“Sara, what was all that angel stuff
Mom asked that evening, as she walked
into the sitting room, where I was curled on a corner of the sofa (now in the
correct room) with my notebook, recording the day’s events.
“It was true. When you and dad left,
I heard them in the attic again. I bet if you checked again, they’d be there.”
I told her stubbornly.
“Listen Sara, I think you should take
a break from writing. It doesn’t seem to be doing you any good.”
Mom suggested, holding a hand out for
“Sara, do as you’re told!”
I surrendered more easily than I
normally would have, giving her the little black leather blank book. I had
other notebooks, and my laptop for typing anyway. Mom only knew about that one
notebook and my laptop.
“Just for a week or two, to see if
you stop this nonsense.”
She told me with a glare. I glared
back. Writing was one of my ultimate passions, how dare she try and stop me!
“Angels in the attic, whatever next?”
She muttered to herself as she walked
out of the room.
I decided that I might as well go to
bed early. Nobody was prepared to believe me about those evil angels, it was
clear that there was no point in staying up. And mom and dad had completely
forgotten about my injury.
I had a strong feeling that I was
going to hate living here.