Blind Dating

Nora lives in poverty. Her mother is bound to the home because of M.S and her older brother has been thrown into jail for theft. Nora's life as practically a 12 year old home help also takes a turn for the worse when she finds out that she is starting to lose her sight. However, she is inspired by the portrait of a beautiful young man on a visit with her school to the art gallery. But, is her developing handicap about to ruin the one thing she treasures in life?
This is my entry for the "Love" competition. It's trying to show our attachment to material things in comparisment with real love. I hope you enjoy! I'll always be happy to read and like your's.


1. Girl, 12, Home-Help

The boiler had broken. Again. Mum was spralled across the sofa, the threadbare one that bore a barely recognisable red and brown paisley pattern. She had not moved since the night before having fallen asleep at half past seven. I crouched over her, waiting for her grey palid eyelids to respond to the light. This had always been the worst part of the day; she had become so pale, so insipid and vacant, that a deep sleep could be mistaken for her being.... anyway. But her nostrils flared a little and she yawned- I was able to breath again. "Mum" I whispered, shaking her gently, "Mum, darlin', the boiler's  broken" My hand supported her back as she sat up. I used a decaying, moth-eaten cushion to prop her up as her brought her a bottle of tepid water left over from the night before. "No tea for us this morning, hey poppet?" she joked innocently. I forced in a half-hearted smile as I pushed the bottle in her hand . I could see that just swallowing the liquid alone gave her trouble and that gave me grief; grief that not many children of my age experience in their day to day lives. "You've got the hospital appointment today, remember Mum?" I enquired, as I screwed the cap back on the bottle that she had just passed back to me. "Is Tony collecting me?" She asked. I walked back into the kitchen, grabbing the first plate I saw and I started to butter two slices of french bread- one for me and one for mum. "Yeah." I replied, taking a munch out of my insufficient portion. "After he drops me off at school. I'll get him to buy you a hot drink at the hospital. St. Andrew's do nice hot chocolates and they put in a new vending machine." I went into our room to get my uniform on. I flicked through my mother's clothes in the wardorbe, quickly putting aside the colourful dresses and skirts that reminded me of happier time, when Mum and Sam and I were all together... but I can't think like that. Mum is my life. I fished out my uniform and flung in on hastily. I needed new socks and new shoes. But we needed British Gas to sort out the boiler more than I needed new footwear.

Uncle Tony arrived promptly in his blue Volvo. I had freshened mum up and dressed her in a new top. It was blue with a lotus flower motif- it had a rather obvious tomato stain but I was already 10 minutes late for school and there was no time time to fix it. It had been a long time since Mum was able to descend the council flat stairwell so we took the lift instead. Uncle Tony met us by the ground floor landing and we got in. I was completely aware that I had three pieces of in-complete homework due in that day.

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