EZENWA23

That's the thing about books. They let you travel without moving your feet.
- Jhumpa Lahiri
This is the unique story of Billie Bleeker
A tale of courage, friendship, what family really means and a lot more
This book will make you want to keep on reading and reading and wanting more and more
This is Bitter Unforgiving Pain and Billie herself is telling her story
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My mother was on the floor lying as still as a stick. I quickly rushed towards her. There was a gash in the middle of her forehead where blood was gushing out like water gushing from a waterfall. At that moment my mind went blank. I didn't know what to do.
 
 So I sat down on the floor beside my mother. I put her head in my lap and started running my hands through her hair. Her dark hair so similar to mines felt like silk as I was running my hand through it. I held my hand to the gash, but no matter the pressure I applied the blood still gushed between my fingers and oozed under my hands.

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Bitter Unforgiving Pain

I have been awake for about five minutes fighting with myself.


 I leaped off the bed I made my decision. I guess I'm going.


I crept towards the door. The floorboards were wailing under my weight. When I reached the door I placed my trembling fingers around the doorknob. Slowly I opened the door. Its creaking noise bringing a chill to my spine. It sounded like some dying animal, crying out its pain and sorrow with its last breath.


I stepped out the door. The smell of peppermint hit me. I guess Rosie liked the smell of peppermint because it was very strong. It was a very old house, you could have already told from its design. The door in the centre, a square window (divided into quarters) on each side of the door. I opened the door slowly for fear of breaking it. It creaked. I stepped onto the old wooden floorboards and, amazingly, it held my weight.


I rushed to the direction of the sound and saw Rosie standing over the pieces of a broken plate. I guess she heard me because she raised her head from the direction of the broken pieces of the plate and looked at me.


" Are you okay", I asked very concerned that she might have gotten hurt


" Oh I'm fine this always happens I've broken more plates than anyone should break in their lifetime"


" Where can I get something to clean this mess up", I asked Rosie


" It's the least I can do for all you did for me"


"Alright then look in the corner beside the fridge"


I walked to the fridge and got the wooded broomstick that was leaning against the fridge. I took it in my hands. It felt rough and firm in my hands.


As I seep up the plates I hear the soft sound of the broom gliding across the floor entangled with the song the pieces glass makes as they collide with each other.


While I sweep Rosie starts making tea. Before the long the sweet apple-like aroma of chamomile tea.  My stomach clenched with hunger at the thought of sitting down with a cup of chamomile tea and feel that soothing feeling that always comes when mother always made me it to make me calm down. It was like drinking your worries away but not with alcohol with something better. I need something like that right about now.


I carry the dustpan (now full of glass and a mixture of dirt ) and walk towards the direction of the bin that looks like it might be the garbage bin. I open the bin and see garbage that Rosie had probably put in previously. Yep, this is the garbage bin I say to myself as I pour the glass pieces into the bin.


I turn around to find Rosies sitting on a chair with two mugs of tea on the small round table.


Chapter4: I guess Rosie liked the smell of peppermint because it was very strong