The New Life

Chapter 1 Wake-Up Call

It was 4 o’clock A.M. on the 6th of July. Marina O’Toole stared at the ceiling of her attic room, baking in the early morning heat. Flies buzzed at the skylight over her wardrobe and spiders spun silken webs around the flies with the misfortune of getting caught.
Marina was 14, medium height and build, with golden eyes and curly jet-black hair. She lived with her grandmother, who looked just like grandmothers in fairy tales do with rosy cheeks and a sweet smile. Periwinkle blue eyes flashed beneath thin gray eyebrows. Her gray hair was always perfectly curled, with white streaks running with light gray. In reality, which Marina could never escape, Mrs. Catharine O’Toole was cruel and heartless.
The large Victorian house they lived was surrounded by crab apple trees and willows. A small pond in the back garden served as a favorite swimming place for ducks and swans and the large goldfish living there. Rhododendrons, daisies, lilies, roses, and bushes of green and red leaves and white flowers formed little walls as boundaries of tiny walkways up to the heavy oak door. Every day Marina was locked outside and pulled every weed in the flower beds; trimmed each bush to perfection, and picked up the fallen apples for pies.
After 5 o’clock in the afternoon Grandmother would go outside and inspect all of Marina’s work. Even if a thorn or leaf is out of place, or if the weeds are not in the proper pile, Marina gets locked outside again until she gets everything picture perfect.
During the nights after supper (that Marina prepares) she does housework. Vacuuming every room in the house, sweep the porch and balconies, wash all of the windows (Marina always had a hard time washing the tall, 40 foot library windows) and cleaning the bathrooms until they too were as spotless as the kitchen, living room, library, dining room, and bedrooms. The attic was the only room not cleaned by Marina. Grandmother Cathy took care of the room when her granddaughter was washing the rest of the house.
Sometimes, as Marina washed the solarium windows, she would see the shadow of her grandmother throwing things out of the windows. Books, magazines, dirty clothes, clean clothes, even her stereo. Marina knew that she could not even lift the computer, no matter how strong she was.
When it rained (if Grandmother was in a good mood, which is hardly ever) Marina would be allowed do as she pleased “outside” the house. She could go to town and catch a movie with her friends or go shopping (though she never did after Grandmother burned everything so she could keep her feet warm in 90 degree summer heat).
Even now, as she breathed in the dust that covered her quilt, Marina shivered with the fear and hatred of her grandmother. She was, though, the only family Marina ever knew, and she was grateful she at least had food to eat and a place to sleep.
Somewhere outside, outside the hot dungeon that encased Marina like a tomb, a Mourning Dove cooed. Owls hooted in return. Crickets chirped as they played their lullaby that slowly let Marina drift to sleep.

It was not even two hours later that Marina woke up. She did not know why, but something had told her to open her eyes. She closed them again quickly. Smoke was everywhere, curling beneath her locked door. Marina began to cough. She could not see.
Stumbling out of bed, Marina dashed to her window, but she had forgotten about the bars Grandmother had installed “To keep burglars out” she says. The sunlight! If she could just crawl into the rafters…
Marina quickly pulled on the pair of overalls she had worn the day before. Then, she tugged the wardrobe out of its corner and directly beneath the sky light. The drawers made good steps, allowing her to climb up to stand on the top of the heavy wardrobe.
Flames were beginning to push eager fingers towards Marina. She squealed as her pant leg caught fire. Not caring, she threw off the overalls and continued to climb into the rafters. Spider webs blocked her way, but she barely felt them because of the heat of the fire.
The window was almost within reach. Marina stretched out her arm, using her other arm to anchor her in place. The window was painted shut! Marina could have cried and screamed in desperate fear. Then, a face peered in. It was a man’s, covered in sooty grim and wearing the heavy yellow jacket and helmet of a volunteer firefighter.
“Help! Help me!” Marina screamed. She waved frantically until he saw her. His eyes widened, but he quickly shouted down to the others on the ground and began to whack at the window with a hatchet.
The rafters were starting to burn; across the room Marina could make out her bed smoldering and writhing with flames.
Finally, the firefighter broke through. “Give me your hand!” he called. Marina could not reach him. She wriggled out as far as she dared, but she was still five inches too far. “I can’t reach!”
“Jump!” Marina thought he was crazy, but the rafter beam she was on was beginning to give away. Even as she jumped and fell, the beam cracked like a gunshot.
“Gotcha!” He caught her before she fell to the burning floor. Marina was coughing violently and tears streamed like tiny rivers down her cheeks. The fireman pulled her out of the window and draped her across his shoulders in a fireman’s carry. He picked his way over the still-intact roof to the ladder leaning against the west wall of the house. As he slowly backed down the ladder, the opposite side of the O’Toole house caved in and tumbled to the ground.
“All right, we’ve got you. Easy now.” Another firefighter gently lifted Marina from her savior’s shoulders and handed her down to another firefighter on the ground. Marina felt herself being set on a gurney and wheeled to a white ambulance waiting on the lawn. All she before she lost consciousness and the ambulance drove away was “You ruined my garden.”

Chapter 2 Home Sweet Home

When Marina woke up, she was in a hospital room. The walls were painted an ugly sea-sick looking green with pinkish mauve trim along the middle of the walls and near the floor. A plastic like sofa sat in front of a large window, where a Dove was strutting and pecking the sill.
Her clothes were nowhere to be seen, and she was dressed in a hideous cloth nightgown that tied in the back near her neck, waist, and bottom. Her throat felt sore and scratchy. It hurt to breathe.
"Nurse. Nurse!" Maria winced when she heard her voice. She sounded like a woman who had been smoking since she was born. She swallowed painfully and kicked off her covers. Luckily, there were no IVs or machines hooked up to her accept a bag of something that kept dripping an unknown clear fluid.
Painfully, MAria tore off the tape and eased out the needle that hooked her to the fluid.