Good Grief.

4.CherryLime.

In everyone's life, at some time, our fire goes out. It is then burst into flame by an encounter with another human being. We should all be thankful to those who rekindle the inner spirit. ~Albert Schweitzer.

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I get back to my room to get back to the novel quick enough. I was getting hooked already. And even if I wasn't, I'd already started it and there's no way I could back down from a reader's honour.

For the uninitiated, the reader's honour states that: thou shall not leave thy opened novel until finished. I don't know if I actually use the 'th' words appropriately but heck if I care! Long as I sound as 21st century Shakespeare.

I get under the covers of my bed and immediately grab the novel off my bedside table and continue reading it.

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CHAPTER THREE

I woke up the next morning feeling weird as crap. Effects of being in a new place. It happens. I open my eyes, or rather try to, slowly adjusting to the surroundings. I look beside me and see Cheryl waking up too. She immediately notices me and flashes a broad smile. Seriously, how do people do that! So early in the morning. How can their be morning people in the first place? I groan and pound my head back to the pillow in frustration though I really felt like laughing-don't ask why because I don't know too-so I laughed. Coz who was holding me back anyways? I chuckled at first, then my lungs kinda got the drift and I just ended up laughing really hard, for a whole sixty seconds I bet. Then I woke up, looked at Cheryl, laughed some more, headed to the wardrobe, took my towels and bathing shenanigans and went to the bathroom, laughing lightly under my breath. I took a hot shower and after getting done I walked back to my room wrapped in my towel and with my pajamas on my arm.

The bathrooms were inconsiderably located outside our rooms, so it was sort of a community shower place, only that the community consisted of twelve people. Twelve people how? Coz each room consisted of six cubicles, each having two people in them. Got it? There were four bathrooms, and four toilets. So it was kind of half bad. I mean, personally, I couldn't really complain. I'd rather all these than the kind of trauma I experienced at 'home' or rather where I grew up. Home had to be something that you felt peace and serenity in it, somewhere you could go and just relax because it has that feeling, that sweet homely feeling, that place where you'd come back to from work, take your tea slowly while listening to country music just because you can, lie on your sofa and close your eyes, relishing the sweet smell of your furniture, cry your eyes out while watching sappy romance films and cancer movies after taking dinner, eat a tub of ice cream before you go to sleep because who cares about gaining weight? Not that tub of ice cream that tucks you in at night. And even for the lucky few, cuddle next to their significant other or their adorable cute little children, reading to them bedtime stories and singing lullabies that you came up with on the spot because all the other songs you know are X-rated. Wake up the next morning and remember it's Saturday and you just might wanna kiss the heavens. Then suddenly you hear stuff breaking in the living room and remember you have kids who are prone to cause destruction. You feel like you should stick your head to your pillow and ignore that you heard yet another crash downstairs or was that the younger kid crying, but you got an obligation as a parent. So you wake up, walk to the living room looking like crap with your messed up bed hair and when you get there you see your husband talking to the kids. And you see them quiet down and apologize to each other just as daddy said they should, and you are standing there by the door smiling fondly at the sight. Your husband turns and looks at you as if Jesus said you were the key to salvation and flashes yet the most beautiful smile at you and heads over to give you a warm cuddly hug and a lovely kiss on your forehead. Then suddenly he shares this look with the kids and you are sure that's their 'up to something' look. So you start running away but your husband tackles you to the floor and he and the kids tickle you till you have to promise them cute little favours just so that they can let you be. The tears long forgotten and all that is left are laughs and fond smiles. That is how home should be like? Right? I had that kind of home in my heart, where it mattered, in my head, it was just another word loosely placed in the millions of dictionaries being sold to poor gullible citizens.