Creative Writing: Clera's Love

Clera couldn’t help but to smile at her father’s light-hearted words and cheerful tone. Closing and locking her diary, Clera followed her dad out of her bedroom into the brightly lit kitchen. Clera had always loved the floor-to-ceiling windows in the kitchen that allowed natural light to diffuse throughout the vibrant room. Chris always used his free time at home to find a new way to improve the penthouse. Clera’s mother and Chris’s wife, Aubrey, admired the amount of effort her husband put into furnishing, styling, and renovating their home. In contrast, Aubrey herself had never been viewed as “creative”, she was a unique kind of different as one might say. Although she had a love for the creative arts, she extinguished the idea of pursuing her passion in them a long time ago for reasons her herself only knew. This morning however, Aubrey was focused on her daughter’s first day of high school. Did she feel sad for her? Possibly. Moreover, she hoped her daughter’s high school experienced was better than her’s had been.

“Morning Cee, how was your sleep?” Aubrey asked Clera as she placed a plate of cinnamon rolls on the dining table.

“Not the best, but I’m awake aren’t I?”

Sitting down at the table, Clera was sure to quickly grab the cinnamon roll covered with the most cream cheese. Despite Clera’s slim figure, she had never been one to watch what she ate, or been on a diet. Nevertheless, Chris and Aubrey had been observant of their daughter’s eating habits since she was a toddler.

“Eat up, ‘cause we’re running a little late, m’kay?” Chris insisted pouring orange juice into a water bottle.

Clera felt a knot in her stomach form after hearing her father’s words. Was she ready to take on high

school?

“Got it,” she smiled.

Seeing her daughter’s uneasy state, Aubrey reached her hand across the table to overlap with Clera’s.

“It’s going to be okay, don’t let those kids from junior high get to you.”

“It’s fine mom, I’ll be okay!” Clera reassured Aubrey, obviously pretending to be enthusiastic about her day to come.

Twisting the cap back onto the orange juice, Chris set the carton in the fridge and turned to his daughter, who had already scarfed down two cinnamon rolls.

“Whenever you’re ready, Jellybean!” he smiled sincerely.

Clera faked a smile, drunk the rest of her glass of milk, and put her dishes into the kitchen sink.

“Ready.” Clera spoke, but was she?