Books and Colour

Hey guys! This is my English story for school. Any constructive criticism is welcome!

He had warned her about the book, now it was too late.

Marylin Herbert lay down in her-uncomfortable bed, the dull cloud covered light barely reaching her room, and quieted her breathing as she listened to the nurses talk softly just outside the door to her room. Kenneth Robertson, a fellow child who resided in Seaside Farm, had told her that the book would only be taken away by the adults if they find it, ("Which they will", he had put in,), and now it had happened, before she could read even a single word. The nurses had taken it away after finding it in her room, thinking she was asleep, and now talked urgently.

"Surely the girl should be allowed some comfort. You... you know how long-"

"Yes, of course I know," Judith, the head nurse, snapped. "But if this book comes into the hands of the other children, the disease could catch. Marylin's symptoms of TB have been prominent."

TB; Tuberculosis. Marylin knows what this was, the disease that had killed her parents, and the parents of nearly all the other youth at the "farm". The nurses tried not to use that word; they didn't mention a lot of things. Such as, the use of "Seaside Farm" being a simple cover for hospital for orphans, such as any World War situations, such as the fact that nearly half the children have the same disease their parents had, the one with no cure. Marylin included. But that fact had never registered, not truly.

The nurses walked away from the door, their voices slowly faded into nothing except the pitter-patter of rain outside. It was dull, and grey. Marylin thought of the parents she barely remembered. She thought of her friends, the ones she had not been allowed to see or communicate with since the fever and coughing had begun. And she thought of the book, the small bit of colour left in her life. The book that she had to get back.

The next morning, it was warm, yet Marylin shivered. Chills rushed through her body as she got dressed and huddled in an oversized woolen coat. She coughed, then padded toward the door.

"Wh-ere are you going?" A voice croaked. Marylin turned towards the bed as Linda Johns, her roommate, sat up. "It's barely sunrise."

She looked at the clock, which read 11:32AM, and didn't answer. There doesn't seem to be a point of it. Marylin turned her dull eyes to face the opening, and continued walking. The door clicked behind her.

She followed the path that she had taken every morning before she was kept in her room. Barely comprehending where she was going, Marylin's feet seemed to take her through the familiar hallways. Her throat was dry and lanced with pain. Suddenly, arriving at the doorway, Marylin came back to herself. She silently peered through the doorway into a large room, where many children were laughing and chatting as they ate. The sound seemed far away.

Suddenly, figures attracted her attention. Names leapt to the forfront of her mind, (Lisa Burlie, Adam Marker, David Cordson, Nancy Williams) as Marylins old friends came into view. Even (Kenneth Robertson) Ken was sitting there, laughing along.

Though she's barely 8 meters away from them, she heard nothing except for muffled calls and cries, as if she was underwater.

Should... should I join them?

She wondered. They were friends.

Though they haven't talked to me. At all. They made no attempt at communication whatsoever. Marylin began struggling within herself. She recalled when she had been a part of that, playing games with them.