Dystopia

⌘ Who?

"Lena what are we going to do with you?" Geraldine huffs, pushing her flyaway strands from her bun behind her ears.

"Any sexual contact is not prohibited here, which I know you are aware of."
She raises her eyebrows.

"Yes." I play with my fingers. Anything other than looking into those grey, judging eyes.

"Do you know what this is?" She pulls out a folder and places it onto the table. "This is your personal record," Geraldine says, answering her own question.

She also places a stack of papers on the table and pats it down. "I wanted to dig a little deeper and find out everything about you, Lena Prescott, which wasn't easy considering you didn't attend a state school or anything, you were practically invisible."

She licks her fingers before turning the pages. "Yes, Mother Mary-Jane Harper, and Robert Prescott," Geraldine reads aloud to herself.

"Currently living with Marry-Jane." She takes another sheet from the pile. "I was wondering if you knew anything about this."

"Robert Prescott homicide victim," Geraldine says so quickly I barley catch it.

"Wait- What did you say about my father?" I ask.

"8 years ago, he was found with gun wounds, on the edge of Hunterdale," she says with pity in her eyes, pushing the file for me to see.

I couldn't believe my eyes, my father is dead? I had loved my father, he had been my teacher, my friend. Until the day I found my mother crying on the couch, she had told me he ran out on us and took all of our money with him, from then on my days became darker. I thought he ran away and left me with her.

"I had no idea." I quickly swipe away a tear.

"Lena did you ever find a gun at your house?" She asks with a hint of accusation in her voice.

"Excuse me? You can't possibly think that I'd kill my own father!" I spit, clearly this is an interrogation.

"Well you stabbed a man." Geraldine says rather aggressively.

"I was trying to defend myself," I reply, crossing my arms.

"Well, answer my question. We're you at any point of your life in possession of a gun?" She asks, her grey eyes wild.

"No, how could I have done this? I would have been nine." How dare she accuse me of killing my father.

"I've seen it before." Geraldine rolls her eyes, rather unprofessionally.
"And I'm not accusing you of anything, whoever it was left one clue: a pair of thin framed glasses were left shattered at the crime seen, they didn't belong to your father so the murderer must have dropped them."

"But I don't wear glasses," I say rudely and stand up, I'm sick of this. "I have a therapy session to attend to," I lie.

Speedily I make my way to the door where a guard blocks my exit. "Let her go, I got what I needed," Geraldine informs the guard.

............................................................
The story is soon coming to an end...

Also sorry for the lack of updates, I've been really busy with my GCSE and I had a bit of writers block.

please vote/comment

Francesca xxx