The things I used to write

I miss being this descriptive! I have no idea why I wrote either of these things but they're amusing :)

28/11/2004:

The room was painted in a graceful red that silently hummed an eloquent melody. The room smelt of ancient tomes lined against the ballroom wall. The floorboards were stained in a deep mahogany. I looked above my head and saw the most magnificent chandelier made out of only the finest diamonds. The room was truly beautiful and I was lost in a daze until I was woken up by a load thud. It was Ma’am

“What?! What on earth are you doing here you filthy brat! Have I not made myself clear- it is forbidden to enter this room let alone the adults floor!” her voice echoed throughout the four walls I was trapped in- with her. I simply looked at my feet, wondering if it was a rhetorical question or not. “Well then? Have you not something to say to me?” I did not know what the answer was.

Ten minutes later I was forced to polish the floorboards and clean Mistress Reed’s shoes. It was uncanny how my own aunt treated me, I thought to myself as I dragged my limp body across the floor. I looked around me and was flustered in a pool of colour. The picture rail clutched onto a painting of a women in a pink dress that floated around her like a cream-topped meringue. She was being pranced around with a gentleman dressed in a black waistcoat and top hat. It’s just like Ashputtel I sighed to myself.

25/06/2008:

‘Who the HELL stole my Mars Bar?!’ I roared, louder than most other 5ft girls. 12R silenced instantly and swung around in their seats to face The New Girl. Oh crud.
Wishing for myself to melt back into the distance, be swallowed up by the gum-stained ground or just DIE, I gasped and clamped my lips shut with my hand. This was officially the worst moment of my curricular life (Apart from the time where I walked out of PE without my skirt on allowing teachers and pupils alike to point and laugh at the knickers my mother bought from BHS as a multipack, patterned with ‘Glitter Babe’ all over the butt. I originally refused to wear them. ‘I’m 15 Mum, not 5’. But after being reminded that it would be a long, long time before anyone important sees them (a funeral director when I’m 80 knowing my luck), I supported the Pants Of Shame. Oh the horror.). I had drawn attention to myself in an all brown school! I know I’m brown myself but GOD, that doesn’t mean I’m used to brown people. After having been educated in a boarding school named Sir Winfred’s, you tend to adopt their Caucasian manners (napkin on lap, not understanding a word of Hindi, easy pronunciation of the letter ‘v’ etc.). Brown people scare the Indian out of me.
‘Oh BHAGWAN, you mind not screaming in my ear Newbie? That’s the last thing I need in the morning,’ said Narier as he took out his earphones who was the first Brown Boy to talk to me outside my own family- hence my silence. ‘Cat’s lost her tongue now!’ he informed the rest of the already informed class, smiling cheesily at me as if aware I was peeing my non-BHS pants. No response. ‘What’s this about a stolen Mars Bar?’
‘My Mars Bar was..stolen’ I finish stupidly.
‘No kidding Sherlock. So you get all garam about CHOCOLATE..?’
Nod.
Suddenly his face solidifies, mirroring that of a typical Disney Channel bully, and he again adresses the spectators- ‘well?!’
Silence. The class is frozen, fearful. Guess he IS a bully.
‘If you lot don’t find her chocolate, you’re all gonna paaaay,’ he almost sings as he reaches into the uniform blazer pocket, ’10..9..’
Erruption. I find myself on the movie set for Titanic and people begin freaking out, bending over tables, crawling under chairs, fingering the floor surface as if reading Braille for the sodding chocolate.
‘8..7..’
Rude Boys began tipping out the contents of everyone’s bags onto the floor, Emos stopped bitching about the Rude Boys and rummaged through drawers.
‘6..5..’ he smiled. I begun get the impression that this boy was a masochist.
‘Oh my God! Hurry up, hurry up! He’s paagal man, he’ll kill us!’ screamed a well-groomed, make up- plastered, fake gold-covered girl.
‘4..3...’ Nariers voice began to grow impatient, angry. Would he kill me too?
‘Mars Mars Mars Mars Mars Mars’ one scrawny little boy whispered to himself without pause as he paced the room.
‘2..’ the smile returned as he pouted at me and winked. Oh my God. My heart fluttered. Wedding bells (which now I look back and realise is a full sign of my lack of brown-ness) began chiming in my head.
And in exact unison- ‘1!’
‘Mars Bar!’ a bulky Sikh boy cried with it clutched in his sweaty palm and he raised himself up from the floor.
Cheers. Fanfare. A whole bleeding fireworks show should’ve happened.
Narier again reached into his blazer. Everyone, including myself, fell to the floor and looked up to see the class bully laughing as he sprayed a jet of water from a toy keyring into the air. The atmosphere changed. His smile was wiped off his face as his mouth shouted ‘it was a joke! It was a joke!’ and his mind thought ‘run!’. So he did, the class minus me in tow.
I was alone in a room with The Mars Bar in my palm. I looked at it.
‘This isn’t even mine!’ I exclaimed.