Chapter One

The sunlight filtering through my window wakes me up first. Then I hear the sound I always hear at 8:30 sharp-the shower turning on and a woman’s voice singing. I groan and rub my aching head. I still wasn’t quite used to someone-no, something-using my family’s shower. Earlier in the week, I had snuck into the bathroom and opened the curtain. The water was still running, but no one was there. I looked out the window to find a mangled, bloody body on the pavement below.  I sit up. My brother starts stirring, and he turns on the radio, blasting through the house and waking everyone else up. “Damn it, Duncan!” my father calls from my parent’s bedroom, and he gets up. “Diana,” My mother calls, “Can you start the kettle?” I sigh. “Yes, Mom,” I call back, and stand up. The fuzz of my slippers is welcoming to me. I look at my watch-8:30 a.m., Saturday, May 15th, 2013, and shuffle into the kitchen. I hear a crash from the living room, and I jump. “Oh, crap,” I say as I hear breaking glass. I run into the living room to find it exactly as we left it yesterday night, and all the windows perfectly intact. I catch the back of a person trudging upstairs, and shudder. My mother comes down the stairs, and I rush back to filling the kettle. “Morning, Di,” She says, and kisses the top of my head. I smile, trying to hide my shaking hands. “Morning, Mom. Can we go to the pet store today?” My face becomes hopeful. “Well, sort of. Your father and I have decided that we’re not going to buy a pet from the pet store,” My face crumples, “We’re going to adopt from the SPCA!” I jump up and do my happy dance. “Yessssss!” I say, and mom laughs. “We’ve also decided that we’re not getting one pet. You kids each get to choose one.” I shudder-but this time out of happiness. “When are we going?” Duncan calls from the living room. I didn’t notice him come down the stairs. “Right after breakfast.” A smile courses through my brother’s fourteen-year-old body. Normally he wouldn’t care, but he’s had his heart set on getting a husky puppy since our parents told us we could get a pet. We-Duncan and I-gulp down our oatmeal as fast as we can and throw on clashing clothes, and we’re waiting on the porch before Mom and Dad even get dressed. When we’re finally in the car, I’m almost pushing the side doors so to help our car to go faster. When we park, I’m out like a shot-and I’m in the doors before Duncan can even take a couple steps. I breathe in the air, and even the building smells like animals. My breathless parents certainly take their time, and, after two minutes-Duncan arrived fifteen seconds after me-we’re looking around. I spot the sign that says “Cats”, call to my parents that I’d be fine from here, and go through the door. They have every kind of cat-calicos bat at my tickling fingers, tortoiseshells lick my hand, and a black-and-white tabby meows from the far end of the room. I am instantly drawn to her. There’s a sign near her cage that warns visitors that she’s blind. I reach through the bars and stroke her head, and she meows when I touch her. Then she starts purring, and her purr is like chocolate-rich, warm, inviting. She licks my fingers, and I look at the other sign. “Monochrome. Tabby. Female. Three years old.” I decide that she was the one for me. Pretty soon, my parents enter the room, and I tell them that I had found the pet I wanted-Monochrome. “But honey, she’s blind.” My father says. “So?” I shoot back, “What’s wrong with being blind?” “Okay, okay,” He says. My mother tells the person at the front desk that Monochrome and Moira-Duncan’s husky puppy-would be ours. We take the collapsible cardboard boxes from the trunk of our car and I line mine with my fleece doll blanket. I gingerly pick my new friend up and place her in the box, and she doesn’t complain until I move away. Then she becomes uneasy. I stay close to the box all the way home.

Reviews

[nobody]

You captured my attention with the ominous shower business and the way you treated it is very good. The division between the worlds of childhood and adulthood are clear and in reading this, I'm drawn in to different realities. I hope you will continue.

[Isabelle Howard]

I'm working on it! I actually intend to publish this. Hey, if Gordon Korman can do it when he's 12, I can do it at 10! Hee hee. Thanks!
-Izzy

[nobody]

Yes, you can! Keep writing! :)

[Isabelle Howard]

Thanks for the motivation. I MUST BE OPTIMISTIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIC!

[Dominic Morgan]

i like the childlike enthusiasm of this piece but more that it is underpinned by a developing sense of malice. I think you write well and the piece captured my attention from the start but be careful how much you say.

[Isabelle Howard]

Thanks for the advice!