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Poisonous oranges

I’m not much different from many people, I’m nothing special compared to every one else in my high school. I don’t have very many talents, nor do I have very many friends at all.
My features are ordinary, and I couldn’t tell you what my personality would portray me as, or if I had a label to portray me at all. Since I fail to even try to understand myself, I feel that I’m just too bland to even have a real personality to begin with. I’ve been in a private school my entire life, but I’ve learned very little.

My ambitions…I don’t have any. As far as setting goals for my future, I don’t know what I want to even think that far along.
Since I turned thirteen my father has drilled into my mind that not knowing what I want to do with my life is a great blessing for him. At least he wouldn’t have to force me to marry some one he liked, or even persuade me to study over seas. My life was his to control, and I only served as the body. I’m sure that was all I was and ever will be, to my family any way.

My mother…I never see her, I’m not allowed to any way. I haven’t seen or spoken to her since I was twelve; I barely remember what she looks like. I have a brother as well, Daniel, I don’t talk to him much either. Except occasionally on holidays when we all gather together at home. He studies more than any one I’ve ever known, and he knows what his ambitions are.
He studies to be a doctor, some one who can save lives. My brother knows more than I do about many things. When we were younger he told be many stories of historians, but even then we didn’t seem to have much of a connection with each other.
Some times he avoided me when we saw each other each month. I never knew why, I only figured I was just some one who was too plain to acknowledge.
It doesn’t bother me though…not at all.
I may not know who I am or what I’m suppose to do as I get older, but at least every one else knows. At least they know who I am, and who they want me to be.
Who I am, is who they make me.
“April?”
I stood up at the sound of my name, “Yea?”
My brother was staring at me, a strange expression on his face. “Dad’s office just called, and said he left a few papers at home and had come back to get them.”
I raised my eyebrows, “what’s wrong about that?”
“They said he left over a couple of hours ago, and wants to know why he hasn’t come back yet.”
I watched him put the phone in his hand down on the kitchen table.
“Where do you think he is?” I didn’t show as much concern as I intended to, it didn’t seem to surprise Daniel at all.
“I don’t know, but I don’t think we should worry unless he’s still missing tomorrow.”
“Alright,” I sat back down on my bed, while Daniel left the room.
I stared at the piano for a long while. It sat in the middle of my room, collecting dust. Its black metallic self always had a way of calling to me. I was told that my mother could play very well, so I learned to play. I can play pretty good, but I don’t play often. Things become very emotional when I play, and I find it burdensome.
Even if I can play, I don’t show very many people. Like I mentioned before, it’s not like I have many friends that I could show it to.

With little concern for my father and some thoughts of my mother in mind I laid down to sleep. Waiting for tomorrow to come was all I could do. I couldn’t say I hated the private school I was always sent away to since it provided a place a way from home, but I didn’t love it either. And that’s where I’d be sent off to once again for another two months or so.

I woke up late the next morning, without some one around to take me back to my private school. “What’s going on,” I asked Daniel once I finally found him sitting at the kitchen table phone in hand. He didn’t answer me for a long time; I only sat patiently waiting for him to respond. When he finally looked as if he was ready to answer I sat up.
“On his way back home dad was in a wreck. He’s been in the hospital for a while now.”
Not a word was spoken between us.
I shifted. So did Daniel.
We didn’t know if we should comfort each other or not, it was if a stranger were telling you some horrible news and you didn’t know how to tell them it would be okay because you aren’t very close at all.

“I’ll get some one to take you back to private school, and I’ll spend some time in the hospital. I’ll call you when I can so you can know if he’ll be alright,” he stood suddenly as if heading out the door on a huge errand. He turned back soon enough, “don’t tell any one either. The last thing we need is publicity crawling all over Dad’s business about this.”
I only nodded but inside I was thinking something like, “who could I possibly tell?”
With that he left, and my ride to the airport was ready and waiting.
Looking back at our home, I used to think about it as nothing special because we had so many. Now there was this feeling that nudged every so roughly. Some way I felt as though I wouldn’t see this home again for a long while, and for the first time I felt home sick.





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