A tear came to my eye as I realised what I had been blessed with. Technology was wonderful, and beautiful, and complex, and intricate; I had now entered cyberspace, feeling like the world is my oyster.
I laughed at myself, at how odd it seemed that someone of my age would have to read an instruction manual to find out how to turn the thing on, and how strange and small the device was. My parents had had one each and some thing called a PDA, but of course I was never allowed to see it; my theory was that they thought I'd phone the police on them, but I wouldn't. I had far too much pride.
I managed to turn the contraption on, and sure enough there was a text message from David. I scrolled through the options, just as it said in the manual, until I found the 'reply' option and pressed select. I was then faced with the marathon of typing in the message that I wanted to send. I managed, even if it did take me a while. "I'll get faster" I thought to myself, "it's all so exciting".
By the time I'd had a good play and a fiddle, sussing out the phone, my tea had gone cold, so I placed it in the microwave and warmed it up. My stomach at this point was like an angry lion, hungry for it's meal. Just as the final seconds were up, there was another knock at the door. Without thinking I turned off the lights and lit a candle. Nobody was coming between me and my meal again. I sat down and ate my meal in peace, feeling, if I'm being quite honest, very proud of myself. It seems childish I know, but I was in a state of enlightenment, feeling that sense of freedom for the very first time.
Content with my meal, I took the candle and checked that the door was locked, and that the oven was switched off, and then went upstairs to read my favourite book Pride and Prejudice, before I brushed my teeth and went to bed.
In the morning, it was eight o' clock when I awoke, a sleep-in compared to the usual, when I'm supposed to be cooking a "full English", though the fact that we aren't English is 'beside the point', and I'm supposed to be cleaning and doing various labours that are not even fit for a mule. If I were a mule, I would be saved under the animal cruelty act, but I am not a mule, and I am no longer under the command of my parents. I am liberated and the saying is true in that which does not kill you makes you stronger.
I made myself a bacon 'butty' and a glass of fresh orange, and then danced around the house, flicking my duster here and there. My education didn't start until tomorrow and I was excited, except from the fact that I had nothing to wear that was modern but covered me up adequately. Okay, so in other words something that covered up the bruises but was still sort-of fashionable.
I guess from this, I knew what I'd be doing and where I'd be going today. I wasn't sure what to do about the facial bruising, but I suppose I'll just have to take the comments there as they come.
I wasn't being vain, but I knew that I had a nice figure - I was too much like my mother, but where she was dainty I was tall. That gave me an idea; I might aswell raid her wardrobe. It wasn't exactly like she was going to miss the clothes.
I climbed the stairs, breathing heavily when I got to the top; I could swear that the stairs were getting higher, but that could just be me and my new-found freedom. I skipped lightly into my parents' room, and opened the giant oak doors of their wardrobe, half-expecting a skeleton to fall out. It didn't. She had some beautiful clothes, but she never bought me any. Apparently I needed to learn to make my own - she evidently didn't know teenage girls very well.
I was amazed at all the colours there were: purples and reds, greens and blues, blacks and whites, greys and pinks, yellows and oranges, and every single imaginable colour. I was instantly attracted to the array of greens.