Adalyn Charles and the Philosopher's Stone

Chapter 1: Days...

Week 1

The smell. That smell always awakes me, from my, not so sleep, sleep. The strong irritating odour, that practically lives near a swimming pool, smell. Bleach. I sit up in my cramped room like space. White thing string like features hanging the corner of the room. I reach my hand into the dark filled room, trying to find the light switch. I run my hand along the wall, to see if it is there. The rough, bumpy paint like texture runned underneath my fingertips. Moisture drips off the palm of my hand, ruining the wall, creating more and more bumps, and breaks. My hand finally finds the chipped plastic light switch, that subsequently is right next to the door. The entrance. The entrance to my dungeon. The dungeon that I have been imprisoned in my entire life. My room. The small tight space underneath the creaky, wooden stairs.

Footsteps can be heard. Every morning, evening, and night, that I lay wake, staring, listening, waiting... watching. The stubborn broken light switch finally clicks into place. A key, slides into the lock of the front door. The faint clicking sound, almost inaudible, turns and unlocks the secrets of this home. The front door creaks it's way open. The only person that would be up at this time, would be my mother...

My mother. Beautiful, quiet, tired, fragile woman. My mother. Emotionless, cold, miserable, disappointed. She loves others... including her husband. My stepfather. A fat old businessman. The flickering of the yellow tinted lightbulb comes into place, as I hear my mother dropping countless items into a glass dish tray. She slowly walks up the steps. Her feet against the wooden floorboards, makes the world stop and turn. The constant stomping. The constant pounding. The constant...

I took a deep breathe in. I sat up, waiting until I could hear. Her bedroom door, snaps into place. The creaking of her bed. I waited and waited. I turned my painfully sore neck around to my shelf. I studied the objects on the shelf. Simple, yet beautiful. Sitting there, staring at me is the deep green alarm clock, ticking away, telling me that I am wasting time.

Reaching for the smooth door handle, I turned it so I could escape. But not fully escape, and I am the prisoner. I live, breathe, and smell like one. My mother. I don't even remember the last time I have seen her. It feels so long, to long. Lightly stretching my legs, out the door, I placed one foot down. I climbed out of my bed, and slowly, and gently started to close the door, trying not to make noise.

I looked around the oh so familiar hallway. Nothings changed. Simple. Elegant. Suggesting that people don't actually live here. How could they? When they are always out and about. There was nothing to suggested that there were children here. Nothing. Slowly, I walked into the extremely lit kitchen. I stumbled my way over towards the fridge. The metallic, shiny fridge. The newest addition, might I add. My stepfather – Casper, doesn't want any finger prints on it, or as he puts it "It ruins the entire aesthetic."

Stepping. So little steps, but it feels like the longest walk I have ever done. Dreading, what it says for me to do on the fridge. The list. Oh, the list. The ugliest thing to ever exist. The list is my jobs. If I don't do my jobs, then I get punished. Simple. I focused closer onto the words that were on the fresh clean, stain free, list. It read,

1. Clean the Kitchen

2. Clean the Living Room

3. Vacuum - But do it when we are up

4. Make breakfast.

5. Get the rubbish and put it in the bin.

6. Iron the clothes.