Author By Chance

Three; Mother Langfordo, mother Langfordo, wherefore art thou love for thee?

The figure moves and I suddenly realise it is my mother. Holding to my surprise but not really, my laptop and writing book. Again, I repeat this really wasn't surprising, although Ian is now coming all this way just to help me find the thief. He is such a saint if I do say so myself.

My mother is a very strict but ambitious lady. All throughout my life, she has always been on my back, pushing me to do things, to make a 'real' future out of my life. She thinks that authors are just people who didn't grow up and now are just making up stories to pass the time because they think in my mother's opinion, that life is too damn boring and this is their entertainment. This is why she doesn't know that I have a Wattpad account, nobody does, well nobody out of my inner circle.

My mother is constantly pushing onto me the idea, or my mistake a demand, for me to become a lawyer. It was truly an understatement for me to clearly identify that she wants me to live her dream and take over the law firm that she pretentiously made.

"I thought you and dad are going to be on holiday for three weeks?"

My mother narrows her eyes down at me. Oh, dear, she means business.

"I would ask you the same thing, why aren't you ready for school?"

"Well, I can't without my creative writing draft for English and my laptop." I was lying about my book being for English, nobody in their right minds would ever think about showing their own teacher their own personal writing for credit at school. It just isn't ethical or logical. Unless you have a great bond with that English teacher, then by all means do so.

My mother glares down at me but gives in handing me back my things again. "This doesn't mean that this conversation is over once you leave this premise." Thanking her I clutch my laptop and writing draft to my chest and sit there dreamily as the time passes silently through the ticking of the clock above me on the wall to my right. The clock decides to interrupt and starts chiming, it's nearly time for school and I'm not even ready yet.

I swear profusely not even bothering to give a damn that my mother may have actually heard. She did, like the hawk that she is. Running up the stairs all the way to my bedroom I open the door and instantly place my laptop and writing draft into my bag and get changed out of my pjs.

Some days I really wish that my school would wear a school uniform because it will reduce the stress that school dress codes have on us students. I grabbed my obviously too large American football number 86 black and white t-shirt dress, a pair of my plain black shorts and my trusty maroon and white Nikes.