The Girl In The Room

Chapter 1

Staring at the ceiling, I marvelled at the four walls which I had know all my life. I had been here for as long as I could remember; the now pale walls had been painted over so many times I had forgotten their original colour. I stared at my open laptop, poised on my old-fashioned, Victorian desk, having just uploaded a new video to my Youtube channel. It was flopping miserably. I had thought many times about changing the theme of my account, but had no idea on what else I could possibly do. Frustrated, I rolled off my bed and picked up my guitar, on which I had learned a few chords online when I was twelve, and had immediately became obsessed with the acoustic sound, which resonated familiarly underneath my fingertips. Now, I found I could play almost anything I wanted, due to my ruthless and meticulous practice over the last five years, seeing as there was nothing better to do. I methodically began to play one of my favourites, Stay by Rihanna, when I had suddenly had enough. Grabbing my laptop, I began to delete all of my guitar tutorials without a second thought, leaving my beloved channel as bare as the face of the moon. I sighed and slumped into my chair, rolling back to gaze out of my skylight; it was almost sundown. The sun had began painting pink and orange streaks across the sky, and the stars twinkled into existance.

When I awoke, a food tray containing my breakfast had appeared in front of my door, like always. The smell of pasty porridge filled the room, accompanied by the strong aroma of English Breakfast Tea, which floated towards me, stirring me from a light sleep. As I ate my breakfast, I scrolled through twitter, where most of my twenty subscribers were outraged by my sudden deletion of videos. But suddenly, one of the comments caught my eye, written by Peyton_Harrystyles4eva. She, shockingly had suggested that I try and create a cover on Youtube, using both singing and playing the guitar. This made me laugh. How an earth could I find the courage to call myself an artist, let alone a singer?

I had almost forgotten about that ridiculous comment for a few days, as I focused myself on a new online study course I was undertaking, in which I was attempting to learn French. The language had intregued me when I had, one afternoon, began to watch an old French film, titled 'Les Chorist'. In the middle of a lesson, my phone began to blow up, as much as it could for a lonely girl with a measly subscriber count, with messages tagging both myself and Peyton_Harrystyles4eva. The idea of me singing had made my subscribers apparently 'lose their marbles', because a thread had appeared, begging me to sing. I politely declined, mortified at the idea coming to light once more. However, when the night drew in, the comment infested my mind, preventing me from sleep. Would it really be so bad? I found myself wondering and drawn up in a mental debate. But then fears of humiliation would creep in and keep me up all night, envisioning the aggressive and judgemental comments, criticising my pitch and rhythm.

The thoughts pestered my mind for hours on end, but in the end I think it was the safety I felt, confined in these familiar four walls, which finally made me concede. After all, what's the worst that could happen?

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