Thursday, 17 May 2007
07:13:01 PM (GMT)
I hear a coughing sound at my doorway. I don't have to look away from my book to
know that my mother was giving me her
infamous disappointed look. She's so predictable.
“Mother,” I say, not even looking
up at her. “We have nothing to talk about.”
“Morgan,” my mother replies, sitting down on my bed beside me. “Don't be like
I close my book with a sigh. This conversation was starting to bore me already, this
is never a good sign. “I know what you're going to say.”
“I doubt that,” Mother says picking up the book. She flips through the pages and
tries to read. Within moments she stops, closing it.
“Father wanted you to talk to me about how staying in my room isn't healthy,” I
reply. “There isn't anything worthwhile to do so I stay here.”
“You could try to talking to the other girls in your school for a start,” she
mutters, her patience with me dwindling.
“I do try talking to them, they have nothing intelligent to say back,” I
“It's like teaching your pet bird to talk. It's not going to work no matter how
hard you try.”
“Did I interrupt something?” Father asks, entering my room.
I stand up and leave the
room, brushing against Father as I leave.
“No,” I say. “You didn't.”
Mother, I notice, isn't too happy with me. Oh well.
I'm not too bothered by my brief encounter with her, that book was getting boring
I hate being bored.
People say i'm like my mother.
Last edited: 17 May 2007