Running for Tara

Chapter 8

"I was born on the 12th of January, because there was so much snow on the road when my mother and father tried to leave for the hospital when her waters broke, the snow prevented them from doing so. I was a painful birth and even my baby brother had to help fetch bandages and such. I had to be warmed by the little log-fire in the cabin that my mother and father were living in at the time. Thankfully I came quick and was breathing, if I hadn't been then that would've been an entirely different story.

I was the little blonde girl that sat at the back of the classroom, getting lost in her imagination and trying to display this on the paper. I was never good at Maths but preferred Art, or English... This continued and I was always at this little school called Saint Mary's with a teacher called Miss Small and a best friend called Rachael. This was until my brother died, and my little world fell apart. Dad left and mum couldn't afford school for me on her own, I had to move around and accidents happened at all of the schools that I previously attended, I...I broke."

"You aren't broken to me, you are beauti..." Peter stopped himself. He had barely known this girl for a week and he already was calling her beautiful. What a cliche, he had to stop. "Brilliant" Peter finished and flashed her a helpless smile to try and lessen the tension. "Thank you" Tar said and smiled back at Peter.

Tar stood up and offered Tar a cold drink. To be left alone with his own thoughts, Peter complied. Because of his speed, Peter was able to navigate around the whole house in a split second so he decided to find out more about the mysterious girl.

Peter stood up and quickly yet carefully and began to flit about. First he rushed into tar's mother's room but all he found there was a wide rainbow of laundry on the floor and a smashed hand mirror. It was a typical room for a fourty-odd single mother. Peter then searched the bathroom and found nothing to report. Peter was beginning to bore of searching through other peoples things and the house was small so there was nothing too much to hide. Peter found a spare room, another bathroom with a tin tub, a small, furry animal cage and many more pictures of the happy family. Peter was really starting to bore when he remembered Tar's room. Not thinking with 100% of his brain (and probably hungover) Peter picked the latch and slipped inside. Tar's room was small and tidy with a few posters littered here and there. It smelt like strawberries and what reminded Peter of his grandmother,s house. The main thing that Peter noticed was her diary flung on the high bunk bed. He mustn't, he could but he mustn't it was dishonest and cheeky. The book was too appealing. Self control slipping away, Peter's hands darted for the diary. What he read told the real story of Tara.