The Scribble

It started as a scribble long ago on a caveman's wall. A child had been scared of the picture, so their father scribbled it out. At least, that is what the tour guide said when he was showing us around the museum. I didn't believe him.

When I was younger, I practically lived in the museum. I would explore every nook, every cranny, sneaking behind the displays so I would understand everything. The museum staff knew me, and were patient, explaining and answering every question I threw their way. They understood me, they knew I craved knowledge, and a common joke was that I would be a great historian one day, for by the age of 7 I knew all that they did.

My parents were dead. So were my foster parents. I lived in a children's home, and they were overcrowded. No one noticed that I didn't go to school, that I went to the museum instead. I don't think they cared to be honest. I was just a girl who had a room there, and that was how I liked it. Apart from the room bit. I HATED being stuck inside. The only place I willingly went inside of was the museum, and that was because my need for knowledge was greater than my need to be outdoors.

About school though. I went for exams, which I found out about from clippings of newspapers, but no other time. School was inside. Inside was bad. Therefore, school was bad. My grades were good - A*s and As- so I was bright enough, I just didn't see the point of learning stuff I already knew. Why waste time?

I think the scribble was the first time I disagreed with the museum staff. I was 15, and I was certain it was more than a scribble. I didn't disagree out loud of course, that would have been plain stupid. No, I just smiled, picked up my satchel and went to the Ancient Egyptian Wing, my favourite.

I loved the Ancient Egyptian Wing. It was a large room with displays of pyramids, scrolls and artefacts. It was always warm too, as the museum wanted people to really experience how the Egyptians lived. Leading off this room were four smaller ones. One was full of display cases and artefacts, one documented everyone's travels to Egypt, one was decorated like an Egyptian tomb, and one was full of filing cabinets. This last room was closed to the public, but Prissie-my favourite tour guide- had given me a key. It used to be a janitor's closet, but I converted it into a study.

The End

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