Short Stories for AQA GCSE Language Paper 1 Section B

Abandoned

I was running, running through the deserted streets of Mayfair, London. Names of each street whizzing by – Charles Street, Curzon Street – as I rounded each corner, expertly dodging the occasional drunk businessman. The night was cold, cold enough for my breath to fog up in front of my face; the wind hadn't slowed down either, creating small flurries with the snow that had covered the rough pavement underneath my high-heeled shoes, cutting at my already-chafed cheeks. Tears threatened to spill yet again, as I recalled for the second time the events of this evening, the cause of my sudden escape from home.

"But Father!", I argued hopelessly. "You know that I am capable of getting into Oxford University! Rather easily too!"

"Ada!", Father shouted at me for the very first time in my life that evening during dinner, and I could not help but flinch at his hurtful tone. "Do you think I have not been noticing the way you are beating your friends' older brothers in chess and surpassing them in every subject?! I know how knowledgeable you are, but you simply cannot go to university!"

"Is it because I am a woman?", I asked quietly, casting my eyes towards my dinner plate, waiting for the expected reply. "Is that it?"

"Ada...", a sigh. "You know very well that that is why you cannot go." That was it. I stood up abruptly, my chair scraping against the cold stone floor of our house on Hill Street.

"I am sorry to have burdened you with my impertinent requests, Father,", I mumbled. "I shall be taking my leave now. Good night." With a curt nod, I headed for my bedroom – or rather, my personal library. Piles of books – detailed studies on mathematics, the sciences and philosophy – were strewn on the grand four-poster bed and carpeted floor in my safe haven overlooking Waverton Street. The view from my bedroom, of golden evening sunlight filtering through the broad window, had always calmed me, but it was not enough to hold back the steady stream of tears making their way across my cheeks. Why did it have to be this way? Why did I have to be born as a woman?

These were pointless questions to ask... I must focus on how I can get into Oxford University. I cannot achieve this as long as I am stuck here. I must get away. Fast. Twenty minutes later, after changing into a light cotton dress and a worn travel cloak, I tip-toed down to the wine cellar, checking every now and then for any servants nearby. I had to be as far as possible before someone reported to my parents of my disappearance, so I broke into a jog, and then a sprint. I was running, running through the deserted streets of Mayfair, London. Names of each street whizzing by – Charles Street, Curzon Street – as I rounded each corner, expertly dodging the occasional drunk businessman.

"Aargh!", I gasped out as I fell face-first onto the packed snow. I had tripped as I was about to turn onto Derby Street. Curse these high-heeled boots! Wait. Why am I not able to get up? My tears have stopped, but what is this feeling? This emptiness? My courage, my determination, have both fled me. What is this feeling?

I feel abandoned.