2024-12-10, 01:32 PM - Word count:
Written Bounty - A Day In The Life
Zoe Clarke
Third Person - First Person
#-# Scene Breaks
* Author Notes or Ending Notes
[Warning: most of the foreign text will be translated using DeepL if I can! Sorry for inaccuracies, and if anyone can speak the language, please correct me in the comments!]
It’s been a long few days, the seconds ticking by as Zoe counted. The events leading up to her pick in the draft, left Zoe Clarke more than just depressed. Yes, she knew she had somewhere to be, that place being Montrael, the minors team she was assigned to in the SSL after being drafted to Germany. Unfortunately for them, they’d have to wait on her schedule. She’d spent the last 3 hours just eating chocolate and complaining to herself in Spanish.
“¿Por qué el mundo es tan cruel como para quitarme la mitad de mi sistema de apoyo?” (Why is the world so cruel as to take away half of my support system?)
This was more or less along the lines of the way she’d been talking for the past few days. Her dad had just died, not really in front of her, but still, having a close one… just do that when you’re awake. It hurts even more than when you know it’s going to happen, as was the case with her grandparents. It probably would hurt less if he died when she was young, cause at least then she wouldn’t have to go through all this mental pain. She heard her mother’s voice beckon her downstairs through her music.
“Zoé, komm runter. Ich weiß, es tut Dir weh, es tut uns allen weh. Es wird nicht besser werden, wenn Du allein in Deinem Zimmer isst und weinst.” (Zoé, come down. I know it hurts you, it hurts us all. It won't get any better if you eat and cry alone in your room.)
Of course, knowing her mother, she wouldn’t barge into her room and force her. At least, not right now. They’re not in the right mind to fight, and both were more likely to ruin their relationship if they did start fighting.
#-#
It’s been just about a week, the funeral was coming up. For the better part of this week, she’d been spending most of her time in her room or online, not bothering to be active. Whether it was chatting with American friends, Spanish friends, or German friends, she’d rather drown out her sorrows with a few chats and, if she was that desperate for happiness, she’d get drunk, high, either or really, and hop online. Whether the online world was through a virtual lens or a Discord chat, it didn’t matter. Anything to forget, right? They were pretty much interchangeable, at least for the moment, both helped her in their own ways, whether she wanted to admit it to her newfound drug problem or not. She’d been asleep on call with one of her friends when her mother came into the room. Zoe couldn’t hear, but her mother talked to her regardless. Being unable to make out what her mother was saying was difficult for her since wasn’t in the right headspace, but she did make out the ending of what her mother was essentially telling her; “...der Direktor hat mir gesagt, dass alles fertig ist. Seine Beerdigung beginnt morgen.” (...the director told me that everything is ready. His funeral starts tomorrow.) So, this was really happening, huh? She had some experience with Swedish, so if her mother couldn’t understand something, she could roughly translate. Well, at least a little bit. It’s not going to be too hard, right?
#-#
Well then, she was completely wrong. Not only was she dead mentally with very little going on in her head right now, but her head also hurt like hell. It was like her mind was in another strange place, unable to focus on the words being said by the funeral director. It’s weird that she was… like this to be honest. Maybe it’s the audio quality from the online world, but she felt like she could understand the people who were a part of the online world better than the people in the physical one. She groaned and looked at her mom.
“Mein Kopf fühlt sich beschissen an.” (My head feels like shit.)
“Trinke deinen Kummer nicht weg, dann geht es dir vielleicht besser. Du bist verdammt nochmal siebzehn. Geh da rauf und sag etwas über deinen Vater, wenn du aufgerufen wirst.“ (Don't drink your sorrow away, then maybe you'll feel better. You're fucking seventeen. Go up there and say something about your father when you get called.)
Time seemed to flow by “at a minute a second” as her father would put it, another way to say something was moving really slowly. She held her head in her hands, just waiting to be called up to the podium to speak. She always had a fear of public speaking, and in front of a crowd of maybe 45 in this private funeral, it was a bit worse. Most of the seated people in front of her here seemed to be extended family on her mother’s side, while the other side mostly contained her father’s side of the extended family. Sam Clarke was the only one of that group that she could recognize since she was signed under the Clarke Talent Agency, run and managed by him. Hm, maybe moving wouldn’t be such a bad idea. She was told she’d be spending the majority of her rookie contract in the Minor leagues playing for Montreal, so she’d be close to her American home.
Soon, Sam Clarke was called up. Him and another woman which she didn’t recognize followed him. Probably just a translator or his wife or something, she didn’t quite remember. She couldn’t even remember his speech, his words were slurred to her, her head spinning like no tomorrow.
“...Och härnäst skulle det bara vara rättvist mot hans dotter om hon fick tala om sin far.” (And next, it would only be fair to his daughter if she could talk about her father.) Sam “said” with the translator as a huge help for conveying that. His daughter, of course, being her. The hungover mess that she was. She looked at her hands, then got up. She let out a loud sigh in a mix of sadness and pain. As she approached the podium, she stared into the crowd, a mix of people and faces all which looked one in the same for the most part. She couldn’t tell left from right right about now, but Sam had brought her up here for a reason. Maybe she could get some words out. She noticed her mother scoot closer to the aisle, probably waiting to get up to speak. Zoe looked at the podium despite nothing being there. She didn’t have a script to read off of. She looked back up.
“Hej på er alla, familj och familjevänner till Jackson Clarke och familjen Clarke. Jag är Jacksons dotter Zoe. Även om jag är säker på att några av er redan vet det, särskilt Sam, eftersom jag är under honom i hans byrå, är jag fortfarande en dotter, fortfarande bara en flicka som påverkades starkt av sin fars förlust.” (Hello, one and all, family and family-friends to Jackson Clarke and the Clarke family. I am Jackson's daughter, Zoe. While I'm sure some of you already know that, especially Sam, since I am under him in his agency, I am still a daughter, still just a girl who was impacted heavily by her father's loss.) She began, looking around the room while she spoke. “Det här är en svår tid för alla i vår familj, och en mycket svår tid för de människor som brydde sig om Jackson som person, och inte bara som spelare. Några av er känner till Jacksons fotbollskarriär, men de flesta av er känner till Jacksons personlighet utanför planen. Hur snäll han var som människa och vilka människor han har berört i sin strävan efter andlig storhet.” (This is a difficult time for everyone in our family, and a very difficult time for the people who cared for Jackson as a person, and not just a player. Some of you know about Jackson's football career, but most of you know about Jackson's personality off the pitch. How kind of a man he was and the people he's touched in his pursuits for greatness spiritually.)
Zoe droned on and on, talking about his various accomplishments and the things he’s done for the community, the charity he used to run that now is under Ava, who was in the room with them, and a variety of different topics. At the end, she looked over at her mother. “Ich glaube, meine Mutter sollte als nächste über meinen Vater sprechen.” (I think my mother should talk about my father next.) Her mother got up as soon as she said that, and started walking towards Zoe. The two passed each other, Zoe looking at the lines separating the seating, not wanting to make eye contact with her mother. “Esto es estúpido. Quiero irme a casa.” (This is stupid. I want to go home.) she muttered to herself for only her to hear. This funeral definitely wasn’t stupid, but she just wanted to go home to cry herself to sleep again.
#-#
It’s been about an hour since her mother finished speaking, they were on the way home. She tucked her knees into her hoodie, closing her eyes and sleeping despite the minor motion sickness. She was done with the world, and she wanted to move on. Not to her next adventure, she wanted to move onto her next life. The cold of the eternal winter in her heart definitely didn’t help combat a naturally cold climate as they climbed downward towards their house.
Her mother hit Zoe’s leg, and took on a slightly aggressive tone. “Steh auf, du nichtsnutziges, faules, alkoholkrankes Stück Scheiße. Dein wertloser Arsch sollte nach Kanada rübergehen, und zwar schnell. Ich brauche eine Pause von deinem Egoismus, du verdammte Göre.” (Get up you useless, lazy, alcoholic piece of shit. Your worthless ass should go over to Canada, and fast. I need a break from your selfishness, you fucking brat.) Zoe sighed, opening her eyes. Nothing but dread filled her as she got out of the car. Her mother was right, and she knew it. How quick was it to the airport from here? About an hour and a half? She could definitely make it tomorrow. She pulled out her phone, texting the manager of Germany.
“Hallo, ich bin in der Lage, ab morgen einen Flug nach Montreal zu nehmen. Ich entschuldige mich für die Verspätung, ich weiß, dass es das Team schmerzt. Ich hoffe aber, dass sie meine Situation verstehen.“ (Hello, I am able to catch a flight to Montreal starting tomorrow. I apologize for the delay, I know it hurts the team. But I hope they understand my situation.) She untucked herself from her sweater, opening the car door, walking towards the house. She got a notification on her phone, a loud ding going off. It scared her, genuinely. She didn’t expect such a fast response- and of course, it’s just a spam notification from a language learning app. She sighed and put her phone away. What time was it by now? Were they running practice drills, or were the tickets already booked? She’d check her email tomorrow nonetheless and get out of this house. It reminded her way too much of… that.
#-#
Thunk, thunk. Clunk, clunk. The train moved quickly through the land, racing faster than the speed of her own thoughts it felt like. She was all packed up, she had been for a while now. That was one of the first things she made sure to get out of the way; pack up for the future. About half a million Euro from Jackson’s savings alone for food and clothes, snacks pre-flight and during the flight, other clothes that she could wear right now. Hell, she probably had enough money to buy a house or at least, rent out an apartment for a while. Why only half a million, though? That’s what she wanted to know. If she remembered correctly, she was supposed to get at least more. Oh well, whatever. She stared into the passing land, the darkness of the tunnels, changing landscapes, wondering multiple things to herself. “Cállate, estúpido cerebro de mierda. A nadie le importa lo que pienses, vete al infierno.” (Shut up, you stupid fucking brain. Nobody cares what you think, go to hell.) she muttered, gritting her teeth. She was in an understandably extremely angry mood right now.
The train did eventually reach the airport and she was free to get off. She did just that, staring longingly into the distance. Her mother wouldn’t be fine alone. Ah, fuck her. She was getting progressively more abusive towards her. The day that her dad died, she called her a whore for sleeping in, and her dad just did nothing about it. It’s like he didn’t understand the words she was saying. Her dad… that reminded her a little too much. She pulled up the email that she’d gotten regarding the flight tickets, they’d been booked already. She walked up to the electronic scan check in thing, whatever it was called, walking to the surprisingly short security line.
After passing through security smoothly, she grabbed a smoothie from one of the shops you pass when you’re going towards your gate. She was early by about an hour, they should be boarding soon regardless. It wouldn’t be her group since she was in economy, but she would at least be headed to Montreal sooner rather than later. Free life sounded nice…
#-#
…where am I again? There was a low hum, chatter and the like. I looked around, opening my eyes more. Oh right, the plane. It’s been 3 hours, I think we’re above the Atlantic Ocean. Shoot, right. After I put my stuff away, I buckled up and fell asleep in my seat. The two people next to me must think I’m insane for the way I was sleeping before the flight started. Good thing I spiked my own drink, technically causing my own blackout or… something like that. I couldn’t remember, I didn’t want to remember. Life was shitty and all I could do about it was cry, cry, and cry some more. Maybe if I wasn’t such a bitch, I’d actually be loved by someone. I leaned my head back again, resting against the uncomfortable back. Ugh, how did I sleep comfortably in this thing? I didn’t even have a neck pillow.
I closed my eyes, resting. I could still hear the chatter, but I would be more or less unresponsive to most things…
#-#
“Everyone, we thank you for flying with us. We hope you had a safe journey, and we hope to have your business once again.” The captain said as the plane landed on the runway. He sounded so genuine, which is what scared me. I could easily be manipulated into thinking someone is being genuine when they really aren’t.
Once the plane came to a full stop and everyone sat up, I got the bag that I had and rushed out of there as soon as I could. There was a delay thanks to them having to make sure no one fell out of the Jetway or something like that. Along with a couple hundred other ready passengers, a line started to form in both aisles and that line started moving. It wasn’t particularly fast, but it was there. I had the displeasure of being uncomfortable as I waited, but I was so happy to be free. Now, how would I get from here to the place I was supposed to be staying at?
I checked my phone. “Welcome to Canada,” yeah yeah. I’d have to speak French for a while. “Bonjour” and all that. I don’t know, I don’t speak French. I’ll pick it up quickly though, I think. I hope actually, that’d be good for my own mental health.
I was supposed to share a car with some people or something like that, but that was canceled already so I guess… I take a train to the hotel? That would be my guess. Taking a train to the hotel wouldn’t be too bad of an estimate for what to do, right?
–End Chapter 1, Zoe Clarke: The Beginning–
2750 words, 15024 characters
* Hello! Thank you for reading all the way through if you did, and I'm sorry about the quality. It's on the lower end for stuff I could do definitely, I know that much. I hope you enjoy the read otherwise and I kinda want to turn this into a series. I have a few ideas on what to write about, and this'll probably just be a first. It's something I want to do to develop the personality of my character in a way that I feel like I can be proud of the character building and at least grow my writing skills!
Zoe Clarke
Third Person - First Person
#-# Scene Breaks
* Author Notes or Ending Notes
[Warning: most of the foreign text will be translated using DeepL if I can! Sorry for inaccuracies, and if anyone can speak the language, please correct me in the comments!]
It’s been a long few days, the seconds ticking by as Zoe counted. The events leading up to her pick in the draft, left Zoe Clarke more than just depressed. Yes, she knew she had somewhere to be, that place being Montrael, the minors team she was assigned to in the SSL after being drafted to Germany. Unfortunately for them, they’d have to wait on her schedule. She’d spent the last 3 hours just eating chocolate and complaining to herself in Spanish.
“¿Por qué el mundo es tan cruel como para quitarme la mitad de mi sistema de apoyo?” (Why is the world so cruel as to take away half of my support system?)
This was more or less along the lines of the way she’d been talking for the past few days. Her dad had just died, not really in front of her, but still, having a close one… just do that when you’re awake. It hurts even more than when you know it’s going to happen, as was the case with her grandparents. It probably would hurt less if he died when she was young, cause at least then she wouldn’t have to go through all this mental pain. She heard her mother’s voice beckon her downstairs through her music.
“Zoé, komm runter. Ich weiß, es tut Dir weh, es tut uns allen weh. Es wird nicht besser werden, wenn Du allein in Deinem Zimmer isst und weinst.” (Zoé, come down. I know it hurts you, it hurts us all. It won't get any better if you eat and cry alone in your room.)
Of course, knowing her mother, she wouldn’t barge into her room and force her. At least, not right now. They’re not in the right mind to fight, and both were more likely to ruin their relationship if they did start fighting.
#-#
It’s been just about a week, the funeral was coming up. For the better part of this week, she’d been spending most of her time in her room or online, not bothering to be active. Whether it was chatting with American friends, Spanish friends, or German friends, she’d rather drown out her sorrows with a few chats and, if she was that desperate for happiness, she’d get drunk, high, either or really, and hop online. Whether the online world was through a virtual lens or a Discord chat, it didn’t matter. Anything to forget, right? They were pretty much interchangeable, at least for the moment, both helped her in their own ways, whether she wanted to admit it to her newfound drug problem or not. She’d been asleep on call with one of her friends when her mother came into the room. Zoe couldn’t hear, but her mother talked to her regardless. Being unable to make out what her mother was saying was difficult for her since wasn’t in the right headspace, but she did make out the ending of what her mother was essentially telling her; “...der Direktor hat mir gesagt, dass alles fertig ist. Seine Beerdigung beginnt morgen.” (...the director told me that everything is ready. His funeral starts tomorrow.) So, this was really happening, huh? She had some experience with Swedish, so if her mother couldn’t understand something, she could roughly translate. Well, at least a little bit. It’s not going to be too hard, right?
#-#
Well then, she was completely wrong. Not only was she dead mentally with very little going on in her head right now, but her head also hurt like hell. It was like her mind was in another strange place, unable to focus on the words being said by the funeral director. It’s weird that she was… like this to be honest. Maybe it’s the audio quality from the online world, but she felt like she could understand the people who were a part of the online world better than the people in the physical one. She groaned and looked at her mom.
“Mein Kopf fühlt sich beschissen an.” (My head feels like shit.)
“Trinke deinen Kummer nicht weg, dann geht es dir vielleicht besser. Du bist verdammt nochmal siebzehn. Geh da rauf und sag etwas über deinen Vater, wenn du aufgerufen wirst.“ (Don't drink your sorrow away, then maybe you'll feel better. You're fucking seventeen. Go up there and say something about your father when you get called.)
Time seemed to flow by “at a minute a second” as her father would put it, another way to say something was moving really slowly. She held her head in her hands, just waiting to be called up to the podium to speak. She always had a fear of public speaking, and in front of a crowd of maybe 45 in this private funeral, it was a bit worse. Most of the seated people in front of her here seemed to be extended family on her mother’s side, while the other side mostly contained her father’s side of the extended family. Sam Clarke was the only one of that group that she could recognize since she was signed under the Clarke Talent Agency, run and managed by him. Hm, maybe moving wouldn’t be such a bad idea. She was told she’d be spending the majority of her rookie contract in the Minor leagues playing for Montreal, so she’d be close to her American home.
Soon, Sam Clarke was called up. Him and another woman which she didn’t recognize followed him. Probably just a translator or his wife or something, she didn’t quite remember. She couldn’t even remember his speech, his words were slurred to her, her head spinning like no tomorrow.
“...Och härnäst skulle det bara vara rättvist mot hans dotter om hon fick tala om sin far.” (And next, it would only be fair to his daughter if she could talk about her father.) Sam “said” with the translator as a huge help for conveying that. His daughter, of course, being her. The hungover mess that she was. She looked at her hands, then got up. She let out a loud sigh in a mix of sadness and pain. As she approached the podium, she stared into the crowd, a mix of people and faces all which looked one in the same for the most part. She couldn’t tell left from right right about now, but Sam had brought her up here for a reason. Maybe she could get some words out. She noticed her mother scoot closer to the aisle, probably waiting to get up to speak. Zoe looked at the podium despite nothing being there. She didn’t have a script to read off of. She looked back up.
“Hej på er alla, familj och familjevänner till Jackson Clarke och familjen Clarke. Jag är Jacksons dotter Zoe. Även om jag är säker på att några av er redan vet det, särskilt Sam, eftersom jag är under honom i hans byrå, är jag fortfarande en dotter, fortfarande bara en flicka som påverkades starkt av sin fars förlust.” (Hello, one and all, family and family-friends to Jackson Clarke and the Clarke family. I am Jackson's daughter, Zoe. While I'm sure some of you already know that, especially Sam, since I am under him in his agency, I am still a daughter, still just a girl who was impacted heavily by her father's loss.) She began, looking around the room while she spoke. “Det här är en svår tid för alla i vår familj, och en mycket svår tid för de människor som brydde sig om Jackson som person, och inte bara som spelare. Några av er känner till Jacksons fotbollskarriär, men de flesta av er känner till Jacksons personlighet utanför planen. Hur snäll han var som människa och vilka människor han har berört i sin strävan efter andlig storhet.” (This is a difficult time for everyone in our family, and a very difficult time for the people who cared for Jackson as a person, and not just a player. Some of you know about Jackson's football career, but most of you know about Jackson's personality off the pitch. How kind of a man he was and the people he's touched in his pursuits for greatness spiritually.)
Zoe droned on and on, talking about his various accomplishments and the things he’s done for the community, the charity he used to run that now is under Ava, who was in the room with them, and a variety of different topics. At the end, she looked over at her mother. “Ich glaube, meine Mutter sollte als nächste über meinen Vater sprechen.” (I think my mother should talk about my father next.) Her mother got up as soon as she said that, and started walking towards Zoe. The two passed each other, Zoe looking at the lines separating the seating, not wanting to make eye contact with her mother. “Esto es estúpido. Quiero irme a casa.” (This is stupid. I want to go home.) she muttered to herself for only her to hear. This funeral definitely wasn’t stupid, but she just wanted to go home to cry herself to sleep again.
#-#
It’s been about an hour since her mother finished speaking, they were on the way home. She tucked her knees into her hoodie, closing her eyes and sleeping despite the minor motion sickness. She was done with the world, and she wanted to move on. Not to her next adventure, she wanted to move onto her next life. The cold of the eternal winter in her heart definitely didn’t help combat a naturally cold climate as they climbed downward towards their house.
Her mother hit Zoe’s leg, and took on a slightly aggressive tone. “Steh auf, du nichtsnutziges, faules, alkoholkrankes Stück Scheiße. Dein wertloser Arsch sollte nach Kanada rübergehen, und zwar schnell. Ich brauche eine Pause von deinem Egoismus, du verdammte Göre.” (Get up you useless, lazy, alcoholic piece of shit. Your worthless ass should go over to Canada, and fast. I need a break from your selfishness, you fucking brat.) Zoe sighed, opening her eyes. Nothing but dread filled her as she got out of the car. Her mother was right, and she knew it. How quick was it to the airport from here? About an hour and a half? She could definitely make it tomorrow. She pulled out her phone, texting the manager of Germany.
“Hallo, ich bin in der Lage, ab morgen einen Flug nach Montreal zu nehmen. Ich entschuldige mich für die Verspätung, ich weiß, dass es das Team schmerzt. Ich hoffe aber, dass sie meine Situation verstehen.“ (Hello, I am able to catch a flight to Montreal starting tomorrow. I apologize for the delay, I know it hurts the team. But I hope they understand my situation.) She untucked herself from her sweater, opening the car door, walking towards the house. She got a notification on her phone, a loud ding going off. It scared her, genuinely. She didn’t expect such a fast response- and of course, it’s just a spam notification from a language learning app. She sighed and put her phone away. What time was it by now? Were they running practice drills, or were the tickets already booked? She’d check her email tomorrow nonetheless and get out of this house. It reminded her way too much of… that.
#-#
Thunk, thunk. Clunk, clunk. The train moved quickly through the land, racing faster than the speed of her own thoughts it felt like. She was all packed up, she had been for a while now. That was one of the first things she made sure to get out of the way; pack up for the future. About half a million Euro from Jackson’s savings alone for food and clothes, snacks pre-flight and during the flight, other clothes that she could wear right now. Hell, she probably had enough money to buy a house or at least, rent out an apartment for a while. Why only half a million, though? That’s what she wanted to know. If she remembered correctly, she was supposed to get at least more. Oh well, whatever. She stared into the passing land, the darkness of the tunnels, changing landscapes, wondering multiple things to herself. “Cállate, estúpido cerebro de mierda. A nadie le importa lo que pienses, vete al infierno.” (Shut up, you stupid fucking brain. Nobody cares what you think, go to hell.) she muttered, gritting her teeth. She was in an understandably extremely angry mood right now.
The train did eventually reach the airport and she was free to get off. She did just that, staring longingly into the distance. Her mother wouldn’t be fine alone. Ah, fuck her. She was getting progressively more abusive towards her. The day that her dad died, she called her a whore for sleeping in, and her dad just did nothing about it. It’s like he didn’t understand the words she was saying. Her dad… that reminded her a little too much. She pulled up the email that she’d gotten regarding the flight tickets, they’d been booked already. She walked up to the electronic scan check in thing, whatever it was called, walking to the surprisingly short security line.
After passing through security smoothly, she grabbed a smoothie from one of the shops you pass when you’re going towards your gate. She was early by about an hour, they should be boarding soon regardless. It wouldn’t be her group since she was in economy, but she would at least be headed to Montreal sooner rather than later. Free life sounded nice…
#-#
…where am I again? There was a low hum, chatter and the like. I looked around, opening my eyes more. Oh right, the plane. It’s been 3 hours, I think we’re above the Atlantic Ocean. Shoot, right. After I put my stuff away, I buckled up and fell asleep in my seat. The two people next to me must think I’m insane for the way I was sleeping before the flight started. Good thing I spiked my own drink, technically causing my own blackout or… something like that. I couldn’t remember, I didn’t want to remember. Life was shitty and all I could do about it was cry, cry, and cry some more. Maybe if I wasn’t such a bitch, I’d actually be loved by someone. I leaned my head back again, resting against the uncomfortable back. Ugh, how did I sleep comfortably in this thing? I didn’t even have a neck pillow.
I closed my eyes, resting. I could still hear the chatter, but I would be more or less unresponsive to most things…
#-#
“Everyone, we thank you for flying with us. We hope you had a safe journey, and we hope to have your business once again.” The captain said as the plane landed on the runway. He sounded so genuine, which is what scared me. I could easily be manipulated into thinking someone is being genuine when they really aren’t.
Once the plane came to a full stop and everyone sat up, I got the bag that I had and rushed out of there as soon as I could. There was a delay thanks to them having to make sure no one fell out of the Jetway or something like that. Along with a couple hundred other ready passengers, a line started to form in both aisles and that line started moving. It wasn’t particularly fast, but it was there. I had the displeasure of being uncomfortable as I waited, but I was so happy to be free. Now, how would I get from here to the place I was supposed to be staying at?
I checked my phone. “Welcome to Canada,” yeah yeah. I’d have to speak French for a while. “Bonjour” and all that. I don’t know, I don’t speak French. I’ll pick it up quickly though, I think. I hope actually, that’d be good for my own mental health.
I was supposed to share a car with some people or something like that, but that was canceled already so I guess… I take a train to the hotel? That would be my guess. Taking a train to the hotel wouldn’t be too bad of an estimate for what to do, right?
–End Chapter 1, Zoe Clarke: The Beginning–
2750 words, 15024 characters
* Hello! Thank you for reading all the way through if you did, and I'm sorry about the quality. It's on the lower end for stuff I could do definitely, I know that much. I hope you enjoy the read otherwise and I kinda want to turn this into a series. I have a few ideas on what to write about, and this'll probably just be a first. It's something I want to do to develop the personality of my character in a way that I feel like I can be proud of the character building and at least grow my writing skills!
