Delectable

1- Pilot

The cold February air blowing past my circular face, brushing against me on its journey, pushing me further and faster to school than I'd hoped.

Acacia Avenue was a long narrow street with tall narrow terrace houses packed closely together. Every house identical in every way. From the front of the house the same two identical features were on show. The black front door sat on the left edge of the house with 7 steep steps to reach it from the outside. A large glass window to the right of the house displayed the contents of each home. The contents being a small living room; in which most houses had 1 couch, 1 chair, a coffee table and a small television. At the back of each house the kitchen had been placed, there was no back door leading to a garden as none of these houses had one. Up the stairs there are 4 rooms: 1 bedroom; 1 bathroom and 2 small box rooms which were commonly used as bedrooms. If you look up on the landing in the house you will see a latch. A latch that if you press a ladder will unfold which will lead you to the attic of the house. Not many people went up to their attics as most people who live in the street are old people.

After staring at every home in my street for 5 houses after mine I turn my head looking in the direction I'm walking. Along the street neighbours were showing me sad smiles as if they even cared for me before it happened. A short old lady who lived in the long house at the end of Acacia Avenue began to slowly walk towards me. In her left hand she held a maroon hand bag which usually held: many different types of sweets; lots of old bus tickets; occasionally the ancient fruit which she found in her fruit bowl she didn't want anymore; her old emerald purse and change.

Mrs Lakemoore came to my house every day for a month after the accident, for a 74 year old woman she is very helpful and active. She would make me breakfast, give me lunch money and then invite me over to hers for dinner every night.

Mrs Lakemoore still looked very young, even in her mid 70s. The only wrinkles on her face were smile lines which she still wears today. Her long blonde hair sways down her back whenever she moves and her bright green eyes still swam with life. "Hello darling," she smiled at me. "Hi Mrs Lakemoore," my lips curving slightly. "You're looking very thin these days dear," she took a snippet of my appearance, "those parents been feeding you?"

I looked down not saying a word and Mrs Lakemoore shook her head tutting. "They're still very upset, mom hasn't got out of bed in months and dad only mopes around the house," I told her, "I make them breakfast everyday and take it to their room, make them their lunch and leave it on the side for the microwave," I explained proudly to her. Mrs Lakemoore was the kindest lady on the street when we first moved in and still is. "They shouldn't be making you do all that," she spoke in her southern accent, "they may still be grieving but they're the adults in the house and should be caring for you, not the other way around." Smiling at her gratefully I snorted a laugh, "the past six months have been very difficult for them and I really don't mind helping out." She began shaking her head before placing her hand in her bag and pulling out a pear and putting in my hand. Mrs Lakemoore cares about me a lot, my grandparents died before I was born and she has always felt like a grandmother to me. "You better to be getting to school now, don't want to make you late," she grinned at me, "I'll be round tonight to make dinner and to get your mother out of bed." Sighing, "Thank you." She pat my head and i resume my walk to school.

School used to be my least favourite place, but ever since the incident, school is the invisible cloak protecting me from the darkness that looms around out in the world. The 30 minute walk was silent and lonely, like me. Yes. Dramatic. But caused by my past, I have no intention of trying, not anymore.

Finally entering the rusty broken gates to the place commonly known as hell, I had picked up on something... something odd, something foreign. A slick black modernly born long car sat in the lot of the school, watching my footsteps rapidly approach then again rapidly scurry away.

A few minutes go by once I have met the few decent people in the school which I call friends, I begin to have a strange sense that not all things are as they seem. I for some peculiar reason could not get the estranged car in the parking lot which no one else noticed. Pulling my friends inside I explained my distress about the car, but all they do is laugh at my theory.

"You're just being paranoid," Jayla told me.

Jayla was definitely my best friend out of the group. She had always been there for me, ever since we met in elementary school. Jayla is about 2 inches taller than me, standing at 5'8. Today she left her natural gorgeous hair in its afro. Her perfectly smooth dark skin complimenting her long lashes and brown eyes. She really is perfect.

First lesson...
Biology. Science. Hate. I can not begin to describe my hatred for all the science subjects. It truly doesn't make sense. My favourite activity whilst in this torturous lesson was to sit and watch rain run down the window. The weather was truly beautiful, dark clouds and the light patter of rain followed by a loud crash... but not of thunder, no, this was a crash of glass shattering to the floor. With a scream. My supposed paranoia was coming alive.