An Author's Dream

Chapter 1.

Boredom could never weave its way into my head. Not while I
supplied the large dose of imagination anyway; Smallwood Orphanage, situated on
the North Norfolk Coast, Happisburgh, and currently being attacked by cliff
collapse and the oceans mad attempt to swallow us whole. I am fourteen years
old, my examinations at school are due next year. Which was in a month.

And, oh boy, did I want this year done and over with – 2014 here we come!
Winters harsh turn on us was worse than the years it had been before, freezing
our water supplies solid, frosting our lush grasses and creating death traps
for those unwary victims of winter. And me?

I was unaffected. I sit inside, I eat, I drink, I sleep, and
I read. I imagine. That’s practically the story of my life, since I never knew
my Mother and Father, and since no foster family ever bothered hanging around
long. The other kids haven’t stayed here longer than a month, all but me, Allie
Mitchells. A girl with round mossy green eyes, a freckled complexion and chub
building up around my waist. Exercise was my arch enemy, of course. Walking
becomes something of a rarity nowadays. My pocket money is saved for August,
which is when I go out and buy as many reading books as possible, stocking up
for the winter.

I stared out the window, through a crack in the curtain a flake caught my eye.
Was Christmas going to be a snowy one? Reluctantly, I brought myself to my
feet, wandering across two feet of blue carpet and peering out the frame,
peeling back the thin curtains.

The cliff line had receded back at least three inches since the last time I
glanced out the window – the sea was a swell of breath and a sigh of
exhaustion. There were indeed a few swirling flakes that had been pushed from
the sky. In fact, even the sky looked exhausted; grey, old. It had seen the
beginning of eternity and was here until the end – of course it was going to
look old. Ancient even.

A thought wondered into my head, and I played with the thought, toying until it
became an untold story – Day falling in love with Night, and the stars were
diamonds Night bought Day. My name sounded and I awoke slowly from my daydream.



“Allie?”

My caretakers head appeared around the door, her hair tied up in a strict bun.
It completely contradicted the rest of her style; loose, baggy clothing and a
soft, sympathetic face.

“You’re awaited in the court room; a family is being held on trial,” she
grinned at her own joke. I nodded quietly.

They were going to be as much of a fail as the rest of them.

I chose a pressed pinafore dress, hoping to look as boring and as unpleasant in
the stormy grey colours. My reflection confirmed me another mask of creased
brows, an upside down smile, a grim shadow in my eyes, hiding the light that
usually shone with imagination and glee.



The office was not a mass of papers as
its usual state was, but was in pristine conditions. The plastic table gleamed
as if made of polished oak, the inbox tray was not overflowing, but was in fact
empty of its contents. Picture frames had been straightened on the wall and memories
of young kids’ paintings were captured in grainy photos, taped to the fridge.
The family was as expected; a father in business clothing, his hair gelled and
a fist was enclosed around a briefcase handle. The Mother was over-ecstatic, a
smile plastered over half her face, teeth yellow and large. The brother was a
brooding sixteen year old, scuffing his feet and glaring at me.

“Hi, I’m Mrs Smith, this is Mr Smith and this is Jude.” Jude bowed his head
down, sulking.

“You must be Allison?” The Father started but I frowned even more at the
recognition.

“Allie. Call me Allie.” I said flatly.

Meryl, the caretaker, patted my shoulder encouragingly.

“So what do you do in your spare time Allie? Sport?” Mr Smith asked.

“No.”

“Painting?”

“No.”

“Homework – Studies?”

“Not in my spare time.”

“What are your favourite subjects?” Mrs Smith pressed for something more.

I said nothing. Instead I began to think of the stars, and think what else
Night would buy for Day to show his love for her.

“History?”

“No.”

“Geography?”

“No.”

“Science?”

No. No. No. The entire interview continued as this, my answers varying from
‘No’ to silence. This was my general way the interviews went, since they
started coming to see me. To see if I were ‘suitable’. The family left in a
slight hurry, said they’d make their mind up later and ring. Once they were
gone, Meryl sat beside me and sighed heavily.



“You’re not going anywhere like that.”

“I don’t want to, I want to stay here. With you Meryl.” I answered finally,
after seconds of slight awkwardness.

“You know I can’t do that, I haven’t the money to provide for you, to send you
to school, this is my life, here at the orphanage.” Meryl answered with such a
longing sigh it gave me the impression she would take me in if possible.

“Then I’ll stay here.”

“You need to move on, we need more space here at the orphanage.”

“We’ve never had a problem before.”

Meryl sighed again, standing and bustling about with the kettle.

“Coffee?”

“Sure.”

“Look, you can’t stay here, I haven’t the money to move on, the cliff is
receding at the fastest rate possible and my house is on the teetering verge of
being swallowed up by the ocean. I’ll be homeless, and that’s no place for a
young lady to be, surviving in the streets – anyway, they’ll take you Allie and
put you in another care home.” Meryl sighed again, and I saw how weathered her
young face seemed; laughter lines had become permanent around her eyes and
mouth yet now they looked like the regular path of tears and stress.

“What am I to do then?” I say eventually, searching Meryl’s dark eyes.

“You find a family and set up a life.”

“And leave my Mother?”

“She’s long gone.”

“You know who I mean,” I snap suddenly, slamming down my mug of hot coffee,
still steaming, brown liquid sloshing onto the table.

“Where would you like to go?” Meryl wiped the mess up with a dishcloth.

“A library. I want to live in a library. And then there’ll be rooms where I can
get on with my writing, and I’ll be an author. We’ll live together, you and I,
our memories shall be treasured and captured into books so that people can read
them and tell me I’m right to want to stay here with you.” I say after
assessing what I really wanted. I didn’t want a big house, nor a little one. I
didn’t care if I had the fanciest kitchen or the grubbiest.

“I’m going to read. Tell me when they call, though I don’t expect they will.”

I left without another thought, my feet carried me all the way to my beanbag,
and my books – my escape. The Hunger
Games sat closed, a frilly bookmark keeping my place – as I picked it up
and flicked through the pages, remembering glimpses of scenes when Katniss and
Peeta were still in District 12, I noticed the little wrapped up rectangle, a
ribbon twisted carefully around it, a blue bow on top. It looked like a
birthday present, or perhaps an early Christmas one. I turned the glimmering
silver package over, sensing that it was a book, a thin one at that, searching
for a name.

It must be from Meryl. But she always gives hers on the point of midnight,
turning from Christmas Eve into Christmas Day. Frowning, I slipped it under my
pillow – if it’s a book, I should wait until my book list decreases in size.
Who else but Meryl could it be from? – I never get anything from outsiders, as
I called my fellow students from school. I decided to ask Meryl later, and
enveloped my reality into the Arena of The
Hunger Games.



Hours passed. Page went by, page by page, book by book, and by three o’ clock
that morning, my pile of ‘to read’ books were gone. They lay, used, on the bookshelf,
atop another row of books as I’d run out of space to put them.

I slipped into my pyjamas finally, staring at the alarm clock with bleary,
tired eyes. Though however scratchy my eyes were, ideas and thoughts swarmed my
head. Perhaps I could have a magical power, and turn into a dove without having
to click my fingers – or perhaps I could be kidnapped. I won’t be saved by any
handsome guy though, I’ll fend for myself. I was an asexual, and that was good
enough for me – no need for any relationship in my world.

3:05 blinked at me in a glaring red, reminding me of Jude’s unwelcoming stare.
Another thought occurred. The Smith family had not called back, meaning my time
here had been pushed up to another couple of weeks at least. Longer still to
get ready to wave farewell to Meryl. She’d been my Mother since I arrived here,
three months of age, waving tiny fists around the blanket I was supposedly
wrapped in, a letter pinned to my top. A letter stating the death of my widow
Mother. A death of a single Mother, died heartbroken.

Yeah sure, as if love could be as powerful to induce death and leave her only
child, on a doorstep in the rain.