The Writers' Circle

This is my Prologue to a novel I'm writing. Tell me what you think. =D

staI red blankly across my room- soon to be removed from my possession- into nothingness. For some reason, though, I stared. Even I could not be sure of this reason. I only knew that it was there, deep in the corners of my heart; my lost, stolen heart. The walls were bare, the floor clear. The empty sight somehow angered me, awoke a lost piece of me. But I shoved it aside for the moment, focusing only on the present moment.
	I walked slowly, cautiously, to the far corner of the room, where the window was clear and recently cleaned. I moved with caution, afraid to startle myself from such a dream-like trance. Carefully, I raised my hand to brush my fingers across the rough surface of the wall, memorizing its uneven texture, though I knew it would feel exactly the same in our new house.
	Somehow, though, I knew it would not be the same. It would feel as different as fire and ice- though both very similar in the pain they inflict, also very different in their circumstances. When I touched it, it felt strangely familiar. It felt like home. Our new house would be my new home- a place of living-but it would not be my home. It was yet another new house- a place to haul your possessions into and scramble around to redecorate in an effort to make it seem as home. But it wasn't home to me. This place was home. Not a new house in some god-forsaken little town I'd never even heard the name of in all my fifteen years.
	I sunk to the floor mechanically, my hand never leaving its resting place on 'my' wall. It was a sort of haven, a last remembrance of this place that I loved so dearly. I felt a moistness burn in my eyes and, despite my best efforts the silent tears began to flow, slowly, but relentlessly.
	"Oh, God!" I prayed under my breath. I'd long since- only but a year ago, in all actuality- lost most of the faith I had held in God's ability to help me under even the most horrible of situations. But regardless, I prayed to such as Him, "If you care, then please take away their determination to force us into this move. I cannot stand to start over again. It's what we've been doing my entire life! How can they expect us to keep doing this after so many years?"
	My silently uttered words did not make my situation any easier, as I had hoped. I had, in vain apparently, expected to feel some sort of comfort from the process of admitting my fears. But instead I felt all the more timid about the adjustment.
	"Britney!" a voice from the floor below bellowed. "Britney!" they repeated impatiently, not a minute after the first call.
	I rose fluidly from the floor and, without thinking, abandoned my wall. Without a moment of consideration I had left behind all I'd held dear in the past three years- all in less than a single minute.
	We're not going to move after this, my mother had said the last time. This will be your home until you graduate. I'd been foolish enough to entertain such nonsense at the time. But this time would be different. I would not attempt any forms of comfort in this new place. I would only prepare for our looming departure.