We are one of the wealthiest families in England. Well, if you would call us a family. Mum and dad are never home, and they don't care for me. My name is Alice, and sadly, I'm not an only child. There's my sister Samantha, who I despise. I really do. Why? Well, I don't need a reason, do I? Well, on the contrary, I have one. She's self-centered and basically rubbish. Yes, I said it; rubbish. Like the banana peels you would find discarded on the streets. I dislike her with a passion, but she doesn't know I do to this extent. Anyways, I am reading this poetry book, and it is quite inspiring. It's on drugs and death. Maybe a type of book a 16 year old shouldn't own, but I don't have parents that mind. It contains the most moving pieces of literature I've ever read and although I can't relate, I can imagine. But I'm arguing over whether I should try drugs or not, and see how fantasy land is. Maybe tomorrow or someday soon, I shall go searching for it and give it a shot. Yes, curiosity killed the cat, but then again, I'm not a cat.
It's morning now, 8AM. My mums shouting at us to eat our breakfast so she can leave for some more all day parties. I tumble out of my unneeded oversized bed, and open my closet; dresses, dresses, and dresses. That's how original our designer is. I pick out a blue puffy one and put it on along with make-up and hairspray. I'm so porcelain, like a tiny admired doll. Thin and perfect. That's how I was raised – we have the most expensive makeup and clothes, and dare I go 106 lbs or else I'll be fat. So all I touch from my breakfast is petite piece of bread along with a pinch of egg yolk. ‘Alice dear, let's go by the ocean side and chit-chatter while tossing pebbles mm?' offers Samantha. Although it's more of a demand than a request. Oh, and I wish she would stop calling me dear. It's so cliché and what not. Plus, I'm 16 and she's only two years older. Who does she think she is, my mum? I hope not, because the one I have is perfectly fine, minus the fact that she's never home.
We go to the ocean side and I sit on a boulder while Samantha's standing near the shore. The air is damp and tastes like salt. She starts throwing pebbles into the water and tells me to join, so I do. Our puffy dresses are ball dancing with the breeze taking the lead. Samantha doesn't mind the fact that her dress is flowing upwards; she's a proper ace whore. I'm thinking this in the kindest way I can. I hold my dress down with my pebble free hand, and the ocean is getting rough. The creases coming from the rocks we throw in are barely visible for waves are starting to form. Samantha's talking about wanting to run away. Now, I don't care much for her, but if she wants to escape from home, as her sister, I should help. ‘Mum and dad will kill me if they found out I've been doing morphine for the past 4 years,' she sighs. ‘You're kidding, right? Dads at work all day and mums too busy partying to even realize we're alive,' I say while throwing another pebble in the now heavy waves. Samantha looks worried even though I know our parents are too pre-occupied to know if we're home or not. Our maids basically take care of us now, and they do a pretty lousy job because they're their own gossip queens. Everyone wants to live the glamour life we have, but I want to get out of it. Sure we get all the luxuries, and have three different mansions in Britain, but still. We're just those porcelain dolls on display at the china store – the only use is to be admired and envied. Samantha's leaning toward the ocean as if she were smelling it. Her dress is up so high that she could come with just a corset on and there would be no difference. She's mumbling until she raises her voice to a pitch I can understand. ‘You know, I don't care if my life ends right now. Existence is useless; your born, have a miserable life, and then di-‘. She's cut off by my boost. Boost meaning I heavily push her into the ocean and watch as she stumbles into the water. Above her soaked screaming, she's struggling to get above the water. I manage to yell out, ‘Good luck sister dear. ' Did I mention she can't swim? I guess I forgot that detail, silly me. Now all that's left of her is her hands waving in the air and her gargling. I establish a huge smile on my face and just stand there for a moment. She's gone. Finally. I skip away from the shore into a nearby meadow. What a posh family we are.
I enter this random meadow on the way home. It contains every shade of green grass. Then purple, yellow, orange, and white flower petals vainly stand taller then the grass. I feel like I'm in wonderland. Waving my lush blonde hair back and forth, I'm as happy as a little girl. I lie down on the grass and stare at the clouds. The breeze is shaking the grass towards my skin, and it pinches slightly, but nothing uncomfortable. About 20 minutes pass and it's around 10:30AM. I stand up and stretch my arms outwards while glancing down. I spot a few multi-colored flowers and collect them for mum. Actually, they're not for mum, but I'm so cheery that I just feel like taking some. Mum's not home, but dads working at home today. I look down the road and see our mansion. I skip along the road and once inside the house, I give the flowers to Mary-Anne, one of our maids. ‘Please put these flowers in a vase,' I say. ‘But miss, why would you want these ghastly things in your house? We have much more exquisite flowers!' Nodding, I just swoosh my hand signaling for her to do it anyways. I run to the third floor to get my poetry book from my room. I tightly clutch it in my hand, praising its profoundness. I'm walking a distance to one of our living rooms while reading my book with great concentration. Most girls I know read Jane Austin, or Robert Blake – but I'm not like them. I'd prefer reading something realistic and daring then false affection and overdone love. Stupid girls these days don't know a thing about reality. Slowly, I'm reading my book while walking to the living room, and to be honest, I'm exhau—thump. Bloody hell what happened?! I raise my head up, and I'm on the floor. I guess I tripped on something, but it must have been something big to give me a fall like that. I gain my composure and stand up straitening out my dress. I have new giant red blood smears on my clothes now and my hands. I look behind to see what I tripped on and there's a pool of maroon blood, still wet. Oh, and on top of it is my dad with two knives stabbed in his back. ‘Dad…?' I ask with a disgusted look on my face. No answer. Well obviously, he's dead. I shrug. ‘This is one huge mess that will need to be cleaned up. Gah, blood everywhere. I shrug and go to pick up my book which had flown out of my hand at the fall. I bend down, pick it up, and walk towards the couch. Poor dad. Well, not really. I never knew him anyway; he was always too busy at work to know my name or recite, ‘I love you' once in a while. It doesn't really make a difference, whether he's dead or alive. Releasing a sigh, I lay down on the couch and open my book to the page I left off. I hear footsteps and see Mary-Anne walking my way holding a butchers knife with this reflection in her eyes. Ugh, there always has to be a disturbance doesn't there? I continue reading my book and I specifically like this poem. The next thing I hear is a shriek.
‘Good lord what is it Mary-Anne?!' ‘Miss, your still here?' she says surprised. ‘Our chef made this delicious steak and I just cut it. It's getting cold! Dare you find it tasting awful, because it took a lot of work to make my dear.' ‘Oh, you scared the daylights out of me! I thought something horrible had happened! Why did you scream because of steak?' I sighed. ‘You know I'm a tad sensitive miss. These sort of things make me, well, energetic,' she mumbled embarrassingly. She was right though, although it's more paranoid than sensitive. Last week, for instance, she out of the blue shrieked because the rice the chef made was getting dry quite fast, and we needed to eat it quickly. ‘Oh, right. Well, I guess I better eat now.' I close my book and stand up, strolling towards the main dining room. ‘Wait, its only 11AM. What are we doing eating steak at this time?' I questioned. ‘Oh yes, it's an early lunch. The chef has to go cook for the queen in a tad, so he could only make lunch at this time.' Ah, this is typical; it's happened before. When the clock strikes 12:00PM and I'm done with lunch, a drunken lady attempts to walk through the door. That drunken lady is my mum. And to think that she's the richest woman in England, ha. ‘Oh tis supper time already Laurie well eat up son. Make sure to tell that cute prim minister that the teacup set he sent me was made out of chocolate and oh apples and pairs forever,' she slurred. My eyes reach the roof at the half way point of eye rolling and I stare at a pair of knickers dangling on the chandelier. Oh dear God mother, have you no shame? ‘Oh yes, my panties from the party last night! I believe you were sleeping in that room thing on the top floor and the crumpets came late.' When she's drunk, she makes no sense. I just walk away to a different living room and put in my Billie Holiday record lying next to the record player. Then, I hear another shriek, louder then the last one. I run to the dining room where my mum was, and see Mary-Anne pointing a butcher's knife at mum. ‘Oh silly Mary, put that sword down or the cops are gonna go crazy on this case haha,' says mum giggling. I can see pure hatred in Mary-Anne's eyes like I've never seen before. I'm too surprised to not look away or stop what is now going on. Stabbing, deep deep stabbing. In mother's heart, her waist, and her heart again. Little red fountains are appearing and the carpets' shade moves from blue to red. Mary-Anne is sweating with a few chuckles between her breaths. And now my formally drunken mother is lying on the ground dead. ‘Stop that this minute! What in the devils name is wrong you?' I yell. I run to the nearest phone and rotate my fingers to dial for the police. I can hear Mary-Anne's feet stepping in my direction and I start to panic.
I quickly give the address into the phone and run upstairs to my room. The other maids around the house, once finding out what has happened, start panicking too, running back and forth. I lock the door in my room, hoping I'm safe. I don't hear a sound. Minutes go by and there's a slam on the door. I thankfully sneak down two floors and open the door. ‘Oh thank you, thank you! You're here!' I say to the police. ‘Where is the murderer ma'am?' they ask entering. ‘I'm not sure. Somewhere in the house…she has brown hair, quite tall, and fairly thin. You'll notice her once you see her!' Then about 9 police men go around the house searching. Good, now that that's being taken care of. I always had a suspicion about Mary-Anne…she never let me in her room as if she we're hiding something important. I think she might have been all these years, but I still don't know what it was. I find this as a good opportunity to check, because the cops are searching the house, the maids are crying in fear, and Mary-Anne is god knows where. I tip-toe to her bedroom, quite small compared to mine. It's pitch dark, so I turn on the light switch and see photographs of May West, I guess her favorite actress. I scavenge through her belongings, until I see a small box. I open it and find little plastic bags with something soft inside. I open them and glace down and this white powder. Heroine. Mary-Anne was probably already a loon, but this took her to the edge. Then again, maybe she felt happy when using it feeling as though she was in fantasy land, like in my poem book. I'm a curious child, and trying new things is good, right? The house is too hectic for anyone to notice I was in this room. I hesitantly picked up one of the bags and inhaled as much as I could. The room starts to blur but I just keep on sniffing. Finally, my senses drop a few notches and the bag falls out of my hand. I start walking around the room, stumbling a lot. I close my eyes and smile. Colors…I see colors. They're beautiful and soft and tranquil and pretty. Very pretty. I can hear things. I'd really like to sleep now, but I can't. I don't know why, but I hear my name. ‘Alice? Alice? Alice? Alice? Where are you? What are you doing? Come back! Alice…Alicdfgthenaskjsuahgakghaksskhsg.
‘Alex? Alex? Hey buddy, anyone home? Alex?' I shake my head. My eyes are still closed; my eyelids tired. ‘Alex!' I open my eyes and look around. I'm hidden in a dirty street on Cardiff, in the corner hunched down. ‘Hey Alex. That was the longest you've been out! Haha how was it?' says some man. I turn my head and see this bum. I look down at myself, and I'm in clothes cheaply sewn together. ‘Whoa, where am I?' I wonder. ‘I guess you took one too many over doses of that marijuana eh mate?' says that bum. I realize he's Christopher, one of my friends. ‘Ah man, that was ace! I was this blonde chick…rich…and my maid killed everyone. And I killed my sister. And then I was at this meadow…wow.' I say amazed. My voice is scruffy and I feel my unshaven face. All my homeless friends are laughing at my story. It's all the marijuana's fault. I could have been rich, and famous. And all I'm doing is dreaming. I could become a writer from all the stories I've dreamt from the drugs. I'm sitting here thinking, but these thoughts rush through my head everyday, after every dose. But today, I'm going to do something about it. A pedestrian passes by me and my pals on the street and flips me a coin. ‘Get yourself some food you piece of rubbish,' he tells me. ‘Will do,' I reply. His face is disgusted at my smile. I look around the streets and find a broken pencil with a very small tip. Taking a discarded napkin, I start writing. ‘We are one of the wealthiest families in England. Well, if you would call us a family. Mum and dad are never home, and they don't care for me. My name is Alice…'
Copyright ©2007 by giv arya