Disembodied Voices

*6:09am Friday*

I roll onto my tender side to see my quiet Aunty standing in my doorway, waiting for me to open my eyes. I let out a little cry of pain and lift my stomach off of my spongy bed. My dwindly wrists ache as I proceed to get onto the creaky floorboards.

I have never really taken notice of my extremely outdated room. With stained curtains, splintered hardwood floors, peeling ceiling, old bed sheets and a worn out bed, it actually seems kind of cosy. I have lived here since I can remember and to be honest, I can't remember anything of my childhood. I probably couldn't even recall what happened on Wednesday.

"Good morning" Aunty Rosa whispers with obvious movement of her lips. Allowing her mouth to open much more wider than her words needed.

Rosa shuffles on through to the kitchen leaving me to dress myself for another bland day of school. I get up and walk to my dresser and pull out my white blouse, school tie and green shirt and shove them on with the least amount of enthusiasm.

I don't mind school, although I can't stand sitting in a boring classroom while listening to a teacher who thinks they know it all. I get good grades in school and have never failed any subject, apart from the 'Effort' grade. Aunty Rosa doesn't really seem to care about my grades written on my report card. She just looks at it slightly, pretends to show interest and shoves it back at me. I don't really think she cares a whole deal about me, after all shes my Aunty, not my Mother.

I see my Aunt as I make my way down the hall and to the right, towards the kitchen and main room. She sits at the counter under the wall clock that belonged to my uncle, sipping her tea from a fine china cup with a gold edge. She stares at the blank wall in front, almost oblivious to the world going on in her surrounding, I swear thats all she does in her own time. Aunty Rosa doesn't have a job as she lost hers recently and she doesn't have a regular hobby to keep her occupied.

The clock she always sits under belonged to my uncle, Thomas, who was said to be a generous, wealthy man who helped out many charities in the local area. Unfortunately, he has passed now but it is a mystery to me; that's okay though, I can't have knowledge of anything anyway. Rosa says that, "A young, growing and bright spirit like me doesn't need to know about the daunting past, only the future that lies ahead of you". She never lets me know anything, like yesterday, when I asked her a question we had to study for our english exam. Rosa just scolded me for questioning such a thing and locked me in my room instantly - sometimes I question her...

"Thanks for waking me up earlier, Rosa" I tell her, trying to break the silence that she has created by ignoring me.

She sits there, still, but rocks her head back and forth slightly in reply. This is her habit, just staring into nothing, lost in her thoughts. What Rosa would be thinking about bewilders me as it is so bland and boring here, it requires no thinking to live in a street like ours, in a house like ours, in a life like ours.