The Rose Garden
Chapter one:
It was a slow, drowsy Tuesday morning. The alarm had nearly given me a heart attack, blaring off at 5am. I peeled the hot, sticky sheets off of me, and meandered down the boring, drab, old creaking staircase that was original with the house and somewhere near a hundred years old.
The summer heat had been raging on for a solid month now, inching it's way to a smoldering forth of July party I had to put on every year, even though no one ever came. I would send out invitations for my entire family, not really knowing who they were. I just went by the aged and tattered family directory, but I knew these people would have moved to other locations by now. I just tell myself to remain hopeful and send them anyway. I never knew my family, and I've grown to think they never wanted to know me.
I am an orphan. I lived in a foster home with six other children around my age, but never had the care and love of a true family. So without fail, every one of my invitations would be returned in the mail, saying "person could not be reached" on the envelopes. After year after year of nothing but this repeated occurrence, I finally realized if I had any family left, they didn't care and wanted nothing to do with me.
This is my #life. An unemployed, too-skinny girl who drinks coffee religiously. One thing, and one thing only, keeps my mind erect. Dreams. It seems that every time I fall asleep, I get closer to a magical world. So sweet smelling and fragrant, so vast and so beautiful. So safe and welcoming. I feel compelled to stay here, though I don't know how I can. I reach out and I'm close, so close. I can nearly feel the lush green grass between my fingers, I can taste the crisp air. Closer, closer...touch...touch...an inch more...
Then it's over.
The alarm sounds it's siren again, and I'm thrown back into reality. Every time.
This place is such a mystery. All I want to do is let myself drift away into the night, allowing myself to be taken there, not caring if I ever came back.
Thump! The arrival of the morning newspaper shook me from my thoughts. I strolled to the door, coffee periodically sloshing out the sides of the mug I'd just filled with the movement.
The news was just like every other day's: Murders, break in's, and stories of a homeless man who bashes out house windows to find a place to sleep inside. I toss the paper in the garbage, right on top of an old banana peeling and some stale bread. If there wasn't anything new or pleasant to report, why waste the paper, ink, and time?
The only reason I can come up with for setting my alarm each day is because I can't allow myself to slip away from what would be a normal #life, considering where I stand from that perspective. If anything were to happen in this sleepy town, I wasn't about to miss it by letting myself sleep till noon. Or, if I ever received a job, I needed a routine. Besides, I was an honor student. I graduated college last year. School was all I had to live for, but now, I have virtually nothing. I was so advanced that they let me go to college at age fifteen, and I went into mechanics and engineering.
So now, I don't want to throw it all away. I can't afford to.
My thoughts are interrupted again, this time by a shout from outside. "Hurricane! Hurricane!" A male voice sounded. I peered out the window. The man was running up the street, struggling due to the building strength of the wind. I live in the type of tiny city where people didn't watch the television news to get information. You had three choices. Read the god-awful repetitive newspaper, acquire the latest scoop yourself by traveling into town, or hear it from a neighbor. The same policy was followed for weather. I barely glanced at the newspaper anymore, my neighbors wouldn't give me the time of day, and I wasn't outside enough to figure much out at all, let alone check the forecast.
This wasn't good.
