Dear Mum,
I'm alive, surviving, just about. Did you enjoy Christmas? Yeah, whatever; anyway back to me: I hate it here, the room's the size of a shoe box and my cell mates’ a lesbian. She just sits on her bed and stares at my blonde, split ends whilst I'm trying to concentrate on watching the same old four walls every day. Not that you'd care, you disowned me before the policeman could say ‘Baby Bear’s Coco Pops’. Basically, I'm writing to you to tell you the real story, but please, read on, don't just shred this letter like I assume you did with the last one seeing as I haven't seen you since I was tangled up in handcuffs. I mean it when I say I'm innocent. Just read on. I beg.
It was just your average Saturday morning, not a cloud in the sky; just kidding, this is England. The humid air plunged against my face as I stepped out into the cobbled street. My small toes began to crumple at the end of my new pumps as one foot fell in front of the other. It started to get cold and my feet began to swell, I was freezing and the howling winds caused my pale white feet to blow up like red puffy balloons. I felt like crying from the undying agony my sore body was in. What was I to do? I had nothing to do, nowhere to go. Then I saw it, I looked around and straight away I knew I'd been here before. In that moment it all came rushing back to me; the smell of smoke looming in the air, the sounds of 60 teenagers raving to Swedish House Mafia's latest house mix and me, throwing up half a bottle of Rose in the neighbour’s garden. Now I can't remember a lot, but I can remember Grace Bear telling me I was welcome round at any time; bit surprised after the state I was in after her Christmas themed jumper party, but that’s defeating the object, the point is I can use her house as a place to warm up my pasty pink face. I pulled out my shattered Blackberry from my pocket and began to dial, after a few seconds she picked up to tell me no-one was in but I was welcome in as the door wasn't locked. In that instant I dodged my way through the flower pots in her front garden and stepped into her neat and tidy looking home.
As I walked through the door the first thing I could see was a variety of chairs spaced out in the living room, the first was an antique rocking chair, I had recognised it straight away but it wasn't until after I had sat down that I remembered this was where Grace was caught snogging Ollie Stevens' face off by her dad half way through the party. Awkward. Well in that instant I jumped up quickly in disgust, swinging the chair so far over it landed on its front and snapped the bottom off! What was I supposed to do? "Okay, okay. Forget about it, just forget about it." I told myself over and over. I dodged out the room and ran to the kitchen. On the table was a large plate full with freshly baked gingerbread men, the pretty, multi-coloured icing decorated the golden crunchy biscuit, whilst the steam raised high above me. I could feel my taste buds starting to tingle, the temptation was torturing me. The only thing stopping my innocent young hand from picking one up and taking a bite was the small note left on the right of the plate, reading, 'DO NOT EAT, STILL HOT!', "I'm pretty sure they're fine now." I whispered, trying to persuade myself I'm doing nothing wrong. My disobedient hand slowly pulled itself out of my pocket and reached out to pick up the Christmas themed substance. My fingers imprinted onto the outside of the golden biscuitty layer and I took a bite... Hot. Hot. HOT. Within the space of five seconds my stomach turned and I chundered, leaving soggy crumbs all the way up the kitchen wall. Oops. My mistake.
Okay well at this point I was warm which really should have been my cue to leave, but I was tired. Very, very tired. So I thought I'd have one last look around, I marched up the stairs and straight ahead was a beautifully decorated cream and purple room, in the centre stood a king sized bed with fluffy cushions scattered across the top and gold tinsel caught up in the headboard. On the ceiling hung a gold encrusted chandelier with light beaming off of it and twinkly lights gently hanging from each bulb. Finally, in the corner sat an old fashioned dressing table that looked all dressed up for the occasion with a beautifully handcrafted Mary and Joseph ornament to one side. I stepped over quietly to get a closer look and in the reflection of the mirror the only thing drawing my attention was the snug, toasty warm bed behind me. I could feel my body starting to shiver again and I knew the only way to make that go away was to allow myself to indulge in the fresh sheets. I stepped and fell backwards, my back sunk into the memory foam mattress and the quilt coated my petite figure. Before I knew it my eyes began to close and my brain turn on to stand by...
"WHAT ON EARTH?" a high pitched voice bellowed in my right ear. Suddenly my eyes peeled open like they do every Monday morning from the fright of getting up for college. I was scared. Standing over me was the Bears, Mum Bear, Dad Bear and Grace Bear. They didn't look best pleased, "You said I could warm up." I said frantically, my cheeks blushing bright red. I wanted the ground to swallow me up. I wanted you Mum, to come and rescue me. "Yes, warm yourself up, not wreck our house up." Grace exclaimed.
"Look, I can explain..."
"It's too late," she looked down at me and a single tear drop kissed her cheek, "Dad's already called the police, Merry Christmas Grace." I could feel my body shuddering. I was so disappointed in myself; I couldn't even look at the whole Bear clan that were pondering around the room as I tried to comprehend what had just happened. I heard a siren.
That's it, before I knew it I was locked up in handcuffs, with no mother to bail me out for the winter season. I have tried calling several times you know, there's only so much chit chat you can make with a fat, loved up slapper. You know, she's smiling at me freakishly as I write. It's creepy. I need to get out of here. Please mum, come and visit, I'm not the trespassing home wrecker these physco policemen make me out to be; just your average 17 year old blonde girl behind bars. See you soon I hope.
Love you lots and lots,
Goldie
