The Library

This was for the "One Minute Writer" challenge. http://oneminutewriter.blogspot.com/

My hands are young, so young that there are tiny dimples where knuckles should be. With these hands I caress the cover of a book that looks important, like something that my mother would read. I love my mother. She's the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. I think she was a princess before she met my father and had me. With every touch of this book I feel more like my mother. I'm strong, I'm beautiful and most of all I am a grown up.
I look for her, scanning the room for a mass of glossy brunette hair and those kind eyes that smile at me for no particular reason. Sometimes the smile at me even when they are angry with me for not eating all of my vegetables. For some reason this makes me feel safe and that anything is possible. Reading this book that I can hardly carry is possible.
"There you are!"
I see the kind eyes, smiling as usual. Then they focus on the book in my hands. I don't recognise these eyes and when they look back at me it's as if they belong to someone else. I'm not so sure whether this is my mother.
"Jane Eyre? You can't read this. You're too little. Put it back and go find another one."
She is laughing slightly which makes the tone of her voice soft...yet I feel like she is angry with me for not eating up all my vegetables.
I take the book back and don't bother choosing another one.

Nothing is possible.


[I think I actually made a few typos because I only had a minute to write it]