Lost & Found: Chapter One
This is the story that I have written for the Creative Writing course from CLIC. It is eight chapters long so keep checking theSprout for new ones.
I woke with a start. Someone had turned the light on. I quickly jumped up, my fingers fumbling over the sleeping bag zip as I frantically tried to get out of it. In the process I whacked my head on the toilet seat, sending a loud thwack echoing through the cubicles.
“Hello?” A quiet voice said.
Damn it! With the side of my head throbbing I replied meekly, “I’m fine. Just whacked my head on the door accidently. Sorry!”
There was no reply. But soon, I heard the pull of the flush from the loo a few rows down and the hurried footsteps running out of the toilets.
Great, I’m gonna have to hurry now, before she sends someone. My thoughts quickly rushed through what I had to do... and fast.
I folded my old purple sleeping bag and put it away, while putting my rucksack on my back. I sent a wave of cold water over my face, then looked in the broken mirror; I looked terrible. My eyes had big purple bags under them and my hair was dry and straw-like from the sea air and lack of conditioner. I sighed and pulled my hat down low while avoiding anyone’s eye. I walked down the path and up onto the nearest sand dune. My legs were burning as I walked up, as the sand was slipping from beneath my feet making it harder for me to climb.
Finally I got into a dip and sat down. As I stared out at the approaching sun, my thoughts yet again returned to my problems. I reached into my bag in search of my purse. I dared not peek inside, as the ever-worrying ‘run-out-of-money’ situation was fast approaching. I counted the notes. Three tens and two twenties. How had I spent thirty pounds in three days? I quickly scrambled my thoughts. All I’d bought was a couple of meals. I gulped as I thought of the shop on the site. It obviously wasn’t as cheap as it claimed to be.
In my peripheral vision, I saw the floppy pages of my novel. Another sigh escaped my lips. That flimsy book was all I had and my sole reason for running away.
My dream in life was to be a writer, however my parents wanted me to get a ‘real profession’ and didn’t trust or believe I could get a decent job at the end of it. A couple of years ago, my family and I went to Cornwall, here to this site. On a random drive one day we had come across a big, rather authentic looking building with ‘Starry Eyed Publishers’ written on the side. That day I knew I would come back with my own book. As if by luck, a couple of weeks ago I had seen an ad posted on the ‘Starry Eyed Publishers ’ page, claiming that they were looking for new material from new young writers aged between 16 and 20. So I jumped at the chance, booked a train ticket for Cornwall and here I am.
At that thought I looked at my phone. I’d turned it off. Slowly, I picked it up and pressed the on button. After what seemed like an age, it turned on and promptly alerted me to the fact that I had ten missed calls and a load of texts. A frown drew itself across my forehead. Why couldn’t they leave me alone? I was 17, nearly 18 in a couple of months. I was old enough to decide what I wanted to do with my life, wasn’t I? With my scrambled thoughts I seized my pen and frantically compiled my feelings into my novel, my one shining glory.
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IMAGE: Dunes by Stewart Black
