Five minutes later I emerged bleary-eyed and pale-faced into the sunlight of the large hallway. Both my mother’s and brother’s doors were open-and early on a Saturday morning, that was defiantly odd. Coming down the stairs I could see them, through the conservatory’s glass door, at the breakfast table; porridge and a sugar-filled children’s snack. As I reached the bottom of the stairs my mother glanced up from the morning paper and saw me.

“Good morning, sleepy head,” she said with a laugh, I scowled, ignored that sweetness of the statement and went on to say:

“I’m so tired, I hate oversleeping.”

I grabbed the packet of Shredded Wheat on the side table, the yellow bowl on the dining table, and put the two together to create my breakfast. But, unsurprisingly, I was not hungry.

“I don’t feel well,” I lied, putting a hand to my forehead in mock pain.

“Oh, dear, this ‘murder’ really has left us all shaken…” muttered my mother.

“Muuuumm,” moaned my pain-of-a-brother Benny, exaggerating every syllable of the word to stretch the length of the table. “A teacher is dead-it’s really not that big a deal…” Being three and a half years younger than me, my brother certainly didn’t know when to be polite, or even compassionate. I worry for him when he becomes a teenager- psychiatrists say that’s when boys have the worst trouble controlling emotions, and recognising danger-like their sister’s fist! I would never really punch my brother, my mother would not let me, and I know he’s the only boy who really respects me. (I read about those emotions in a book stuffed into a corner of the library. Believe me: when you’re as bored and as lonely as me in those dragging lunchtimes, sneaking to the secluded sections of the Library has their perks.) Thinking about the Library made me shiver so I flicked back to the present and found my family arguing about “The Importance of Mr. Craig’s Death”, which certainly didn’t improve my mood. I stormed upstairs to my bedroom-I wouldn’t listen to them talking about this atrocity but I couldn’t think about anything else. There was this mouse-like nagging voice telling me I needed to find the murderer. The murderer…Oh, my head hurt so much…

The End

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