Cold heart, Black night

Chapter Three

Well, aren't you guys such sweeties. 

Please keep in mind that i really do have fuck all knowledge about where this is actually going. But lets keep this rolling anyways. 

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter Three

I think I must’ve slept late.

I awoke in the dim light of my bedside lamp, with the silk blue sheets (real fancy) pulled to my neck. Outside my window, I could see the once pretty sunset had now faded to black, with strange luminous flashes of red and green blurring out from somewhere.

It took we awhile to realise that the sky wasn’t in fact on fire, but being licked by the hugely bright lights from the pier, which must’ve been at least a mile off, yet still managed to shine it’s way over to my window. It was unlike anything I’d seen before.

The view from my window proved that my move to Brighton would be worth it; the road that separated our row of houses to the opposite was lined with pretty oak trees that were decorated with white fairy lights, and there was the odd shell just dotted about on the pavement. Over the house tops you could see the lights from the pier and city centre, the music creating a mellow thud within the walls, the big wheel lighting up the sky like an unknown star constellation. It was just like the movies, except a little louder, and there was no beautiful man there to kiss me on the dot.

When I finally dragged away my gaze from this newly founded wonder, I saw that there was a note left on the white wooden dresser. It was from Karen;

Lara, we’re sorry to leave you, it’s just that you looked so peaceful. Not to worry, though, we’ve only nipped out to our Neighbourhood watch meeting, should maybe even be back before you wake. Help yourself to whatever, but please do not leave the house. We’d rather know where you are, darling.

Karen x

Neighbourhood watch? Nipped? What the hay? Crazy British people.

I left my room hesitantly. Everything was so neat and organized, so prim and pretty, I didn’t want to ruin it. There were glass ornaments in the windowsills and strange pictures on the wall. Everything looked expensive, almost precious. Their furniture was all leathery and posh, and they had one big ass plasma on the wall. I would like it here.

I wondered into the kitchen, feeling ridiculously hungry, and took a look into their fridge. What I really wanted was an Ice Tea, and maybe a bag of chips. There wasn’t either, and I ended up gorging myself on these tiny little cakes that came in a box called Battenberg. They were delicious. I ate all six, loving this sweet almond paste that left the weirdest texture on the tongue.

Mid way through a carton of milk (I honestly felt like eating a horse), and a ham sandwich, I thought I heard a ruffle in the bushes. My ears pricked, but dismissed it quickly, after thinking that maybe it could’ve been a cat. I hated cats, but that wasn’t the point. It wouldn’t get through the back door.

Unless they had a cat flap?

I jumped off the kitchen stool, grabbing a knife from the sink, and wondered to the back door checking for a cat flap. There wasn’t one, thankfully.

However, the rustling fought on. It sounded as though someone had picked up a tree and was trying to use it as a tooth pick or something. Maybe it was the British, coming to kick me out. I slid down under the window, so they couldn’t see me, whoever they were. I kept the knife firmly in my hand.

Then someone shouted. ‘Hello? Is anyone home? I need a bit of help.’

It was a man’s voice.