A continuation of the fictional piece by cutiegreek. Click on "the dollhouse" tag for the rest.
Chapter 1
"Claira!" Mrs. Hope cried for the third time. "Claira, get down here with that charity box! The truck is here!"
"Coming!" Claira had just finished throwing a bunch of old toys into her mother's charity box, old toys that included a certain beat up blue and pink doll house.
Grabbing the box, Claira slid down the banister to give the box to her mother. Running past the kitchen and her mom's boyfriend, Phil, she made it just in time to help load her box of donations on the charity truck. (A word about Phil: he is a waste of oxygen and space. Why you might ask? Because it works for him. So in a nutshell, Phil is one of those Needs-To-Get-A-Job type of people.) Claira had exactly 30 items in her box; her mother had a strict rule of a minimum of 30 items every time the truck came.
Claira's mom shooed her in the house and then proceeded to scold her for not wearing shoes outside in the middle of winter. Claira had heard that lecture so many times she could probably recite it by heart. But Claira wasn't about to tell her mother that fact because last time she did she was grounded for a month. No friends, no boyfriend, no phone, no face book, no twitter, no smoke signals, no field trips, no nothing, nada, zip, zero. So Claira just sat down and put her hands on her face nodding, hoping her hands concealed the wires of her ear buds.
When her mother released her to finish making plans with Phil, Claira took the stairs three at a time to get to her room. Her room was like a walk down memory lane. She still had some of her paintings up from when she was four. Her walls were a bit of that color and a bit of this color; she painted her own room but always left a little bit of the color that was there before so she could remember her past. Right now it was electric green, but she was thinking about a royal blue or maybe royal purple. Right now she was in a black phase where every outfit she owned had some element of black in it.
When she walked in her room it smelled like wet paint and ink. She was creating her birthday cards, which were always way more creative than anybody else's. They always had a part of what the theme would be; a bit that was like the person receiving the letter and a bit like the phase Claira was going through. Last year they were Hawaiian/butterflies and marshmallows. This year they would be haunted house/royal blue. Claira started working on her friend Janessa's card.
Chapter 1
"Claira!" Mrs. Hope cried for the third time. "Claira, get down here with that charity box! The truck is here!"
"Coming!" Claira had just finished throwing a bunch of old toys into her mother's charity box, old toys that included a certain beat up blue and pink doll house.
Grabbing the box, Claira slid down the banister to give the box to her mother. Running past the kitchen and her mom's boyfriend, Phil, she made it just in time to help load her box of donations on the charity truck. (A word about Phil: he is a waste of oxygen and space. Why you might ask? Because it works for him. So in a nutshell, Phil is one of those Needs-To-Get-A-Job type of people.) Claira had exactly 30 items in her box; her mother had a strict rule of a minimum of 30 items every time the truck came.
Claira's mom shooed her in the house and then proceeded to scold her for not wearing shoes outside in the middle of winter. Claira had heard that lecture so many times she could probably recite it by heart. But Claira wasn't about to tell her mother that fact because last time she did she was grounded for a month. No friends, no boyfriend, no phone, no face book, no twitter, no smoke signals, no field trips, no nothing, nada, zip, zero. So Claira just sat down and put her hands on her face nodding, hoping her hands concealed the wires of her ear buds.
When her mother released her to finish making plans with Phil, Claira took the stairs three at a time to get to her room. Her room was like a walk down memory lane. She still had some of her paintings up from when she was four. Her walls were a bit of that color and a bit of this color; she painted her own room but always left a little bit of the color that was there before so she could remember her past. Right now it was electric green, but she was thinking about a royal blue or maybe royal purple. Right now she was in a black phase where every outfit she owned had some element of black in it.
When she walked in her room it smelled like wet paint and ink. She was creating her birthday cards, which were always way more creative than anybody else's. They always had a part of what the theme would be; a bit that was like the person receiving the letter and a bit like the phase Claira was going through. Last year they were Hawaiian/butterflies and marshmallows. This year they would be haunted house/royal blue. Claira started working on her friend Janessa's card.
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