One Confuzzled Child
14 years later…
All right, so this is my first go at a diary.
My family is a small and proud family built on traditions with forward thinking, well, that’s what my father says. We live in a small semi-detached house down Oxford Lane and own over 20 acres of pure, green, luscious fields. According to my father, Mr Harclay (the man of the house) the home must always be clean and tidy. That meant no magazines left on tables, or floors littered with board game pieces and ‘such rubbish’. On the other hand, my mother, Mrs Harclay believed the place was a playground, meant for muckiness and the occasional occurrence of paintball guns. Basically, the place was spick-and-span while my father was in and a filthy hell hole while the lady was home alone. They seemed to be complete opposites yet both stayed together, why? Me, of course, their daughter Demi.
My father is a first rate lawyer at Legna's London firm and helps those ill-accused get back to their normal lives, at least that’s what he’s told me. He is a rather stern and pernickety man as of late with a strider's saunter and an out of fashion top hat to match. Some would say a little old fashioned and I agree with them, I mean, sometimes it can get really quite ridiculous, fish fingers will never be the same... Sorry! Zoned out a little there, anyway, as for my father’s looks I would have to say a tall man with a keen eye. He has a rather thin nose and a balding head, bushy eyebrows with thin lips. My mother on the other hand has big, bouncy hair of the brightest ginger and a short cute nose. Her eyebrows plucked neatly and her lips thick and red, good for blowing kisses to her gal-pals (aka the other Women in Vainglory). My mother works with my father and even though she is quite little and has such a bubbly personality I hear that she is a force to be reckoned with in the agency however I have never seen either of them at work instead I am home schooled every day by our maid Rosita. One of these days, I hope to see them in action. Well, to be honest, I just like to see them in the same room nowadays. Luckily, today was one of those days and we played loads of games that my father called ‘challenges’, I think I did well…
However! I am fourteen years old and for all my life have been a confuzzled child, caught in the middle of the arguments between my parents. They would often shout at one another over ridiculous matters such as ‘what would you do if daemons were to break into a treasury vault?’ The worst part being that they would be so worked up over one another’s responses as if they were genuinely in danger. I would be asked every now and again for my input but it was dangerous to answer as whomever I didn’t side with would instantly disown me for a day. The most ridiculous time was when my father was watching the discovery channel with me and then out of the blue my mother walks in and just says 'well? Forget it' and then my father sighed and within a few minutes the volume was ramped up to ten. Sometimes I wonder to myself about how quiet and peaceful it would be if my parents both got killed by a rogue, giant boxing glove and left me to live on my own. Was that a strange thing to say? Probably, I’m crossing it out anyways.
Then again, that is an appealing thought and I know a great-- I mean, it'd be hard to construct so I couldn't do it. Oh no, bummer. I feel a little bit evil now so... yeahhh.
Demi jumped off her desk chair and pulled open some ugly, patterned curtains which draped over her bed posts to reveal a pleasant night sky and then after quickly making sure that no one was watching her through the keyhole, she closed her door and dimmed the lights just low enough for no one to notice that she was still awake at 1 O’clock in the morning. She walked back to her seat and put her delicate, young hands back on her brand-new-today laptop and then continued with her diary.
My spine tingled with excitement, never having stayed up this late before. I scanned the room looking for inspiration then planned different cool ways in which to exterminate my old folks aka ‘The Olderlings’. I call them this because they are both over forty and therefore old, in comparison.
