now.

I glance towards to the table, noticing a note sitting on the desk top. I groan, snatching it off the desk. Why are people leaving me notes all over the place, am I mail man or something? Frowning at the thought, I open the letter, rather annoyed. It reads:

Gia,

I know I have said that I would be home tonight, but something important had turned up. The publishers are giving me a chance to publish my novel that I have been working on for months. I’m so sorry, love. I’ll try to make it up to you somehow. Dinner’s in the oven.

Love,

-Father.

Why does he always do this to me? I walk into the kitchen, sadness filling my lungs. He’s hardly ever home for dinner ever since mother died, I would always be alone. I cannot remember a time when he wasn’t busy at dinner, or rather at night. I always wish for him to not be too busy, that way he can notice me. Walking up to the oven, I have to wonder what time it is, but I can’t be bothered to check. The smell of chicken walks up my nose, making my mouth water. At least he knows how to cook, that’s one plus. Taking my plate out of the oven, I walk into the dining room.

The dining room is huge; it’s built to fit around twenty people at one table. To me that’s a lot, but father wants it bigger. The oak table sits in the middle as the chairs surround the table, like a tribe waiting for its leader. Now that I think about it, this is a weird way to describe a table and chairs, but its eight thirty at night, so I’m rather tired.

The phone rings, I’m in the middle of eating dinner here. I groan, taking my plate with me towards the phone. The rings get louder by each step, and I begin to grow impatient. I don’t honestly want to be bothered right now, so whoever’s calling better have a good excuse, otherwise I’ll unleash my dark side, the side that is full of wicked vile that’s poison to whoever my eyes, or rather voice in this situation, meets.

I place my plate down on the desk, placing the phone on my ear, “Hello?”

A chuckle is heard in my ears, “You sound more worn out than me…”

I smile, “What do you want at this time of night, Auralee?”

A long pause is heard, before a sigh, “I have some news to tell you…”

My smile drops, “What?”

“Well, you know that interview form I gave you?”

“Yeah, what about it?” I lean against the wall.

She chuckles, “Do you know what I mean by interview?”

I raise a brow, “To get asked questions?”

She laughs, “No way, Gia! The form is actually a test form.”

My eyes widen, “A what?”

“A test form. It’s where we test you throughout the day to see if you’re eligible enough to work for us.”

What?