Alright, so this is my first (novel) that I will post on here that I am writing by myself. I'm sorry if it sucks, but please ONLY comment constructive critisism. Or praise if you really like it;) I'm going to try not to rush it, so please be patient with me, you can't rush a masterpeice. Comment, vote, you know the drill. -PrincessSuperman
Chapter 1
The flight sucked. They always do. I hate being forced to sit in tiny chairs next to snoring children, and be served awful plane food as my only source of energy. It's like my own version of hell. Despite all of that, I still believe it was worth it. To get out of that crap-hole they call Kansas is a chance I couldn't wait to uphold. People here have probably never even heard of Kansas. I just hope it won't be as windy here. My hair won't take any more of that nonsense.
The speakers beeped and the flight attendant's voice told us that we had arrived at our destination; London. They asked us to gather our things and exit the aircraft.. I had a wad of 5,000 pounds saved up from my high school years for clothes and what ever else I needed until I could find a job. I packed light, deciding that I would see what the weather was like, and buy new clothes accordingly.
I had been planning this for my whole life, well, at least since mother died. When she left I was left to my only living guardian; my selfish, abusive, arrogant step-father. My birth father died shortly after I was born. The plan was, wait until I was 18, move to England, find a house and job, be happy. This became easier with time.
I never knew my grandmother. Apparently, she knew me because after she died she left me her house. I know nothing of it, and I'm slightly nervous to see it. All I know is the address. What if it's just a shambled hut in the woods that is barely standing? Or a creepy mansion? ...Guess I'll just have to see when the time comes. Once I inherited the house, my plan became sealed. I turned 18 three days ago. I don't know if my step-father is even sober enough to realize I left. Nothing he can do about it now, I suppose.
As I said, I packed light, so after I passed through security I did not have to worry about any checked bags. I went straight to the payphone. It had a whole bunch of taxi numbers on the back of the hollow metal box. I called the one with the least sketchy name, and asked the gentleman to pick me up at the airport. He agreed and hang up. I walked out of the giant glass front doors and stood on the sidewalk. There was no source of light, save the flickering street lights. The sky eventually started spitting its water at me. London's, fairly cold, welcome.
About 15 minutes later, a black cab slowed in front of me. I hopped in the back and handed the middle aged, weighted man the piece of paper with my grandmother's old address. He nodded, turned, and pressed on the pedal. He glanced at the address once more "Wait, are you Edna's daughter?" he asked in a very heavy British accent. Weird, I didn't hear that over the phone. "Uhh, I'm actually her granddaughter." I replied in my late-night, sultry voice. "Oh, I'm truly sorry about your loss." his tone dying.
"It's okay, I never really knew her."
"She was a great woman. Very wealthy."
There goes the shambling cabin in the woods. Creepy mansion is still a possibility.
"My mother used to tell me tales about her."
"What?" he asked.
"Never mind."
I opted out of sharing the stories my mother used to tell me about my grandmother. Tales of how she would give candy one day, and take it the next. Tales of her parenting, which was very bipolar. Then there was the legend of how she got her money. I never thought any of them were true, but now I am beginning to second-guess myself.
The taxi driver drove through downtown London, which was a pleasant surprise. Then, in the middle of London, he pulled over in front of a row of houses, all magnificent. Each was gigantic, and had an extremely tall, pointed roof. They looked very English. He pointed to the tallest one, in the middle of the block. Then turned to face me with a smile, thick mustache curling and said "That one is yours."
My heart dropped in my chest. Could it really be? It was a mansion, sure. Creepy? No. To say the least, I loved it. I jumped out of the car, and got my bags out of the trunk. I walked the tiled rout up to the front of my new house. The door, well double doors, were large, and solid oak. Except for a beautiful mural made of stained glass covering half of each. The knobs were old and British looking. I clutched one, heart pumping with the excitement to explore this new building; home.
Thanks for reading! I left it off at a suspensful part so you have to read the next chapter if you want to find out what her house will be like. MUAHAHA!!! >:} Next chapter will probably be a long one, so give me a little time. I will upload as soon as I can.
