Dear Life, Love Saturday

Dear Life, Why am I on your Hit List?

~A Word of Caution~

This story is by far, the epitome of grammatical errors. If you still, want to pursue and enter a rather awesome fictious story, go ahead. But you have been warned. 

Haha, believe me, its not that bad...I just have a tendency to exaggerate.

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Saturday, to any sane human, is just another day of the week. A day, where rest was promised after slogging for five consecutive days. Saturday is a synonym of paradise for many. 

However that being said, it is absolutely no reason to name your daughter after your favorite day.

Yes, I am Saturday Robin Starling, and this is the story how my life, got absolutely SCREWED (all in capitals) in one single day. How my almost perfect beautiful life, became a victim of sheer bad luck.

Ironically, the news came on a Saturday.

Now that I think over it, that day had been nothing but ironic. 

For instance, the song that was playing when I got it (reference to the piece of information, that made me prey to karma) was by a band called The Saturdays. Also, the paint bottle held in my hand at that time, was a hue called Saturday Brunch. (A rather exciting shade of light beige) It was Final Destination all over again!!! It was the Saturday edition though.

I had been working on my painting, while music was booming in the baground. (Silence was not my favorite companion.) At that moment, I had a paint brush in one hand, and Saturday Brunch in the other. I had been looking rather skeptically at my painting, having a combat in my head whether to use that heavenly namesake of mine, or ordinary beige.

I was reaching a conclusion when my once closed door was barged into. 

(See, people have a tendency to remember the most minor of details when bad news get delivered. Like I remember that I had worn my favorite Arctic Monkeys T shirt with a splendid pair of black and white pants that mad me look like a confused Zebra.)

It was an entry by my aunt, the giver of it. I smiled cheerfully at her, while my mind was still dealing with the pros and cons of that damned paint. 

Sarah Quentin was a very pleasant woman. In the middle of her thirties, she was literally glowing. With light brown hair, and vibrant green eyes, she had the looks of an airbrushed model. To add to it, she was a sweetheart.

Which would probably explain why I was quite surprised to see her frowning. Tip-toeing around my room, I switched off my music system, and looked at my distraught aunt. 

"Salut Sarah, Ca va?" I asked her, watching her carefully. Oh and yes, I was french.Well, I believe I can say that after staying in Paris for almost three and a half years. 

"Pas mal, Darling....umm, can I talk to you?" She said, sadness almost outlining her every spoken syllable. That lady, did not know how to control her emotions.

"You already kinda are, you know..." I said, and motioned for her to continue. I slumped on my bed, crossing my legs, waiting for her to speak.

"So, I got a call today..." She started. I let out an exasperated breath.

"Woman...you know I love you, but can you please speed up?" 

Sarah chuckled sadly. She took a deep breath. (I beg to interrup, once more. I believe that now the doom calculator can begin it's countdown.)

5.

I beckoned her to go on, pointing my paint brush at her while grabbing the Sunday Brunch tube. What can I say, I can multi task.

4.

Sarah breathed in and out. 

3.

"Sarah...what happened?" I was getting a little scared now.

2.

Just as she opened her mouth, my phone rang. I searched my animal pants and pressed ignore. Phone calls from girlfriends who wanted dating advice or cup cake recipes could wait.

1.

I looked again at Sarah. She heaved out another nervous sigh.

"Yourparentswantyouback."

BOOM! 

It took a couple of minutes for me to figure out what she had said. 

"WHAT?" I shouted in disbelief. I had a mental manta going on in my head, that went with the tune of I Knew You Were Trouble. Let her say no,no,no. NOO!

"Yes, they called. They want you back home." She said, despair lining every single syllable.

I felt as if someone had gnawed my insides. In panic, I asked her, "Like for a vacation, right?"

I already knew the answer. But we, humans, have yet another tendency; to ask questions we already knew answers to.

Sarah shook her head. "Saturday, they want you back, for a year. They want your sophomore year to be spent there. I'm sorry,darling."

Adrenalin was coursing through me, my body had sensed this to be me panicking and suddenly I felt the need to run a marathon. 

But no, I didn't do that. I did something wayyyyy mature.

I screamed.