Okay Barbie

This might seem like a clechay and it probably is. Raven lives in a house with her aunt after her parents died in a bushfire in their old coastal town. She's been shipped off to now bunk with Aunt Stephanie in her tight villa, who isn't as pleasant as she sounds.


2. Old People

"Come down here, I'd like you to meet some people."
I sat up in my bed, confused. It was 8:00am in the morning and Aunt Stephanie was already up.
"In a minute!" I called. I stared for a moment at the dreggy criss-cross window panes absently, before kicking my legs over the side of the bed and lagging down the sprialling staircase. A party of disabled and elderly people stood around Aunt Stephanie, leaning on canes and walking frames.
"We're going for tea," Aunt Stephanie notified me. "I'd like for you to join us."
"For tea?" I whispered tiredly.
"You don't have to drink it." Aunt Stephanie said coldly.
"For how long?"
"Urgh - the child questions far too oftentimes for us. Must she come?" Spat a sharp, tousled woman, hunched over, probably in her late seventies. The question that sat forthwith on the tip of my tongue was why Aunt Stephanie, a woman in her early age, was hanging around people old enough to be ancient.
"Don't keep us waiting. You're among a bevy of very impatient people Raven. Go upstairs, grab a coat and sneakers and I'll meet you down here."
"Will these people still be around?"
Aunt Stephanie gasped. I bit my lip.
"How dare you say such a thing? These are my guests - friends. You must be respectful Raven. They will meet us at the coffee house. Don't keep us waiting!"
I rolled my eyes faintly and jogged back upstairs. Aunt Stephanie was making a pretty bad impression of me in front of all her so called friends. They probably assumed I was a troubled, rude, arrogent, maggoty, tight-fisted teenager that Aunt Stephanie is now currently stuck with. I can't imagine the juicy lies Aunt Stephanie must be brainwashing them with. I know what you probably think. I'm skipping to a dramatic conclusion but I honestly don't mind what those old eighty year olds think of me. In fact, I coudn't care less, really. So I pulled on some socks and sneakers and grabbed my winter coat and met Aunt Stephanie at the bottom of the staircase. She gave me a cold, daunting, devilish grin as I approached nearer and nearer to her. I would never forget that stare.

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