I am excited for my very last chapter of my CYOA story. After reviewing my previous chapters I have come to the conclusion that I will be calling my book “The Train to Brooklyn” Brooklyn is a city in America and instead of making the story about a train ride to the actual place its about a train ride that affected Brooklyn the girl and her journey through physical hardship and mental disbelief. In a way it is a train ride to Brooklyn because we are discovering more about her in every chapter but we’re on the tracks to find the station in her heart. The title can give many meanings to many different people this is what I interpreted the title to mean. You can comment below what you think of the title and what it means to you.
Last week Brooklyn was running the first few meters of the home stretch.
Here were the three options:
- The woman insisted on driving the gang home herself but there are major complications on the way…
- The woman drops the gang off at the police station and to their relief without trouble…
- The woman gets violently ill on the way and Mr Victus has to take charge…
The majority of commenters voted for option one.
Slowly the twins and Mr Victus nodded off to sleep. I didn’t dare take my eyes of the little squirrel lying in my lap. I observed at his bulging belly and gazed upon him with tenderness in my eyes. This little squirrel was different. He may have been wild, but somehow this was my little squirrel.
I noticed my eyelids closing but my brain was still awake. Though I was stunned and thoroughly rattled by the last day or so I let myself sleep knowing I needed and deserved it. Just as I am allowing myself to enter my own mind and to release the tension stuck between the folds of my mind the car came to an abrupt halt just hours away from civilization, the frustration bubbled in my body.
I wake up Camila and we meet the kind woman around the front of the car.
“What should we do Mrs-“
“Jeanette, you can call me Jeanette.”
I can’t believe we haven’t inquired for her name and she has already driven us halfway towards the border of the neighbouring city.
Jeanette heaves at the hood of the car and pries it open. Inside lies a maze of red, green, blue, yellow and orange wires that tangle around my brain and make me dizzy. But I see what I must do. I feel the confusion channelling through Camila and Jeanette’s brains. I immediately start work. The smoke circles my head and snakes its way through the wires.
Behind me everyone emerges out of the miniature car and gathers around me. Then there are shouts, shouts of encouragement. For a normal person this would of course encourage them but to me these are like little golf balls being thrown at you when you’re on a tight rope. It distracts me and pressures me. I begin to sweat. Little beads form on my brow. I can’t take the pressure. I back away from the car and stumble on to the side of the road were I lie down and let my tears roll down my face. I am not crying from the pressure but I am crying for the pain. What we have been through in the last two days has been unbearable and I seam to be the only one game enough to show emotion. As well as feeling exhausted I am proud of myself; I can feel what others feel. Emotion.
The others continue to work on the car but Eva strides over to were I lay.
“I get it, I get you.”
I sit up longing to talk, to talk to Eva. My heart aches and my soul screams, I have something to say.
“Normal” I croak, it may be a croak but it is a word. I smile for my achievement, for my newfound emotion, for my newfound friends.
“There isn’t a thing” Eva looks longingly into the distance, her eyes looking into another galaxy.
The miniature car behind us gives a weak groan before starting up again. We all clamber inside. We’re safe now, its homeward from here.
As we drive off into the horizon the sun sets on a city of sparkling lights. They dance in the horizon welcoming us home. Through this madness I have opened my eyes to the world. The world didn’t reject me, everybody has a purpose and everybody has a place. Mine is right here were I will continue my quest in life and fulfil my purpose.
My definition of normal: there is none. Normal is just a word used by those lacking confidence to rate and class others. We are all unique in our own way and our own way is unique. We should stop judging those who are different because none of use is the same. In the end normal is just a word among many that cannot define you. We are all so beautifully unique and we all need to except that because if we were all the identical the world would be so unbelievably boring we’d all want to die. Being unique is not a rope that ties you down but more wings that carry you into the world and start you on your journey of life.