Well, I have part one of THE TRIAL up. Let me know what you think. By the way, I'm thinking the girl in the sidebar picture is Cleo.
__________________________________________________________________________________________________
__________________________________________________________________________________________________
“No, Mom.” said Cleo impatiently. “I don't. In fact, I think that it's ridiculous.” She raised her chin, watching the figure in front of her with jaded eyes. “Cleo, please,” said the woman through her tears, please listen to me. I only want the best for you. . .You know that. . .” For half a second, Cleo thought about apologizing. Then she shook her head, tossing her hair. “No. I won't listen to you anymore. You're always telling me what to do, who to be with, and when you mentioned this, it was the last straw.” “Then,” her mother said, “Y-you're saying no? You can't say no to your problems!” Cleo watched her mother's shoulders sag in bitter disappointment. Cleo glanced next to her. There was a glass door, that led to the woods behind the house. It wasn't the best, but it would have to do. Cleo didn't answer her mother, but instead darted over to the door and opened it with such force that the floors shook. “Cleo, honey-” her mother started, but Cleo was gone. Her mother sat down in a chair that was next to her and heaved out a sigh. Then she buried her face in her hands.
Once Cleo reached the woods, she slowed her pace and adopted a languid walk. She folded her arms across her chest and put her head down, still walking. Her long hair blew in the breeze that danced its way in between the trees. She kept walking along until she came upon a small creek. Perfect. She sat down on a large rock on its edge, and pulled from her back pocket a small, slightly tattered black journal. She pulled a pen out from the journal's pen loop, opened it, and began to write.
Does Mom really expect that to happen? I can't believe she said that. I can't move. I can't. I know I was mean, I know I was rude, but. . .I have a life here. I can't just up and move to England! I have friends. I have a school. I'm settled here. I have been. I've lived here all my life; and anyway, why couldn't it be somewhere in America? Why England?
Once Cleo reached the woods, she slowed her pace and adopted a languid walk. She folded her arms across her chest and put her head down, still walking. Her long hair blew in the breeze that danced its way in between the trees. She kept walking along until she came upon a small creek. Perfect. She sat down on a large rock on its edge, and pulled from her back pocket a small, slightly tattered black journal. She pulled a pen out from the journal's pen loop, opened it, and began to write.
Does Mom really expect that to happen? I can't believe she said that. I can't move. I can't. I know I was mean, I know I was rude, but. . .I have a life here. I can't just up and move to England! I have friends. I have a school. I'm settled here. I have been. I've lived here all my life; and anyway, why couldn't it be somewhere in America? Why England?
