What is life if it isn't in a bottle?

This is my entry for the adventure competition

Basically, long story short, it's a girl who lives in a bottle.

Inspiration; a song called Move Along by The All American Rejects. Why? I don't really know.

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3. My Name Is Perla.

'Perla!' My mother screamed up the stairs, the bitter sharpness of my name bouncing off of the walls. The sound of her feet on the floor boards echoed through the house, as she slammed the cupboard doors in the kitchen and hallway.

'Perla!' This time her voice wasn't just loud, it was heavy and meaningful. I would have answered if I thought she wanted my attention, however I knew she was using my name purely to substitute other unpleasant words that at the edge of her tongue. With my father being away in 'the battle' it was my mothers responsibility to organize the start of the 4 months rest which begins tomorrow for the whole village. As well as preparing her speech, she also had to prepare all the shelters, rooms, beds and all the arrangements for post-rest had to be ready for the minute everyone awoke. It wasn't just me who was relying on her, as the mayor of the town, it was everyone.

Tying my auburn hair into two bunches, I ran down the stairs throwing my bag on the banister. Before I went to step onto the floor, I noticed every square inch was covered in leaves, flower petals and cotton. The bin was overflowing with scrunched up balls of paper, and my mother was sat at the table with her hands holding her head from falling off her shoulders. Every year was like that, sometimes worse. I never quite understood the need for all the fuss, because nothing had to be perfect; at the end of the day no-one knows the mess whilst they sleep and no-one will remember after months of dreams. However, if I ever tried to tell this to her, I would be sent away to live with another family. So instead, I just let everyone stress out.

'Mum....woah....what is all the mess?' Emory done a second take at the mess our house had turned into in 24 hours. At 6 years old, he was still very unaware of how our family is different to everyone elses. 'Gabe's parent's don't prepare for the hibernation like this. His parents just leave the house as it was and return to it 4 months later. Why can't we do that?' He wines. I don't need to turn around to know he has his bottom lip over his top with his arms crossed, sulking. Walking past I ruffle his hair. 'Because our family is more important than theirs. Come on Gabe, let's carry the bedding to the tree trunk.' I pile the leaves and flowers into his open arms and he walks out of the door in silence. I look round and mother is still in the same position she was in 10 minutes ago. I hate hibernation season.

 

 

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