Footsteps were quiet at first, with every second getting louder but slower. I heard a "Hello?" which echoed through the small space behind the counter. I quickly grabbed all of my stuff and sneaked behind the Contemporary section in the right corner, closer to the door. I crouched behind the lowest shelf and waited quietly. I wanted the person to get out. To leave my home.
The quiet sound didn't leave. It wandered around the shelves like a predator. Bam. I made a quiet squeel of the sudden loud and obnoxious sound of the fallen book. Did anyone hear me? Everything went silent. The air was cold and I lowered myself as low as possible towards the old creaky oak floor. "Is someone here?" The voice was deep with a hint of excitement and loneliness. I listen to people a lot - when they're around. I sometimes concentrate on their tone. Their voices. Everyone has a different - voice colour. You'll find some annoying and some soothing. The voice I heard belonged to a young male. I didn't care I just wanted to run. So I did. I got up and ran across the right side of the room towards the door. I turned the still warm knob and rushed to the entrance as fast as I could. "HE-" Is all I could hear before I closed the small back door which I would always use. I prefer it over the large entrance because a narrow, almost grown out path is connecting it to the beautiful exuberant green forest I walk along everyday. The path is built around with a stone wall on one side and a white wooden vine stand on the other side, that I made myself. It's beautifully overgrown with plants. You can see a hedge through the white stands that hasn't been cut since - forever maybe. The path has no split or dead ends and if you walk just straight long enough you can hear the river stream hit the rocks and birds chirping above your head. In the spring time everything goes green and it smells fresh and the sun is just warm enough and it just makes you want to lie down and fall sleep. In all honesty I did that a few times.
I heard the red back door open and someone ran towards me with such speed I got scared and made my legs pace up. I hate sports. I always did. I'm not practically good at it but I don't find it hard either. My breathing was suddenly really fast and my heart was pounding harder. I get tired really fast. As I entered the forest I heard the voice again. "WAIT UP" I didn't look back, I didn't think even about stopping. In my head I was calculating how fast I could arrive to the ladder up to my balcony at the back of my house. But nothing goes as planned, does it? I tripped and fell down a little forest hill - face first. Just before I flew over the bush root that was clearly hidden in the pile of leaves, I felt a hand brush against my shoulder. I did not know they were that close. I screamed and rolled down the hill collecting bruises and cuts, holding my bag close to my chest with my eyes closed tight. I wasn't sure if the person had screamed after me but I was certain something was screamed back at me.
At the bottom I had to really try to get up, mentally and physically, I felt like my body wouldn't respond to my demands. I stumbled and went home trembling. At sunset, the cold breeze was making my hair run with the flow, I finally climbed the ladder up to the stone balcony that's over grown with plants of all kinds and has herbs all over the floor. I have a lemon tree. I was greeted by Gigi - my little fluffy guinea pig. I've had him for 2 years now and I love him very much. He loves to nibble on the celery sticks I provide him with and cuddle with just anyone. As I stepped over the open balcony door the first thing I always did was smile to the homely feel and smell of the herbs mixed with washing powder, lavander 50% off only at our local convenience store, went over to my chest of drawers, opened the third one and pulled out a little Moroccan carved silver box. Weird enough, every time I tried to open it I felt a strange energy telling me I wasn't ready yet and I hid it again. It happened every time. I let Gigi out and patted his small head gently. I giggled as he sniffed around and got him some more food and refilled the water tube. I liked the feeling of being responsible for someone. I believe that the bond between 2 people who love each other or care about each other can be very strong and long-lasting. I loved my parents - in some strange way, anyway. My childhood memories aren't that vivid but I do remember always being alone. Mommy and daddy would always work or be abroad and at a young age I learned how to take care of myself. Later when I was in 7th grade I went through the divorce of my parents. I can't remember if I was sad or not. I am not very emotional. My mom always hated that. I don't know why but she always ordered me around as a child and always decided on what I should wear. She is getting married next month. I don't particularly care, I guess I wish for her to be happy. After all, she gave birth to me. My dad, well my dad's different. He doesn't know how to talk to kids or how to deal with them really. Whenever we had the chance to talk he'd tell me about his stories from back in the day or about history milestones. He really loves history. At heart he is kind and generous but hard working and quite bad with numbers may I add. His posture is straight but vulnerable looking, but I got his dark brown eyes after him and my smile from mom, along with her almost heart shaped looking lips.
My dad would come home at around midnight if not later every day so I made him dinner in the evening and put it in the fridge for him to take it out, read the little sticky post it note I write for him, which is really the only way we communicate. Sometimes I write him a joke, other times an anecdote or a quote, maybe even a short story. And then he can place it in the microwave. Today, hmm, we're having spinach with mashed potatoes and soy meat. It's a simple dish but it's my favourite so far.
I wrapped dad's share with an aluminium sheet when the door bell startled me. This never happens. What do I do? I walk over to the dark green door whilst taking off my white stained apron off carrying it in my left hand I open the door.
