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Discovery Story

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Discovery Story It can't be true. Adopted... adopted... adopted. The mocking voice of the devil chants tunelessly through my head, pounding into my skull, willing me to break. Like a continuous headache that not a single drug can cure, for it is a drug itself. Running from him is not an option for wherever I go he will stalk me a menacing presents in the darkest shadows. In a sad, ironic sense, it's comical to think only a few mere hours ago I was your average, normal, happy (in a cute teenage way), girl. Already that innocent sense of security seems a decade away. This is one of those situations that is impossible to grasp unless you are personally experiencing it. Such as a story on the news, where a poor child's mother is the vulnerable victim of a crazed gunman. An extreme example I realise, still let me explain; you imagine it happening to you, you play it over in your head believing you can understand the loss, and emotions that the grievers are going through. In reality you are a million miles away from being able to begin to comprehend how it feels. In reality you are crying for yourself, preparing yourself for a possible situation, an occurrence in your life, where you will bid use that hatred of the human race. ...read more.


I want to phone Kate but the closest phone's in the study and who knows where "mum" is lurking, wanting to catch me vulnerable, away from the territory of my room for a "chat". Kate will help; she'll get my head straight. Kate... My sister, my saviour, my buoyancy aid through life. It was so hard when she went away; she was my ally against "mum". The two of them always argued, I don't really know what about, usually over the most pathetic things. Of course when she went away "mum" picked on me instead, never satisfied until she had me feeling miserable and unworthy. There's not a chance in hell that she's adopted too though, "mum" and her are identical. I wonder if she knew? No, she would have told me she wouldn't keep anything from me; "mum" must of lied to her too. I hated it when she moved out. She comes and visits, but it's just not the same. The atmosphere is tense and unnerving without her jokes and lighthearted comments. The pleasant smell of the combination of her perfumes no longer exists in the sterilised air of the house, which has stopped feeling like a home, and a part of me is missing. I don't mean her leaving ripped my heart out, but it made it feel like I was an orange with one of my segments missing. ...read more.


I digest this information, Mum must of called her. Kate had come all the way down to comfort me? I love her so much, she's so considerate and it must have been inconvenient for her. I run to the kitchen, and she's standing there, good old Kate. I grab hold of her giving her a huge bear hug, and I start crying all over again. She only hugs back weakly, which is unlike her, " Jen, I think we need to talk," she states. "You're telling me!" I say in an attempt at being cheerful manner but by the tone of her voice I get the feeling we're not quite on the same wavelength. "Well how about I make us all a pot of tea?" I had been oblivious to the fact that mum had slipped in the kitchen behind me, and it made me jump when she said this. "Yes, that would be nice," replied Kate answering for the both of us. "There's something we need to talk about Jen," Kate said gently to me. "Why don't we both sit down?" But I know, I know what it is as I start to back away, horrified by the truth. I can't believe I didn't realise sooner, how stupid was I? It's clear now. Clear and confusing and twisted, but it's the obvious answer. Kate my only sister is actually my mother. I turn and run, out the door, outside I sprint. I don't know where to I'm just running in an attempt to escape the harsh truth. By Sarah Bailey ...read more.

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