1 views
The little girlđ§
It had been over a month since the Robertsonâs had moved into their new house and Douglas was still sulking about it. Their new street was so plain. All the houses were identical, rows upon rows of the same. They looked like they were made out of cardboard, like they were those stage homes used on film sets that were in fact just shells with nothing inside. They just didnât seem real. Douglas left like a tiny doll walking around in a street of toy houses. It was a street of beige, quiet and ordinary.
Douglas hated it. Sure, his bedroom was double the size of his old one and his parents had bought him a new bunk bed, toys and plenty of books but he still hadnât made any friends at his new school. Every day, he kept his head down and wrote in his jotter in silence while the other children talked and played without acknowledging him. The only people he ever spoke to at school were his teachers who feigned concern in his shy demeanour but were never overly interested.
The truth was Douglas didnât want to make any new friends. He was quiet happy to sit in the grassy corner of the playground at lunchtime on his own, eating his tuna sandwiches and reading his new library book. The only person Douglas wanted to be friends with was the little girl next door.
Every day when Douglas came home from school, he would run upstairs, throw his backpack and jacket onto the bed and peer out of his bedroom window, watching the little girl playing in the garden next door.
The little girl would only ever play in the garden when it was raining and, lucky for Douglas, it was almost always raining here. The little girl had wild red curls that fell down to the small of her back in tangled layers. She never wore a raincoat or carried an umbrella. She usually wore normal clothes, usually little yellow or purple summer dresses, and a pair of pale blue wellington boots with pink and yellow flowers stuck on.
As soon as the first raindrop touched the lime green grass of next doorâs back garden, the little girl would be out, skipping and dancing in the rain. Douglas always tried to imagine what music she must have been thinking about because surely nobody could dance like that if they werenât thinking of music.
The little girl would skip and twirl and cartwheel on the lawn for what seemed like hours in the freezing rain but she never seemed to feel the cold. Occasionally, she would uproot one of the daffodils from the perfect little flower beds that framed the square lawn and sing a silent song into the yellow petals, like the plant was a microphone. After the sun went down, the little girl would be called inside by an angry voice that was never seen and after protesting for a few minutes, she would stomp inside and wouldnât be seen until the next rainy day.
One Friday afternoon as school finished, the wind was so strong that it threw the wheelie bins from their driveways, whipped them across the street and the exposed rubbish was flying in the air like dead leaves. The rain was pummelling down so hard and cold that Douglas couldnât feel like hands. He ran home as fast as he could, partly because the coldness was seeping to his...
Douglas hated it. Sure, his bedroom was double the size of his old one and his parents had bought him a new bunk bed, toys and plenty of books but he still hadnât made any friends at his new school. Every day, he kept his head down and wrote in his jotter in silence while the other children talked and played without acknowledging him. The only people he ever spoke to at school were his teachers who feigned concern in his shy demeanour but were never overly interested.
The truth was Douglas didnât want to make any new friends. He was quiet happy to sit in the grassy corner of the playground at lunchtime on his own, eating his tuna sandwiches and reading his new library book. The only person Douglas wanted to be friends with was the little girl next door.
Every day when Douglas came home from school, he would run upstairs, throw his backpack and jacket onto the bed and peer out of his bedroom window, watching the little girl playing in the garden next door.
The little girl would only ever play in the garden when it was raining and, lucky for Douglas, it was almost always raining here. The little girl had wild red curls that fell down to the small of her back in tangled layers. She never wore a raincoat or carried an umbrella. She usually wore normal clothes, usually little yellow or purple summer dresses, and a pair of pale blue wellington boots with pink and yellow flowers stuck on.
As soon as the first raindrop touched the lime green grass of next doorâs back garden, the little girl would be out, skipping and dancing in the rain. Douglas always tried to imagine what music she must have been thinking about because surely nobody could dance like that if they werenât thinking of music.
The little girl would skip and twirl and cartwheel on the lawn for what seemed like hours in the freezing rain but she never seemed to feel the cold. Occasionally, she would uproot one of the daffodils from the perfect little flower beds that framed the square lawn and sing a silent song into the yellow petals, like the plant was a microphone. After the sun went down, the little girl would be called inside by an angry voice that was never seen and after protesting for a few minutes, she would stomp inside and wouldnât be seen until the next rainy day.
One Friday afternoon as school finished, the wind was so strong that it threw the wheelie bins from their driveways, whipped them across the street and the exposed rubbish was flying in the air like dead leaves. The rain was pummelling down so hard and cold that Douglas couldnât feel like hands. He ran home as fast as he could, partly because the coldness was seeping to his...
