checkmate

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ESME ARCHIBALD

Ever since I was a child, I knew I wasn't like the rest of the family

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Ever since I was a child, I knew I wasn't like the rest of the family. My older brother, Nate, was the favourite from the very beginning. He's perfect, kind and noble, a boy any parents would be proud to call their own.

I wouldn't say I'm dysfunctional, but I'm definitely not the golden girl my mother wishes I am. Maybe I am dysfunctional, but I can't think why. Am I dysfunctional because my parents hardly notice me or do they hardly notice me because I'm dysfunctional?

See? My life's confusing.

I can't really complain, though, most people would kill for a life like mine. My family have more money than most people can even picture, and I live in what I think to be the most beautiful city on earth: New York. More specifically, Manhattan.

I am one of the elite. The aristocracy, if you like. Maybe even one of the chosen ones. So I can't complain, can I?

Can I?

(ཿཿཿ)

I wake up early today because I can hear talking loudly in the room above me. It takes me a moment to identify how many people are talking, and who.

There are three voices. One is my mom, one is my dad and the other I don't recognise. Their words are muffled, but I can tell they're having a good time.

I sit up in bed, pushing my silk sleep mask onto my forehead. My room is messy as usual, designer coats and other clothes strewn all over the floor.

What day is it? My phone says Wednesday. It's seven o'clock. Why are my parents meeting with someone at seven a.m? I push the thought out of my mind and hop out of bed, stretching my arms wide above my head. Before leaving the room, I pull on a forest green kimono over my nighty.

Nate is already up and eating breakfast at the table. Of course he's awake this early. He sees me, but doesn't bother saying hi. This isn't surprising, to be honest, I would've done the same. My breakfast is already laid out for me, as are my mother and father's.

We sit at opposite ends of the large dining table silently as we eat our breakfast. Nate puts his earphones in half way through, which is beyond rude.

The laughing and chatter grows louder, and I realise that my parents are coming into the dining room.

They're with a man, a man I suddenly recognise to be Horace Matthews, a wonderfully rich businessman. He's middle aged, with balding red hair and a wispy moustache. Quite tall and very thin, with a content but greedy expression on his face.

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