Well After All We'll Lie Another Day.
Chapter One.
I had watched the sunset on that hill, and waited until the stars came out before I went home. It wasn’t hard to stay out until late at night actually. It’s not as though anyone was around to question me.
Most of the kids in this neighbourhood had been shipped off to various camps to spend their summer. I had told my dad when had offered to send me to Art camp that I was sticking around. I wasn’t going to be sent off to another part of this wretched country, by myself, with a load of people I don’t know to 'make friends'. I'd have enough trouble round here.
I had just moved from Central London to Belleville, New Jersey, and I was having the worst time. It had been a Friday for my first day here and everyone I could have met were at school, just before the end of summer. I now had to start in the new term, and I wouldn’t know anybody.
No friends, nothing to do, and stuck here with my know-nothing dad.
My new room was nothing to write home about, not that I'm psycho enough to send myself letters, or mail, as most in America would say. It was big, bit enough to fit in all my stuff with room to spare, white walls, two windows, one looking onto the street below and one looking out back, most of my things tidied away into various boxes or cupboards. My posters, my pride, my joy, my constant companions, were propped up against the cupboard nearest the door, furthest away from me. I hadn’t decided where to put them yet, that is, if my dad lets me keep them.
My huge Iron Maiden portrait, that I had done myself by the by, was propped against a wall in its large frame. Mostly done in charcoal and, um, well, biro. I wouldn’t let dad get rid of that, no matter how many paintings he bought.
By the way, my name is Cherise, but everyone calls- used to call me Sparks. I have brown hair to my shoulders, a normal oval-ish face, 16 years and * shudder *, glasses. I’ve had them all my life, and I hate them.
Now where was I? Oh yes.
As I sprawled on my new bed I looked at the bedside table on my right, 2:15, a: m. I knew Id never get to sleep.
This helps.
I propped myself up on my bed and turned to look out of the window on the side of my room facing the road. The street lamps lit the wide road with an eerie glow, and nothing stirred. Well almost nothing, some leaves across the empty road, the wind through the trees and a person.
Whoever it was they weren’t causing trouble, and they seemed to be alone. I could see the tiny orange light at the end of their cigarette, and as I watched they walked slowly along the other side of the street.
As they came closer I could see it was a guy. I couldn’t see much about him, having left my glasses on the writing desk at the other side of the room, except he was dressed in a black t-shirt and plain jeans.
I watched as he ambled closer and closer to where my house was. Being on the other side of the street meant I couldn’t see his face clearly, he just happened to be a vague blur. He slowly stopped, lifted his head and blew a puff of smoke into the air, turned around to look behind him, and continued walking, to the side of the house opposite mine, where he let himself in. Not having anything better to do I grabbed my glasses and a book and went to lie down on my bed.
I woke up next morning with that book stuck to my face.