THE ELITE (On Hold)

Chapter 3: Westbury Train Station.

I don't know how long I stood there. But what I do know, is that with every passing moment, I felt more and more suffocated. It seemed as though the four, blank walls of the kitchen were closing in on me. I wanted to run. Escape. Anything, anything at all, to get me out of there. But I stood rooted to the spot, unable to move. It was as though all my joints had seized up and all the circulation in my body was gone.I wanted to scream and cry and a whole bunch of other things teenagers do when they're upset or angry. I wanted to blame my fate on anything and everything. The words of my parents were ringing in my head like church bells. My head was spinning. I wanted it to stop.

I have always overlooked my parents faults, forgived their countless mistakes and the many times they have wronged me and made me feel as though I was worthless. I have always tried to show them love and kindness with the tiny hope of getting some in return. But this was the limit. They only wanted me to go to Wiltshire School of Fine Arts so that they could get rid of me -the disappointment of a daughter. But even that did not satisfy them. They wanted to make sure that I was out of their lives for good; by force rather than will. Hence, they made the decision of sending me to Wiltshire School of Fine Arts year round, without even consulting me. I may not be as smart as Albert Einstein, but I'm not stupid either. I got the message. Plain as day. I was not wanted. My parents had practically disowned me (this time, they made it official). It's just that they used a more complicated means of saying it, through the use of fancy words and extreme vocabulary. I was not going to stay somewhere where I was unwanted and treated as though I was something smelly on the road. I'd had enough.

"OUCH!!!" I yelped in pain, as I painfully dropped my school trunk on my foot for the second time. Heaving a school trunk weighing two hundred and fifty pounds down a staircase, definitely wouldn't have been on a fourteen year old's to-do list. But, here I was doing it anyway. It took me approximately twenty minutes to haul my school trunk from the top of the staircase to its landing. But it was totally worth it. I stood leaning against the banister trying to catch my breath, when the driver came running up the front porch steps towards me. "Alright there, Miss Vince?" he asked, a look of concern on his face. "Fine. Just fine." "If you're sure," and with that, he heaved my trunk into the back of the limo. "After you, Miss Vince," he said, holding the door of the limo open for me to get in. "Thanks," I replied, sitting in the limo, and we drove off. I leaned back in my seat and the reality of what I was leaving behind fully dawned on me. "They don't need me and I don't need them" I said trying to compose myself, as I saw the tip of our roof disappear behind a vast canopy of pine trees. It was the last time I would be seeing my home. My dream of ever being accepted by my parents was completely shattered. But I was ready to move on. To a new life, in a new environment.

Going into town, we encountered a long lane of traffic. Apparently, some fellow's car had suffered a short and stopped in the middle of the road, preventing passage on either side. A mob was starting to form, consisting mainly of angry drivers who were far to impatient to get on with their daily schedules, rather than being halted by an old Ford Anglia. Luckily, the tow truck was on the way and soon enough, the car had been towed to the garage, and all the confusion was put to rest. The rest of the journey was uneventful and before long, we pulled into the station.

Stepping out of the limo, I experienced the full impact of the train station. It was one of the biggest train stations in Wiltshire, and the oldest too. Once a beauty, in the 1900's when it was built, it was now dilapidated and shabby-looking. There were walls of peeling white paint and the platforms and ticket boxes were in no better condition. The once brightly coloured, scarlet steam engines and well-oiled tracks, were now dull and worn-out. Their iron was rusting and the tracks needed repairing.

Westbury Train Station buzzed with activity like a busy beehive. In every direction, passengers could be seen. Some were talking on their phones, others were hanging out of the windows of the station's trains to speak with friends and family, and some were flooding the station's coffee shop. Children were running helter skelter amidst their parents, and the elderly and disabled were waiting for their trains in a secluded, but more peaceful area.

According to my ticket, my train would be leaving at eleven o' clock. Looking at the large clock over the arrivals board, I realised with a stroke of panic that I had ten minutes left to board my train. I still had no idea where my train was. I did a quick scan of the area and.....Yes. Bingo! I found it.