Well, basically its the usual fairytale type carry on; maybe you should read on to find out more - I'm no good at summaries i.e. I end up writing the whole story into the summary ;)
I stared out, across the garden through my livid expression. 'It's just a shoebox', I reminded myself, 'just a shoebox, these things happen all the time'. But of course that was precisely what made my face turn a puce colour; these things DO happen all the time - to me.
I'm probably making something out of nothing, as usual, but on the other hand, what happens if I'm dead-on? I'd been suspecting SOMETHING had been going on, but what? Something out of the ordinary, that's for certain, but how far am I willing to let my mind wander? Gremlins and warlocks? Was that too far? Avenging archangels? Or was I blowing the whole thing out of proportion? Probably.
My name is Amelia Greene, but you can call me Amy for short, it seems less formal that way really. My family used to be gypsies, travelling from the far east, and then finally settling down on a large island with a population of six billion, but then, however else were my parents going to get work, and clients; lots of them. But I suppose that if it weren't for the clients, I wouldn't live in a nice big home with a large garden, a swimming pool and a jacuzzi... My parents are lawyers; just saying.
They also think that, because they are lawyers, the law is ALWAYS on their side. It isn't. They also think that, again because they are lawyers, they are ALWAYS right. They're not. It reminds me of last year when I'd been studying in my room, and they started singing loudly with the accordion as they do every year to welcome autumn, and I ignored them. Well, at least I tried to. But I didn't shout down to them as any normal teenager would have done, I just kept tapping my foot on the floor rather loudly; this was apparently distracting, and my father charged into my room and slapped me across the face. The law allows them to be domestically violent because of something annoying that 'I' was doing? The law is on their side, saying that they can hit their daughter however many times they like in a day? No, I don't think so either.
"I hate you!" I scream at my Mother, with which of course she puts on the sad act and goes crying to my Father. He storms in, once again, and slaps me across my other cheek and before I know it, I have hand-shaped bruises on both cheeks.
This is just a typical day. My Father broke my hand once to 'prove a point'. If this is what they do to me, I wonder what they do to their clients' oponents...
So back to the matter at hand, I'm burying a poor little hamster that was brutally murdered in my own home; a single tear trickled slowly, silently down my cheek, and I supress a sob to preserve my skin. I already know that I'll be beaten for even purchasing the hamster; for company, as apparently I'm not allowed to have a social life or even a conversation with anyone.
My parents are more like prison wardens from the 1800s; strict, stuck-up and not afraid of giving you a good beating. They call themselves religious people, but doesn't that require you to be, I don't know, people? I know I sound like every other teenager my age, but my parents are MONSTERS.
Okay, so I'm making a huge deal out of the hamster thing, but its not so much the hamster as what the whole situation represents. I'm never allowed to do anything I want to do unless I run it by my parents first - even something as petty as going to the toilet, because if I don't check with them first, you can guarantee that I will be beaten.
They're Catholics, which don't get me wrong, is absolutely fine, seeing as they only make me attend a confession, like, once a week, say grace before mealtimes and wear a headdress, although in the past few weeks I've added a veil to it, which is a purple-violet shade and slightly opaque that makes it look more like a burkha than anything else; the reason I now wear the veil? It stops people from staring at the bruising. I told my parents that it was for religious reasons, which of course they couldn't say no to.
So one day I got all kitted up to go grocery shopping, the one chore that I enjoy doing as it means I can get out of the house for up to four hours, and took my little basket with me looking more like a scene from a history book or Little Red Riding Hood than anything else, in my veil and long skirt; the only difference being really that it is the 21st century, not that I get to enjoy the technology - there's nothing that I've wanted to experience more than to have a go on a computer or a telephone, well, nothing except perhaps freedom.
The market was unusually empty this particular morning, probably due to the buses being on strike... again, so I could get my groceries quite quickly, within an hour I'd say, and so I took advantage of this to go and have a look at the new fashions in a shop just off the highstreet. It made me laugh at the differences, for example our skirts - mine was floor-length whereas theirs were only a few inches short. But I knew that after half an hour of browsing through the clothes, getting caught up in fantasies of freedom and pacifism, I had to head back home if I knew what was good for me; I was being watched carefully (behaviour-wise) ever since the hamster thing.