That Twelve Year Old

That Twelve Year Old - Chapter One

This story is supposed to be unrealistic. It's supposed to over-dramatic and spoof-like. If you want a serious story, read Four White Walls (yes, that was a shameless self advertisment) I wanted to make this story really freaking cliched. That's the whole point. It helps when you imagine the dialouge as crappy hollywood material. Ya know, overly jumpy blondes, gothic little kids, cheap remakes of 'West Side Story' that's the whole point!

Kay, Muzzy Out.

CHAPTER ONE.  STRATFORD.  28TH AUGUST 2012 10:02AM

I sat on the edge of my bed, staring out of the window. The breeze occasionally chilling my skin, as I looked out towards the streets of Stratford.  I just turned twelve today. And now I was waiting for Aunt to wake up. Aunt was once a beautiful woman.  She wanted to stay young, but time didn’t agree with her. One too many face surgeries later, she looked fake. Sure, she looked young but the fakeness overridden her ‘beauty’.  She knew this. She knew she looked plastic. One of the reasons she took out all her anger on me. Apparently, I didn’t deserve to stay young and ‘beautiful’. I was to be ugly.

         As if that would help her... I thought bitterly.

             I kept hearing the clock, ticking in the background. Like a bomb, waiting to go off.

And that’s when I heard my bedroom door open. I didn’t need to look. I knew Aunt was there.

“How old are you now?” I heard her snarl. I didn’t want to look at her, so I kept my forehead on the window.

“I’m twelve, Aunt” I replied, keeping that numb tone. I knew what she was going to do; she did it every time I grew a year older.

I heard her laughter; it was always creepy when she laughed at me.

“Look at me you pig!” She snarled. I didn’t wince; I was used to it. I turned my body around, and looked at her in the eye.

She only tilted her head and smiled.

“Now darling, would you like your present?” I tried my best not to roll my eyes. She always said that line before she did that thing to me. It was corny and overused.

She walked away, signalling for me to come over, and I did. A little bit of me turning numb by each step and breath I took.

         I quickly glanced at the clock for the time, and I knew I was late for School. I was in Year 8, by the way. For some reason, my school started a week before any of the other schools.  I didn’t care though; it was only an extra... five days?  Not that much.  

          I followed Aunt for my present. See? Corny, overused and sounds slightly perverted.

-*-

I slung my McKenzie side bag over my shoulder, and ran towards the bus, fixing my tie as I did.

My school has ties. Urgh.

I mean, no other Community schools have ties. They have jumpers and all that primary crap. And then, when you go into KS4, you get the flipping ties. But not us! Oh, no! We had to be different.

      My uniform wasn’t posh (luckily). It consisted of black trousers, white polo, black cardigan, white tie (tucked in) and my beloved black Kickers.

 Everyone would have looked like they were going to a funeral, if it wasn’t for the bag, coats and ties, giving that ‘splash’ of colour.