Poetic Justice

Chapter One

It was exactly eight minutes past two a.m. 

The Farnsworth family slept peacefully in their homely country mansion in the middle of the English countryside. Crickets chirped in the cool night air, while the nearby lake lapped the shores gently.

Grace crouched in a copse of trees that stood behind the pantry. She motioned to Kit, who came shuffling out behind a shrub in the shape of a dolphin. 'Have you found an entrance yet?' asked Kit as she brushed leaves off her shoulder. 'Yep, right over there,' replied Grace, pointing to a small door at the side of the house. 'I think it must have been the servants' entrance when the house was still owned by the Tobernays.' Kit picked a last leaf out of her hair and smiled. 'Well, let's get a move on then.'

They crept silently through the gloom, dodging odd - shaped bushes and fake statues. After what seemed like an age, they reached the door. It was small - very small - and was made of metal. Kit pressed against the wall and watched out for any security guards, while Grace tried to open the entrance. She scraped off the rust and searched for a handle.

'Bingo,' Kit heard her say.

Grace pushed down the metal handle. It swung open without effort, hinges turning quietly.  'That was easy,' said Kit. 

                                                                                             ***

 Ben's eyes flickered slowly. He shifted to the other side of his bed and yawned. The glow - in - the- dark alarm clock read fourteen minutes past two in bright green letters. Pulling off the comfy duvet of the double bed, he got up and yawned again. Outside the window on the far side of his room the night was dark and still; constellations glittered in the sky. An owl hooted from a distant tree. The garden was blanketed in silence.

He shuffled out and closed the door quietly. His room was on the third floor of the mansion, the second door on the right hand side of the grand staircase that led down to the second, first and ground floors. Looking from left to right, Ben crept down the staircase. The sound of his footsteps were absorbed by the thick, blue carpet that covered the stairs. At last, he reached the ground floor. His throat crying out for water, Ben made his way through the huge grand hall. It was tiled with with cream and blue mosaic that matched the colour of the walls, where glassy mirrors and copper - framed portraits of overbearing ancestors glared down. He'd never liked the portraits and wondered why his mum had ever left them up.

Passing by one of the mirrors, he noticed his reflection and stopped. Ben saw his limp brown hair, his angular features and saggy blue eyes. 

He looked tired.

And why wouldn't I, thought Ben, with that witch of a mother. Always so concerned with everything, going about, preaching her stupid religion, trying to force it on everyone. He smoothed back his hair and sighed. Right now I just want a drink. And maybe a new mum.