We start our story on the 7th of July, 1999. Clara Clark had just been born, the time was 7:07 AM. Clara's mother, Beatrice, had died not long after she was born, and we father cleared off as soon as he found out Clara was existing in Beatrice's womb. She was put in an adoption centre at 2 months old, with nothing but a photo album and a note written by her mother. No one wanted Clara, though. Many came and fostered her, but she was too much of a handful. She kept crying, she "nearly cried a whole f*cking ocean" said Mrs Parkinson, one of the many to foster her. But there was a reason why Clara cried more than the others, a reason why she was a bit of a handful. She was schizophrenic. Voices nagging at her constantly, and the voice of her mother screaming at her father..but how? Clara's dad had cleared off long before Clara was born. Clara wanted answers, but couldn't get them. She didn't just want them. She needed them.
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7th of October, 7:07 AM, 2013. Clara's 14th birthday. She was still at that blasted adoption centre, no one fostered her anymore. She had started school at the age of 7, and it had been the worst day of her life. Well, it was at the time. Many more horrid incidents had happened since then. Like when she broke her nose, and a few days later she dislocated her knee cap. And as soon as they had healed she ended up in a wheelchair because she broke her ankle, and her wrists are far too weak to hobble along on crutches. Clara was - and still is - quite popular. Kids love her. And they seem to find her interesting. Why? Because she lived in a shitty adoption centre. The only one in her year group who does. She didn't find it fair at first, but then she realised it was kind of cool, if you thought about it. Massive place to explore, loads of cool kids there, except they have parents but they didn't want them or they had some sort of problem or addiction. Clara was different though. Her dad cleared off as soon as he found out Beatrice Clark, Clara's mother, was pregnant, and Beatrice had died around one hour after she had given birth to Clara. Not the best, but not the worst. Some children who should be walking on this very earth, or crying in hospital after emerging from the mothers womb, have either died or been killed, either by miscarriage or an abortion. So, in a way, Clara was lucky.
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Voices In My Head
Proză scurtăHave you ever heard someone, like your mum or dad, for example, say your name? Or have you ever heard your friend on the other side of the room say your name and look over to find them speaking animatedly to their friend? Or are you like Clara, who...
