Tuesday, 14 February 2012

Better than her (1)

Here is another story, which one do like better? Better than Her chapter one or Her Own Script chapter one. Tell me the feed back and which story do you want me to continue in? Post it down on the chatbox ok? :)
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There it was again. The same damn headline story about that missing girl. The mystery of that Carolina Jones has been going on for eleven years and it hasn’t stopped.  Every once in a while, bam! a headline about that nowhere-to-be-seen child actress.

     CAROLINA IS NOW 17

it was the new headline of today, and for the fact, I felt miserable. I took out my bowl underneath the sink and pour myself half a cup of Cheerio’s and pour in tons of milk. It was my daily breakfast before I head to school. As I took a spoonful of the Cheerio’s, I continued to read the article about Carolina or know as CJ.
CJ is everywhere. I don’t get why she is so popular in the States. Well, yeah, she is the daughter of a multimillionaire but I just don’t get it. As I tied my hair into a bun after finished eating my cereal, I took my bag pack and fastened up the buttons on my tank top. It was a hot day in Tennessee, and as I could remember, it has always been hot in June.
I waited outside, clutching on the article and throwing it in the bin. Mum has been working hard at the diner since last night as she had two shifts. I pitied her but she warned me not to help her in finding the money as my education was far more important.
Five minutes later, a red rusty old wagon drove clumsily in front of the house. I hopped in at the back of the wagon. Before I could settle in properly, mum handed me a cute little parcel wrapped in  blue paper and decorated with hearts. There, on top of the parcel said a small beautiful note ‘Happy Birthday Angel ‘with a smiley face next to it.
I smiled, feeling quite happy but worried at the same time. “Mum, you know that there was no need to buy a gift for me”, she sighed but still kept a smile “Well Angelina, it’s your special day and I didn’t give anything for your sweet sixteen last year. It’s especially for you, I want you to have it”
“Well, but mum – what about the bills and the-“mum interrupted, not wanting me to say another word. “Just open it, I’m sure you’ll love it honey”
I didn’t want to argue with her, so without hesitation, I opened the small parcel. I was so shock, how could my mother buy such things?
I took them out, placing them high in the air. It looked like they were so real. I couldn’t believe it. It can’t be... how did she afford them? “so do love them?” mum asked me, looking at me through the rear-view mirror.  “Yeah, but mum- ho-how could you afford such things?” I was so confused. “Darling, don’t worry about the price. I bought them for you because you don’t have anything nice and pretty for that delicate face of yours.”
She continued to drive and I sat there, feeling so upset.

Oh mum, why? Why did you buy them? You are prettier and nicer than these. You must work so hard to buy them just for me. And, and you just wear the same old shirt everyday because we couldn’t afford anything fancy. Oh mum, forgive me. You are everything to me and I’m just being a normal daughter who doesn’t do anything to find a living. I’m I terrible daughter? I wanted to but you won’t let. You worked damn hard so you could feed me while you go hungry.  You don’t have to, they meant nothing to me. It doesn’t matter if I don’t get anything for my birthday, but at least I know that I have a really supportive mum with me 24/7.
I remember the story how she found me, by that well, all alone and confused. She brought me back at her home, and as I woke up, I thought that I was her daughter. Clinging by her side to everywhere she goes. Not wanting to let go. She was hated by her mother, as she thought that she gave birth to an illicit child. She was only 19 back then and with me by her side, she was unaccepted by her family.
I looked at mum through the mirror. She had sleepy eyes, unkempt brown hair and she looked as if she aged fifteen years. She was only 30, a age where woman all over looked at their finest, but she didn’t bother whether she looked ugly or messy, she cared about me more than herself. She didn’t complain or regretted finding me at that well. She loved me as if she was the one who gave birth to me.
The thing how I got to that well was a mystery, and it was kept as a mystery as it ws better let off the hook. I dyed my hair to brown as red was a strange colour and people would start ‘talking’. I wanted to look like my mum so people would mind their own business but it won’t be enough to cover it up as I look way too different from mum.

 People said that I got some similarity to Carolina Jones, but who want to hear all of that crap? I looked nothing like her, if that is what I thought of. Teens hated it when they look more like their mum or dad but loved it when they look like an artist, but I don’t; I absolutely hated it. All I wanted to be was someone like my mum
.
Not once people said I had the eyes of my mother, but it eased me when they said that I had the heart of hers. So, there I sat at the back seat of the wagon with a pair of small diamond earring wrapped in my hands.

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