Decorus Phasmatis

Riley: I jump out of bed as the sun shines in my eyes to wake me; my perfect natural alarm clock. I have an old (antique) analogue clock on the wall above my desk. It is six o’clock in the morning. Perfect. I pull on some jeans and a t-shirt and head outside to feed the horses. I pull on my boots and follow the path down to the stable. My horses are up and ready to run. I open the doors to their stalls and shoo them out into the paddock for the day, where they can munch on fresh grass.

I’m in my school uniform and out the door, after grabbing some of Mum’s French toast of course. I run down the driveway and wait at the mail box for the bus to pick me up. It’s too hard to ride my bike to school in this uniform. We have to wear a grey and black checked skirt and I button up white shirt with sleeves that hang just over our elbows. The boy’s uniforms are the same except with grey shorts and a black tie as well. The bus arrives and I move to my usual seat, one seat from the back of the bus.
“Hey Riley,” my friends are crowding the back seat.
“Morning ladies,” I greet them. Most of my friends are from out of town as well. I have a few friends who live in town though.

The bus pulls up out the front of my school. It is another rather old building with newer attachments. Most of the school is made of old stone like the town library. The school library and the science labs are the newest buildings. They library looks out of place at the side of the school, but luckily the science block is hidden behind the mass of stone classrooms. Most of my friends and I agree that the old classrooms are the best, but some others, especially the ones from town, think that new is better.

My first class is English, my best subject. My teacher is fantastic. Mrs Collins is a great teacher, and I talk to her after class sometimes about novels and other things.
“How was everyone’s weekend?” she asks cheerily. There is a chorus of ‘good’s, ‘bad’s and ‘boring’s.
I work through my classes easily and soon enough I get to go home.

“Hey, Riley, we’ll have to organise something for this weekend coming,” My friend Laura is leaning over the seat of the bus to talk to me. My other friends Gina and Mandy agree.
“In other words you want to come over?” I say. My friends think my house is fantastic. They love the old style of it. They also love my parents. We tell my Mum everything. Laura lives with her dad; her mum died when she was six. I think she enjoys chatting to my Mum. Laura is a bit of a tom boy. She has been raised mostly by her father and I think he struggles sometimes as she is an only child. They get along well though. I don’t like to choose between my friends, and I would never mention this to anyone but Laura, but she is my best friend. She is loud and outspoken, a little bit crazy, honest, kind and trustworthy.

All of my friends are huge romantics. We all dream of fairy tales, and I think that’s why they like my house and my bedroom so much. It’s the closest thing we have to a castle, and when I sit on my bed, surrounded by my beautiful friends it really can feel like a dream.