Hey there! It's been over a month since I've updated The Shadow, and I am SO SUPER SORRY for that! To be honest, I started it without really thinking it through, and I'm having a bad case of writer's block. But....I started this story a little while ago in ELA and I'm kind of liking it, so please tell me what you think! (Also, I WILL be updating The Shadow soon)
Thief. Liar. Corrupt.
My father has been called each of these things, and rightfully so, by policiticans, critics, and anyone who has watched the news. He know it, too, but you know what? He doesn't care. Not that he should, because when you're a big player in the weapons industry, petty descriptions from those that simply envy your empire don't bother you. Especially when those very descrpitions are what made you a billionare, and without them you'd be nothing. So, my father is proudly a thief. My father is proudly a liar. My father is proudly corrupt.
So, what does that make me?
A target.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Beep. Beep. Beep.
Beep. Beep--
I lazily pushed my alarm clock off my nightstand, smiling into my pillow as I heard it crash to the floor. I curled back into my warm sheets, sighing as I began to drift off into sleep again. Now that's bett--
Beep. Beep. Beep.
My eyes snapped open, and I rolled to the side of my bed to see my alarm clock vibrating against the floor everytime it sounded. It didn't even have a dent. Not a single one.
Of course.
The incessant beeping emanating from the metal box was beginning to drill through the sheets I had covered my ears with, and I groaned. I couldn't ignore the noise anymore and dragged myself out of bed. The air in the room was dry and cool, almost as if a window had let the autumn air in, and the dark wood floor was like ice against my feet.
"We have heat for a reason," I grumbled, bending over to pick up the alarm and flip its switch to off. I relished in the following silence for a few moments, stretching and yawning as i walked toards my closet. I swung the door open before walking inside and finding my robe hanging in the back corner. I swiftly it on, enjoying the feeling of warmth and soft bacric covering my skin as I tied it loosely around my waist. Turning to face the door, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the tall mirror tacked ont he back of it, frowning as I saw myself.
You see, this was the precise reason I spent hours getting ready in the morning. My long, brown hair was a bird's nest, my skin spotted with dark, smeared makeup, and the circles were so prominent under my eyes they looked like bruises. Yep, I think it was fair to say last night was a rough one. And the party wasn't even worth it.
I put my hand to my head in a vain attempt to relieve that pounding that had taken residence there, with the help of some cheap alcohol, and I left my large room in search fro aspirin. My father wouldn't be home to see my state, so I didn't bother making myself presentable before dragging my feet into the kitchen.
I reached into one of the mahogany cabinets above the granite countertop and felt around for the large bottle of pain relievers. i found it, emptied three into my hands, and swallowed them dry before putting the container back and closing the cabinet door.
Thank God for aspirin.
I was just about to turn around to head back towards my room when I heard someone clear their throat behind me.
Crap.
I sheepishly turned around, innocently smiling as I came face to face with Johanna, our house maid, who had her hands on her hips and an accusing look shooting from her grey eyes.
"Not looking your best there," she said, and I swallowed nervously. If she found out i had snick to Charlie's party last night, she would surely tell my father, and that could not, under any circumstances, happen. Or I would be dead and couldn't tell you my story.
Johanna was a kind woman in her mid-sixties who had been tending to our mansion for as long as I could remember. Her grey hair was short, and and wrinkles had formed around her eyes from smiling too much. She had nurtured me as a child, and for year I thought she was my mother until the truth had been inveilved to me when I turned fourteen two years ago.
The truth.
I preferred not to think about it, and turned my attnetion to finding a good excuse for looking like I got run over by a truck.
"I, um, I wasn't feeling well last night. Like, at all."
Wow, because that's just so beleivable, Joce.
"So you decided to put on makeup?"
Touche.
"Actually, I was just practic--"
I was abruptly cut off as a loud monotonous alarm began to echo throught the house. Immediately, my makeup was forgotten, my headache gone, and my interrogation was over. Johanna and I looked at each other, and as out eyes met, we knew we were thinking the same thing: this was not good. No--this was bad.
Really, really bad.
A little cliff hanger for all of you.......
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