MONICA

chapter 1:

The sun has just risen over the horizon, painting the sky with hues of pink, orange, and yellow. The birds are chirping, greeting the new day with their beautiful melodies. The air is crisp and fresh, with a slight breeze that carries the scent of blooming flowers. As people start to wake up, the sounds of morning routine fill the air. Kettles whistle, toasters pop, and coffee machines hum as people prepare their breakfast. The clattering of dishes and silverware can be heard, as families sit down to share a meal together before starting their day.

Outside, the streets are gradually filling up with people hurrying to their destinations. Some are jogging or walking their dogs, enjoying the calmness of the morning before the city comes alive. Others are rushing to catch their morning commute, their faces serious and determined. The sound of cars and buses rumbling by can be heard in the distance, gradually growing louder as they approach. The occasional honking of horns breaks the peacefulness of the morning, but it is quickly drowned out by the constant hum of the city. As the morning progresses, the sun continues to rise higher in the sky, casting long shadows and bathing the world in its warm glow. The day is just beginning, and with it comes the promise of new opportunities and adventures.


Monica, a young girl with tousled hair, lay fast asleep in her bed, lost in her dreams. She was deep in slumber when her guardian, Scarlet, gently knocked on her door. “Monica, it’s time to wake up,” Scarlet called out softly, you getting late.” Monica groaned and turned over in her bed, pulling the blankets over her head. But Scarlet persisted, and after a few more gentle nudges, Monica finally stirred. With a yawn, Monica sat up and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. She stretched her arms and legs and looked around her room, which was bathed in the soft glow of the early morning light.


Scarlet smiled at Monica and helped her out of bed. Together, they opened the curtains, letting the sunlight flood into the room. The curtains were now open, revealing the beauty of the morning, and the small house was filled with the warmth of the sun’s rays. Monica and Scarlet were ready to begin their day, full of energy and excitement for what was to come. She glanced at the table beside her bed. With a puzzled look on her face, Monica noticed that her phone wasn’t there. She must have left it in the living room again. She walked over to the table but something caught her eye.

The small digital clock beside her bed showed 7:00 AM. “Seven o’clock already?” she murmured to herself, surprised that she had slept in for so long She dashed straight to the bathroom to take a shower. Afterwards, she was at her Closet trying to answer the biggest question any girl asks,  “ what should I wear today?” “ Monica, ” her guardian shouts from downstairs, “ you ready or what.” Monica took long to respond but in the end she replied back, “ 5 minutes please, this skirt doesn’t fit on the waist.”


Scarlet walked into Monica’s bedroom without knocking, only to find her niece half-dressed in front of the mirror. Monica’s face flushed with embarrassment as she quickly tried to cover herself with a towel. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were getting dressed,” Scarlet said, looking away. “It’s okay,” Monica muttered, still hiding behind the towel. Scarlet couldn’t help but notice the sadness in Monica’s eyes. She knew her niece had been struggling since her mother passed away a few Years ago. Scarlet had been thinking about Monica’s well-being and decided to do something to help lift her spirits. “Actually, I brought something for you,” Scarlet said, pulling out a garment bag from behind her back.


Monica hesitated momentarily, her emotions swirling and leaving her feeling exposed and vulnerable. With a hint of uncertainty in her voice, she inquired, “What’s inside?” Her gaze remained cautious as she eyed the bag before her. Scarlet, with a gentle and understanding tone, responded, “It’s a dress that once belonged to your mother.” Her words carried a sense of tenderness. “I thought you might want to wear it today, as a way to remember her.”

Monica’s gaze remained fixed on the dress for an extended pause, her contemplation evident. Eventually, she gave a slow, measured nod. The words that followed were soft, almost whispered, “Alright, I’ll give it a try.” Scarlet offered her assistance in unzipping the garment bag, and then carefully presented the dress to Monica. The gown, a stunning example of vintage elegance, was meticulously crafted from delicate lace and silk. As Monica’s fingers traced over the fabric, a soothing comfort enveloped her, a connection to her mother that felt tangible.

With a mixture of anticipation and reverence, Monica slipped the dress on. In that moment, it was as if her mother’s presence enveloped her, guiding her hands and soothing her nerves. Standing before the mirror, she caught her reflection, and a profound sense of tranquillity washed over her. The dress embodied more than just fabric; it embodied memories, love, and a bridge to her mother’s spirit. Overwhelmed by the emotions, Monica’s tear-filled eyes met Scarlet’s as she uttered, “Thank you. This means everything to me.”

In response, Scarlet embraced her niece warmly, their connection a testament to the unspoken bond they shared. As they left the room, their arms intertwined, Scarlet understood the lasting impact of this gesture. It wasn’t just about a dress; it was about offering solace during a trying time. With each step they took, Scarlet knew that Monica would forever cherish the kindness and comfort she had been given, a touchstone of support in her journey of healing and remembrance.



HALF AN HOUR LATER


Arriving at school, Monica maintained her typical five-minute delay, a pattern she was known for. She entered just as Mr. Johnson was preparing to kick off the first period. He reacted with a mix of displeasure and disdain at her tardiness. “Well,” he remarked, his annoyance evident, “look who’s decided to grace us with their presence.” His critical gaze swept over her, a clear expression of judgment, before he motioned for her to take her seat.

Unperturbed by his demeanor, Monica retorted, “I know my aunt broke up with you, but that doesn’t give you the right to take it out on me.” With determined steps, she made her way to her designated spot. Before Mr. Johnson could respond, Monica interjected firmly, “Monica, please, I’m a married man—”

“Then start acting like one,” Monica cut him off, her words sharp and cutting. The ripple of amusement started to spread across the class, growing from murmurs to full-fledged laughter as students began to point and mock Mr. Johnson. The principal’s voice suddenly crackled through the wall-mounted speaker, breaking the scene. “Mr. Johnson, my office, now,” the announcement rang out. Whispers of anticipation circulated through the room. Monica’s gaze fell upon a student at the back, noticing his unease. “Mr. Johnson, are you okay?” a concerned girl inquired from the front row.

“Turn to page 55, read quietly, and I’ll return shortly,” Mr. Johnson instructed, making his exit while slamming the door behind him. The atmosphere shifted as students exchanged remarks. “You’re a true badass, Monica, just like your brother,” cheered Wilfred, her ever-loyal best friend. Monica’s stern expression softened momentarily, but she quickly looked away. “Wilfred,” she snapped, her tone reflecting a mix of irritation and hurt. Wilfred immediately realized his mistake. “I’m sorry, Monica, I didn’t mean to bring that up,” he pleaded, seeking forgiveness, but Monica remained silent, her emotions raw and unresolved.


PRINCIPAL’S OFFICE :


“Is she available, Grace?” inquired Mr. Johnson, his gaze fixed on the secretary who was engrossed in her laptop. Grace rose from her seat with deliberate slowness, her attention eventually shifting to him for a brief moment before returning to the computer screen. “She’s anticipating your visit, Mr. Johnson. You can proceed,” she stated.

Gathering his resolve, Mr. Johnson drew in a deep breath, attempting to muster his courage. He headed towards the principal’s office, his steps measured. With a gentle tap, he announced his presence at the door. A short pause followed before a voice responded, “Please, come in, Mr. Johnson.”

As he enters the room, his gaze meets the level stares of two imposing men flanking the principal. One of them boasts a robust build, defined muscles, and a beard cascading from his cheeks down his chin. He’s dressed in black jeans paired with a t-shirt that appears to be an unusual blend of white and brown. Johnson’s scrutiny moves from head to toe, only to spot a rifle slung over the man’s left arm, his index finger resting on the trigger. With deliberate slowness, the imposing figure lifts the firearm, cocks it, and then eases it back to its original position.