Queen Of The Castle

Chapter 2

"Rickey, do you see the point in all these classes?" I ask as I pick up an apple to munch on.

She rolls her eyes and pauses, looking at me through her thick glasses, "we've told you you're being prepared for the responsibilities you have to take up once you're older." she answers.

"What responsibilities? I've barely seen other people in my entire life." I groan, "They don't even let me see civilisation, let alone work in the future."

"I know you feel that way, but your parents want what's best for you," she says and tries to end the topic. I look away, upset that I was shut down once again. Thinking about the scene yesterday, I considered asking Rickey. Rickey was the one who usually told me things, but I was afraid that if I asked her, I would be ratted out to my parents. She was the youngest of the three and empathised with me the most. With flowing brown hair and classic blue eyes, she resembled me more than my mother did. She'd always keep me updated on contemporary gossip and politics, and the pictures she painted would make it seem like I was there myself. I preferred her company over the others, but ever since yesterday, everyone has been on edge.

Still thinking about the man who tried to intimidate my parents, I look at the kitchen walls in wonder. Cream paint decorated the walls, looking a little old and worn out. There was a massive slab against the wall, with cupboards underneath it. Decorated with brown shelves and a big freezer, the kitchen did not belong with the rest of the house. My father would have a seizure if he knew what I was doing right now. He prefers to stay away from the "house help" and would recommend me to do the same. He looks down on people who work here. He thinks there are two types of people: those with money and those who serve them.

I slide down the marble slab until my feet hit the ground. Feeling a little rejected by Rickey's behaviour, I take my apple and walk towards the kitchen door that leads to the garden. The garden has a pathway that leads to our greenhouse, where we grow our plants and vegetables. We also get supplies from outside, so we don't need the greenhouse. I like it because of the calm it provides. Every time I'm upset or angry about something, the greenhouse calms me down.

I hear a distracting tinkling and move towards it. The noise was coming from outside. It wasn't something I had heard before. Deciding to investigate, I move towards it, only for it to get louder. It wasn't just tinkling anymore, but delicate voices speaking over each other. The number of voices made me a little anxious, but I continued with my decision.

Opening the off-white door, I walk out onto the cobbled pathway and stretch. The Sun was shining bright, and the air was slightly chilly. Wearing a cotton sunflower print T-shirt and baggy blue jeans wasn't enough to protect against the chill outside. It was cold enough to pinch but not enough for me to return and get my sweater. I continue walking down the cobbled path, staying away from the shadows of the tree and basking in the sunlight. The voices kept getting louder, and I could make out a few scattered words, but nothing comprehensive.

The greenhouse loomed ahead. Looking a little intimidating on the outside, it housed more plants and butterflies than in any book I've read. Glass panels covered curved walls, framing a structure almost as big as our house itself. Suddenly, the voices are gone. It was as though they disappeared into thin air. Disgruntled, I look around and strain my ears to hear them again.

Walking closer to the mirrored wall, I notice something strange reflecting on the surface of a few panels. It looked like a person—someone I had never seen before. Drawing closer to the mirrors, I study the back of the person being reflected. The person had wavy brown hair that was neatly cut and was wearing green formal pants and a black button-down shirt.

I look around and try to spot him. Standing a hundred meters away from the glass panel, among the bushes, he stood staring at the door I had just come through, the door of the house. As though waiting for someone to walk through it and meet him. I look around, confused about who he could be waiting for.