Today’s writing dabble or snip bit is from my manuscript Torn. This story has been re-written many times and over February it is going to be re-written again. Hopefully for the last time. I think I have really got a handle on it. I also think it is going to get a name change.
At this stage I am thinking, maybe: – No Relationships Allowed.
But that could change.
Anyway here it is.
One week, two days, six hours and thirty-two minutes. Just long enough to know that this crummy group home wasn’t the place for her. Zayne stabbed her blacken piece of toast with its tiny blob of jam with her folk. She hated this place with its tiny bunked filled bedrooms, endless chores, rotten food and rules. She jammed her folk into her piece of toast again. The bread split down the centre, breadcrumbs tumbled onto the chipped yellowing plate.
“Briana? Is that you?” A girl squealed from somewhere behind her.
What’s with the girls here. They were always jumping around, squealing, or just being overly happy. They were in a foster group home for goodness sake. The end of the line. No more, foster parents looking in this direction. And yet these girls were happy.
Someone placed a hand on her shoulder. “Briana.”
Zayne turned and gave the fake blonde girl with dark ringed eyes the ‘Don’t touch me, bitch’ glare. The girl yanked her hand back as if she had been burnt. “Briana.”
Zayne swivelled in her chair and stabbed her toast again. Crunch. Crunch. Go away already. Don’t you get that she wasn’t Briana. The girl pulled out the chair beside her, and sat, crossing her long jean clad legs and flicking her limp locks over her shoulder. Zayne groaned.
Rebecca or whatever her name was from the other side of the table looked up. “Can I help you?”
“Nope. I just want to talk to Briana,” the girl said, in places she sounded a little shaky. “Why are you ignoring me Briana?”
Zayne dropped her folk onto her plate. “Maybe because my name isn’t Briana.”
She leaned in. “Is this a game or something?”
Zayne shoved her plate away from her. “Nope not a game. Are you deaf? My name is not Briana.”
“Yeah and I’m the tooth fairy. You can’t fool me.”
Zayne laughed. “Are you drunk?”
The girl shook her head. “Nope.”
“You must be because there is no way in hell; I would forget my own name.”
The girl leaned in. “Are you in trouble, Briana? Hiding from someone or something? Cause if you are maybe I can help.”
“What is your problem,” she said waving her folk around. “For the last time, my name isn’t Briana.”
The girl held her hands up. “Fine, but you still look just like her. I would know I’ve been to Every Single. One. Of your beach parties.”
“Then you would know I wasn’t her.”
“I can prove it,” she said, pulling her phone out of her pocket. She pushed a few buttons and shoved the phone across the tatty table to Zayne. “Here, look.”
Zayne glanced at the phone. What the hell? She leaned in and picked it up. A girl filled the screen. Oval shaped face. Green piercing eyes. Long wavy brown hair. Her long manicured pink nails wrapped around a can of soda. Bangles on her arms. Rings on her fingers. Sunnies perched on the top of her head. Zayne dropped the folk.
They were identical.
And it wasn’t her.
Let me know what you think, by posting a comment below.
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