I am 16 years old and my name is
"TABATHER!" Bad. Shaoting is bad. "Tabather gat down here right NOW!" Very. Bad.
In the end it was my turn (i swear it is ALLWAYS my turn) to do the washing up and most of the other chores. Lucinda, of corse, just sat there on the phone to her boyfriend Sam who everyone, except Lucinda it seems, knows is cheating on her with how many ot
her girls? 5 maybe?
Finaly i got back upstairs to write in my new diary. I got it for my birthday. I got it today.
I read what I've already written and continue to fill three of the undersized pages.
My name is Tabather, I am 16 years old. I have a sister called Lucinda but, anyway my english teacher said never to just list facts but to tell a story and then just let the facts slip out withit. So here goes nothing.
Today I woke up at my usual time of 6:30am. Filled with that bubbling excitement that you only get on your birthday.
I got downstairs, anticapating the piled up presents on my favorite window seat. Quickly shutting my eyes as I came into the room i felt my way to the empty window seat. Empty.
***
I woke early, rose out of bed and made my way to sit on the window seat in my room. There is one of these in almost every room of the house. Lucky for me no one elce likes them.
I stare into the distance, not looking at anything in particular but then I see her; running down the path to a car. HIS car! Anyone elce would open the window, call after their 'big sis' and remind her that mum and dad had left HER in charge, left HER to look after me. But I woulden't. The sooner she left, the better.
