My first year of University is going tough so far, but life is tough so I guess I’m getting out of life only what I expected, well, and then some...
“Em? Why weren’t you at work today?” My friend/boss Christine popped her head around the corner as she arrived home from work. She deposited her bags on the coffee table and came in to our room after knocking on the door.
“Hello to you too.” I smiled at her as she placed her hands on her hips. She raised her eyebrows at me for avoiding the question.
“Come on, look at me! Have you seen all these papers around me? Just because you’re doing study-at-home university courses doesn’t mean you can expect me to be as free as you are. You know more than anyone that I’d much rather be at the shop then here doing coursework!” Chris smiled at me and gave me hug; I suppose that meant I was forgiven.
“I know, I know. It’s just that it’s February and the plants aren’t faring well without you.” I frowned at that. My dream was simply to be a florist, but unfortunately that dream would only ever be ‘part-time’ achieved at best. The only reason why I had to stay at university was because my dad had written in his will that I would not be able to inherit his half a million unless I got the degree in Psychology that I had promised him when I was 15. It was a stupid thing to say, because, when I make promises to my dad, he makes me keep them. For some reason I decided to have another look at his will and I took out my copy of it from the bottom drawer of my bed-side table. He even listed a set of the promises I had made to him that I would have to keep.
- Emma must pass all her A-levels with an A or A*, no lower
- Emma must get her degree in Psychology by the age of 25
- Emma must get married by the age of 30 and have kids by the age of 33
- Emma must promise never to forget the stone, for her own safety
The solicitors weren’t too sure on the meaning of the last one just as much as I was; the closest I could get to was the sapphire that had been given to me by my dad on the day his best friend died. I was four if I remember correctly. But I kept to my word with my promises and I never let the stone out of my sight.
“You really must have been bogged down with your work then because the chilli plant is dying.” Chris called from the kitchen.
“Wait a sec; I’ll get right on it.” I finished my sentence and came in to the kitchen. I cupped my hands around the stalk of the plant and felt the sapphire heat up inside my pocket. The plant quickly re-gained its colour and the leaves picked up and hardened. Lastly a layer of waxy cuticle spread itself over the surface of the leaves and I drew away from the plant. Oh yeah, maybe I should explain that.
Just before my fifth birthday, my mum asked me to help her pick some forget-me-nots in the back garden. She would chop off the leaves that would drown in the water-filled vase and I would carry them inside to the bin. At one point she accidentally cut the stalk of one of them and asked me to put it in the bin because it was going to die. As I was about to throw the flower away I saw that there was no cut on the stalk anywhere. I brought it back to my mum and she gasped at me. She rushed over to my dad in the dining-room- who was sorting out the bills- and immediately began to splutter words at my dad in a fast and nervous tone. That was the day he hugged me like I was his actual daughter, like I wasn’t some sort of child that was the result of a hospital mix-up.
“I’m so proud of you, honey.” That was probably the only time he ever told me that, so I treasure the words deeply. After that they told me about what I could do, how I could mould the earth into shapes, how I could heal sick plants, how I could restore rotten fruit.
“Emma!” Chris only called me that when something was wrong, usually if we got into a row. There was no conviction in her voice.
“What did I do?” She rushed into our room- which I had gone back into- and dragged me out by the arm, fumbling for her keys along the way.
“We have to get out, now! Grady called.” She explained. Grady had been assigned as my legal guardian after dad died, he was my uncle. I knew not to argue, he had saved my life once before.
“Run!” She cried, her voice more urgent. The lights of Chris’ car blinked as she unlocked the car and got in. One second I sat in the car with high adrenaline, anticipating the rush to escape, the next, the car was on its side while my ears were ringing so loud. The explosion through the cottage sent shockwaves that had pushed the car over, shattering the windows. I finally heard some coughing and spluttering. Chris was yanking me out of the window by my ankle. Once I got out we started running blindly away from the house, noises still ringing through my head while the flames continued to lick away the remenants of our home. I checked my pocket to see if the stone was still there. It was. I heard a shot. Chris collapsed to the floor.
“They’re here! Go through the bushes NOW!” She screamed, blood was trickling down from her shoulder. I ran. I ran and cried and ran. Tears were streaming down my face as I heard a few shots in the background. I never looked back, that’s what I felt the guiltiest for. I didn’t try to help.
This is my first entry in a new diary, I might as well burn it now.