Write a Book in a Day 2017

CHAPTER 5: Life, the Truth and Being Free As Charlie went to leave the treehouse, Riley put a hand on her shoulders. She turned around and saw him holding Kami.

“This is yours, Charlie.”

Riley pressed the koala into her hands, like a key fitting into a lock. A bit like a promise.

A bit like home.

Charlie looked at him and felt a sense of understanding.

“Thank you, Riley.”

He smiled and she turned away from him, disappointed that this adventure was over. But she knew it wouldn’t be the last. She would see Riley again. The steps of the house were still damp from the rain, and she pushed the door open the same way she came. With the koala dangling from her left hand, she picked up the letter and walked into the kitchen, where her mother was. Charlie sighed. “Mum, I know you’re mad, and I’m sorry I ran out. I know you only want what’s best for me, that you only want me to live with the best chance for a future; but I can’t live like that. I can’t live for somebody else – I can only live for myself. Being a marathon runner is what I want, Mum. I hope you can understand.” Charlie watched her mother take in her words with a deep breath. Her mother turned away from the window, with her back against the world, and came to face her daughter. Charlie felt her shoulders fall, her heart slow, her breath rush. This was it. She had wanted to be accepted, but none of that meant anything if she was not accepted by her own mother. This was it. She watched her mother’s face, her feline-tipped eyes, her olive skin, her inky hair. She saw herself reflected in her face, in her eyes. “My daughter,” she said again, her accent rounding the vowels. “I am so proud of you. I am sorry for pushing you. I shouldn’t have done it. I was scared that you would not be accepted and your dream crushed, scared that your future would be a dead end. A mother should support her children, regardless of what they want to do. The most important thing is that you live life to the fullest; that you are happy with yourself, and that you have accepted yourself.” “Mum.” Her mother stood at the window, and did not turn at her voice. She touched her face. “Wǒ de nǚ'ér.” My daughter.

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