Grimore High.

2• ROSALIND

*ROSALIND*

She opens her eyes to her reality- her brutish life.
Her eyes spin round her room, her patched clothes are hung on the wooden cupboard, the lamp closest to her bed brightens it up. She stares down at her bed. There he laid, her naive, little brother, his eyes are closed as he itches them sluggishly, his protruded stomach is open wide and saliva drips down his lips as he rolls on the bed.

With sleep still in her eyes, she tiptoes out of her bed and heads towards the toilet. She holds on to the door knob then twists it open.

A huge ray of light exult from behind the door and she falls flat on the ground.

"Rosalind!" His hand is stretched out as he offers to lift her up.

She attempts to hold his hand but he lets go of hers; With disgust in his eyes, he utters

"...YOU ARE FILTHY...YOU PEASANT LIAR!!!"

"ROSALIND!!!"

She jerks up. Sweat parade down her collarbone, she breaths heavily holding on to her beddings.

The door creaks open and her mother walks in.

"Wow!...you really are up early. You must be excited, it's your first day at school, not just any school, Primrose High...wash up then come down and have your breakfast."

The door closes behind her mother. She sips off her bed...

Standing in front of the mirror, water drops lace her snow white skin, her blonde hair darker with moistness. She moves her towel slowly cleaning the water off.

"You can do this! Rosalind...you are better than all those fancy kids...who am I kidding? They'll chew me!"

"ROSALIND!!!" Her mother's voice ring from behind.

She immediately hurries out the bathroom.

***

"Morning Dad!"

"Morning Mum!"

She draws her seat backwards and sits on it. Her nostrils raise up as her eyes budge out.

" Chicken and pasta?" Her eyes opens widely as she inquires.

"Yes, dearest!" Her mother's voice full with pride and admiration.

"But it's not my birthday, it's not Jimmy's birthday either...Mum, what's going on?"
Rosalind's voice cracked, they couldn't afford to be wasteful, she knew that the cost of preparing a meal like this one could feed them for two weeks.

"We are celebrating you, pumpkin!" Her Father's bass voice rings from the other end of the table.

"Why?" Her blue eyes widens.

"What's there not to celebrate? You're beautiful, brilliant and smart... you always make us proud." Her father answers.

"Dad, I'm not on scholarship, You worked so hard, so why are I the one being celebrated?" She asked, blood throbbing through her vein, guilt loomed over her.

"... because you are Rosalind, my perfect pumpkin..." Her father answers.

"Awwww, melts me but hurry up! You don't want to be late for school!" Her mother pesters.

She eats her food with a smile on her face. With every spoon she consumed, she wished her family could afford to eat like that at least thrice a week.

***