My Story On Paper

New Home, New Hope

Claire's POV

Claire wiped her ocean colored eyes. She had been crying for hours straight, just staring out of her apartment window at the colossal buildings that stunned those miniature tourists. It seemed like just yesterday she had laughed at their gaping mouths. When she was younger, she would pretend they were all puppets and she was pulling invisible strings, controlling their each and every move. It gave her some sort of...joy? No, that wasn't the word. More like...contentment. 

Her thoughts snapped back to the present as she focused on the raindrops outside mixing with her tears on the other side of the window. Why did they have to move?

Claire hated change. She had finally made a friend at Blakewood, and now she had to pick up and start all over. She wasn't even crying because she would miss her town; heck, she hated the city. Every time she stepped outside, her lungs became thickened with pollution. She could barely squeeze through the sea of people on the sidewalks to get to school on time.

She was crying because of her enormous anxiety. How would they view the "new kid"? Would it be as bad as it was here? The constant bullying made her sick to her stomach, quite literally. Claire suffered from bulimia nervosa, a symptom of her chronic anxiety and constant bullying and alienation. Once she met Lillian, she became a bit better. She finally had someone on her side. And now she had no one. Again.

Claire brushed back her short brown locks and tucked them behind her ear. She wiped her eyes yet again and made her way to the car. Everything had already been packed the night before, so she had slept on the hardwood floor. Her back ached, so she did a few stretches and begrudgingly walked down the apartment steps. Her father was already in the car.

"About god damn time," he said coldly. And then they were off to the suburbs to god knows where.

Four hours later, her father pressed on to the brakes, receiving a loud squealing noise in return. Their car was so old; they were dirt poor. But even Claire couldn't stop her eyes from opening in dismay at what lay ahead of the car. A "beat up shack" wouldn't exactly cut it. Wooden boards were nailed across the windows, and the house had a massive hole in the side. The white paint was chipped in multiple places revealing the wooden frame beneath it. The door stood on one hinge, so it was sideways in the door frame. It seemed as if the grass had been growing for years without being cut; it was as tall as Claire's knee and dirty brown.

"Are you serious?" But she knew her father enough to know that he never joked. This was all real.

Most of their old furniture was on the way, so Claire tentatively stepped inside. It was as bad as it looked on the outside. Everything inside was rotting wood: the walls, floors and door frames. She couldn't hold back the snicker of disbelief. She knew they were poor, but this was ridiculous. All because her father believed there was "silver ore" in this town. This house must have been built by the pilgrims. 

There was a kitchen (she could tell by the iron-wrought coal stove), a bathroom with a chipped bathtub, and a study on the right. After reviewing the steps to make sure they wouldn't collapse, she began to check the upstairs. Claire walked cautiously in case the floorboards were to give way beneath her. There were two bedrooms (one on the left side and one on the right) and a room in the middle. It was a tiny floor; the hallway was overlooking the downstairs floor. She decided that the room on the right would become hers, as it overlooked the bright sky and dead grass. A sharp contrast.

Still, the one room in the middle caught her attention. She was brainstorming what its purpose could be. She walked around the medium sized room, minding her step, when her foot hit a hollow floorboard. The rest of the floor was solid, if only a bit unsteady. There was a stark contrast between this section of the floor and the rest of the room. When her foot came in contact with this particular floorboard, that faint hollow sound resulted.

Bending close to the floor, Claire tapped the wood with her finger. Strange.

She noticed that it was slightly raised above the other floorboards, so she gently placed her nail underneath it and pulled it up. And a small book stared up at her.

Little did Claire know that this old rotted house could be her savior. It could give her a new life and a new hope that would have never been achievable otherwise. She finally had someone who understood her. If only she were here. I guess in a sense, she was.

So, Claire sat down on the moldy rotten floor and began to read.