The Pharmacy (UNEDITED)

Chapter One

I should probably be grateful right now, but instead, I can feel my blood boiling thoroughly in my veins. My fingers were starting to hurt because of how tight I had clenched my fists. That was probably just my way of releasing the anxious, rage-fueled, wailing tightness that was forming a horrible knot in the middle of my chest.

"We're nearly there, Danique! Oh, how fancy!" said my temporary nanny, Mrs. Lancaster. Her voice was a lot more different than anyone else I knew. First of all-- it was weirdly enthusiastic, and... jumpy, like her short brown hair whenever she walked.

Second of all, she had a very strange accent, like a British-but-very-American-but-not-American-enough-to-not-be-British accent. Why can't she make up her mind on one of them?

She was about to open her mouth, probably for another obnoxious remark, but was drowned out by our train reaching a screeching halt. Did I mention we were on a train, to Munich? On March 1939? My birthday month? I was convinced my parents were half-insane for sending me here.

"Come on, darling, up up up! Don't want to be late, do you? Your Godparents are expecting you!" Her Majesty, madame Lancaster, decreed. God, she makes me want to squeeze the living daylights out of anything near me. Something about her fake-ness really irritated me.

I probably sound like some sort of weirdo right now, and if I weren't me, I would wholeheartedly agree with you. But unfortunately, I'm not a different person, and I have experiences with this wretch.

Examples:

- September 23, a year ago. I had planned to study that night, for a major exam, but instead, I had the pleasure of getting my eardrums assaulted by Elizabeth Lancaster and her gang of socialite-wannabe 'friends' chattering and laughing downstairs. Mama and Papa were out for one of their business dinners. Of course, they didn't return in time to see food crumbs drizzled on the carpets and unwashed glasses and dishes filling the sink to the brim.

- Two months ago. I was supposed to have some friends over, just for a small gathering, but instead, dear Elizabeth insisted that I start working on some schoolwork that I had barely squirmed out of-- in front of my parents.

I think that's painted a good enough picture for you.

"Come along Danique, and don't forget your bags," Mrs. Lancaster looked back at me after promptly striding a few steps across the aisle, "Straighten that shirt out for heaven's sake, you look like you've barely learned to dress yourself properly." Her baby blue eyes scanned me from top to bottom. Her lips were tight, it looked like she was forcing them to be that way-- something she seemed to indoctrinate herself into learning. I noticed because it was one of the things that irked me the most.

Thank God I won't be seeing her for heaven-knows how long.

After a moment of unamused staring, I arose from my seat and straightened my shirt out (which, upon further inspection, didn't need to be straightened). People were still sitting in their seats, not all of them, but most. They would watch as we quietly walked across the thin hall between rows of little red couches. It made me feel quite uneasy, like something was off about me, and it started to make me self conscious. Made me tense up a good bit.

It wasn't the adults that would stare too much— just teenagers and kids. A few of them would quickly whip their heads down when I looked back, mainly after being silently scolded by their parents. Lancaster seemed to like the attention, walking around like those fancy French women from the movies, holding her hand up with her purse hanging from her elbow. Ugh.