Cara had been waiting for serendipity all her life, for something good to come out of nothing. She often questioned that due to her longing for this, her futuristic happy moment wouldn't be serendipitous, but forced. She didn't mind this though, as long as it happened, and hopefully at the summer camp she had signed herself up for.
Cara's abditory was her home, because she knew nothing else. A wallowing sixteen and three-quarters years she had spent in a cabin with her parents and her friend who was indeed her tutor. The woods enveloping her home were only ever attended by Cara solivagantly, usually when she decided she needed to exercise.
She read books upon books and books, excelling far beyond the amount her tutor stipulated. There was a library on the outskirts of the forest she lived, where a village emerged. It made sense to her that it would have been unnatural to not have succumb to literature because of her loneliness -the type that wasn't overwhelming because she was accustomed to it- and thus was profound for someone of her age.
Cara knew she was never going to be something great. She wasn't ugly, yet her face wasn't particularly symmetrical and not one to look twice at. She was never going to have the raw talent to be on screen or on stage; although perhaps she'd be on a commercial for toothbrushes, or on a reality TV show, looking to find friends. It wasn't unusual for a teenage girl to feel this way she knew, worthless in a patronising and patriarchal society, days embedded with cramps and tears. Cara felt hopefully though that someday she could be special and laugh about the solitude of her childhood, where during these times a tear - on occasion - would start to develop in her eye before she'd dab it with a rich white paper handkerchief that was by chance, waiting for her in her ironed blazer pocket.
This year she'd decided to make summer as escapable to her mundane life as literature was. Her father had left the home two months ago, something she had called his feelings towards her mother as 'razbliuto.' To her mother it was two years since he'd left in her mind but Cara could remember everything about it distinctly; from wrapping her arms around his neck at the door, the collar of his beige long jacket standing up right and tickling her skin... his black trousers reflecting the moment to be a some sort of funeral, ironically one that would be his. Although perhaps rather Cara's mothers'. Cara understood that her father was just starting his life and she felt no judgement towards him for it, which is why her mother had taken her for such a strange girl. Cara decided she wanted to follow his footsteps, not within his shadow but her own.
