Light As A Feather

Act 1: Early in the Morning

The light gently streams in with warm caresses, making the early morning gleam. 

It's the only way I can wake up, with the soft hum of the birds and the loving breeze making the floorboards sing themselves awake. The peaceful waltz of the morning dew makes my eyes flutter open to the sight of a blank, cream ceiling. A simple happiness shivers through me that I can never grasp if my mother tries to wake me up or an alarm clock screams me to consciousness. This is the way to wake up: natural and calm. 

Quietly and carefully I sprang out of bed, careful not to disturb the bear grumbles coming from my resting father next door. The Winter gave us him as a gift, safe and grinning after the horrors he'd faced in a war against jungle warriors. He would often swear and preach of blood filled tales of Vietnam while my mum would grow increasingly furious, eventually announcing she'd call for a church protest against the white house and it's, "Murderous Nazi Republicans".  

"But mum, L.BJ is a democrat." 

"They're all Nazi Republicans those damn politicians. Every single on of them!" 

I'd often remind her that she admired Abraham Lincoln and J ... 

"... F K. You liked him! He was a democrat." 

"Yeah well they both died! I swear to God-" 

And then dad would pounce in when she began swearing. 

"Carol..." 

"It's true though! If you're bad you're rewarded, if you're good you're damned." 

My mother was right. And it came to light  whenever I went downstairs with unruly hair and wrinkled pajamas, seeing her stare at the wall. She does nothing except stare and stare: her crisp white shirt tucked into a pleated candyfloss skirt, all of which were slightly camouflaged by a blood, red apron. Her back is straight, pointing up at the sky but I can see the tiredness in her hollowed cheeks and misty eyes. She sits and waits till the kitchen alarm rings out into the grey shadows of the open dining room, calling her to breakfast duty. She slowly, gracefully, robotic-ally glides to the kitchen and is bathed in cold sunlight - her face harsh and matron-like - until father comes down at 7:00 to golden sun beams, she mutely does her womanly duty. She is perfect, out of a homemakers catalog, and she doesn't notice her patient daughter's saddened gaze until the clock strikes 7:00 and she turns to ask, 

"Boiled or fried?" 

I smile out of habit and ask for the latter, my mind down a different hole than this fresh, industrial hell. I hated it, how she only switches on for dad. As if she only has a voice and opinion when he's there to hold her up like a life support machine. Did I not deserve her attention? Did SHE not deserve to be her own woman. 

It was no use dwelling over it. 

She would forever complete her life in a menial, depressing manner through endless domestic tasks: her hands forever buzzing and jumping even after finishing her duties hours before.

But I could learn from her mistakes, at least I could thank her for that.  

Leaving the warmth of the house, I walk to school in the racing wind of Autumnal delight: my hair seemingly 'untouched' as it was always, and forever, hanging in messy curls. Following the gravel through the neighborhood forest, I start to see the concrete building loom through the gaps in the tumbling rusty leaves. I shiver not from the nips of cool, Wintry touches but at the sight of  God's hell hole. It was truly God-forsaken with it's prison bars as windows and foreboding slant, a roadside sign graying and faded  with age. 

West Livingston Finishing School 

Well one thing was for sure: I was finished with school. That's why the only thing that kept my mind from desperation was the satisfying thought that I only had less than a year. 

Less than a year!

I could almost smell freedom in the air among the stormy heavens above, the first drops of the rainy season tapping the ground with delight. Silencing my runaway thoughts, it urged me toward the building we all dared call high school and toward another day of hell . . . 

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Hey I know this chapter is a bit boring but I really wanted to get the tone and atmosphere solidified before jumping into the narrative. 

Hope you are enjoying it and I'm going to try my best to upload this story as frequently as possible .  

Sorry if there are any grammatical mistakes but this book is written more for the fun of it and to the story written down so I'll probably edit it towards the end. 

Thanks for reading! 

X X X