The Initial Push

16 year old Skye is the kind of person who prefers books over people and would rather slend her weekends curled up with a good book then go out to parties and hang with friends. But her mother has other ideas. after one faitful day and one chance encounter, Skye's world is changed forever. will it all work out? or will she crumble under the pressure of her new life?

It was late in my sixteenth year that my mother decided I needed to get out more. It was presumed because I rarely left the house, spent way too much time writing short stories and novels of the like, and constanatly had my nose buried deep in a book. "Skye, you should be going to parties, engaging with your fellow peers, connecting with the world instead of lazing around here typing away on a keyboard or knee deep in some book." She would always be saying to me. But the truth was that I didn't want to engage with my peers. I was quite happy being the good little hermit that I am. But of course that never sunk in with my mother. And then came the day that altered my view on life forever.

It was an icey winter morning,  the kind that forms chilling icicles on the tip of your frostbitten nose and a stinging sensation on the arch of your ears. The kind that causes you to increase your pace to reach your desired destination where it is warm and toasty once again. The kind of morning that produces the struggle within yourself for the small ember of heat that is buried deep within you to stay lit while it flikers, taunting you, reminding you that you cannot stay exposed to the harsh weather conditions forever.

I had woken up to my mother plonking a washing basket full of my now clean and fresh laundry on the end of my bed.

"You can't stay in this bed all day." She announced.

"Watch me." I countered

"Skye, school is almost over for the year and you haven't even done one social thing with your classmates. All you have done is devour one novel after another and invent some rather strange foods."

"Mum, have you ever stopped and wondered why I don't do anything with my classmates? Because they all hate me."

"Oh come on, they don't all hate you. What about Mia?"

Mia was one person in my grade that I could call my friend. Although she was largely involved in a group of students in our year, she always managed to pay me some company some lunch times. "You could always come and sit with me and my friends you know. They won't bite." She would offer almost everytime that she sat with me, but I always turned her offer down. On the days that I was left to fend for myself, I would head up to the school library and work on a story that I was in the midst of writing or just sit and read until the bell signaled that I had to head off to another gruelling lesson where I would be trying to disguise myself within the crowd of students and hoped that the teacher would not single me out or ask me to answer a question regarding the topic. I don't exactly know why I had always turned down her hand in extending friendship with other members of our grade. It never really phased me to be interacting with others on a large scale.

"You need to branch out. After all, you won't be here forever. Soon you'll be heading off to university and getting a job and starting a family of your own. How are you going to do that when you haven't been interacting with society long enough to develope the skills to be able to communicate with other people?" She protested in her 'I'm a highly educated psycologisht, listen to my words of wisdom' voice.

"Well I will figure it out when the time comes. Or ill just stay here with you forever and ever and ever." I teased. This in turn caused her to look at me in a way that suggested that I had better get out and explore the world or she would make me. After an uncomfortably long period of just staring at each other, my mother filanlly ordered me to get up, put away my once again clean clothing, in a statement that she had spent hours slaving away to clean them and restore them to a polished condition (which of course was a rather large hyperbole) and to get ready and meet her downstairs pronto for she had planned for me to go with her to do the shopping today. I groaned excessively as my mother walked to the door and slippd through it, closing it behind her.

"Are you ready?" My mother inquired as I appeared in the doorway of the kitchen.

"Ready as I'll ever be." I replied in a sleepy manner.

As we backed out of the drive way I couldn't help but notice the small garden gnome half buried in the weeds and snow. It had once posessed a tall red cap but it is now left with a jagged edge rim for the top of a head. It had been de-crowned around eight years ago when my best friend at the time, Ashleigh, and I were barrelling through the garden pretending as if we were lions or dragons or something of that nature and she had tripped on the bucket-sized garden ornamentand both her and the gnome had toppled and crashed into the solid earth. This painful occasion resulted in the poor little gnome no longer wearing the shiny red cap of his and Ashleigh bearing a sparkling, sticky red knee and salty wet cheeks. The memory of her burned deep in my mind and stung in the back of my eyes. I swallowed hard to sink my eomotions once again. The last thing I needed was to fuel my mother's urge to panic over every moment of the day.


The End

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