My Book Chapter One

May 28, 2013 by Blakkatana  
Published in Motherhood

This is the first chapter to a rough draft of a book I am writing for school :P .
Update, here is a link to chapter two :

A pair of blue eyes watch me as I brush my teeth. They are there every morning, staring at me as if to see something to happen. Something different. They seem to want change, variety in the morning routine. *beeep* My two minutes are up and I spit into the sink and put my toothbrush back into the cup, my blue eyes disappointed with the uneventful, unchanging performance.

Today is Monday, and just like every other Monday I pull on my school clothes, a pair of pants and a sweater, both of which are gray. I comb out my light brown hair and put on my shoes. I never really cared much about what I wore or what color it was, it was just the repetition of it all that made me want to throw paint over everything. That would not be allowed through, the sentries would never allow that to happen. The Governor says that their job is to maintain order and keep everything in balance. To keep us safe and happy. Honestly I’ve never felt safe or happy around them; I’m not even sure if they are human anymore. The Sentries just walk in circuits for hours at a time, keeping tabs and reporting everything that is happening.

Again I look into the mirror before I leave. I suppose I am changing, my hair is a lighter shade than it used to be and my face is narrower. Over the past several months I have noticed that I am getting taller and my arms are getting bigger. Those are the only differences though, everything else has looked exactly the same for as far as I can remember. Same dull clothes, same dull shoes, and same dull face staring back at me.

‘Why doesn’t anything ever change?’ I ask myself, ‘Why must we live everyday the same?’

I have had those questions for almost five years now, ever since my father died. He had days that were different, days that kept him satisfied with how the world worked. He was one of the colony’s firemen. Though he didn’t get to fight fires that often, he still seemed to have an enjoyable life. That is how I survived, waiting for my father to get home so he could tell me about all of the adventures that he had that day. I would wait by the door and ask my mother every five minutes how long until father got home. My mother never did like it when he told stories. Maybe it was because she was a grown up and didn’t find any interest in them, which doesn’t make any sense to me because I am seventeen and yearn to hear those stories once more.

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