Kaya's Walls
I found my story posted on an old message board of mine. I realized I liked what I had written and I'm gonig to keep most of it. I am going to change it a bit though I think. But maybe not. Either way, my work on Kaya's Walls begins here.
The ground was piling with rain drops. The rain was coming down so hard that it almost looked like someone was pouring buckets on the city. Everything was soaked and water was running off of all of the buildings.
A small girl ran down the street, ducking under roofs to avoid soaking her shirt. She had her school work in her hands and she could see her homework running on the pages. She scrambled to the corner and waited in desperation for the light to change.
"Need a lift?" A man yelled from his window as he pulled up to the curb.
"N..n..no," The young girl said shaking. She stuttered to get the word out and ran across the street as soon as the car pulled away. Her shoes were clicking on the sidewalk as she ran and her one wet shoelace was swinging up and tapping her ankle. She hated that broken shoelace. Her shoes never stayed tied.
As soon as the girl reached the porch of her house she heard her father call "Kaya, where have you been? It's nearly 10:30 at night and it's pouring outside. You didn't come home for supper." He sounded stern, but with worry in his voice.
"I...I..." She didn't want to tell him that she had been in the forest. That she had been writing stories there again, even though she knew it was dangerous there.
"Supper's on the table." Her father said returning to the chair where he had been sitting. It was an old chair. The green had slightly faded, and the leather was torn in random places. It no longer reclined like it had when Kaya was younger. Kaya's father sat on the chair and stared at the television, watching what appeared to be, the news.
Kaya sat down on the red kitchen chair and kicked her feet back and forth. She picked up the fork that had been placed on the table and began to eat her cold pasta. It really lacked any taste, so Kaya covered it with salt.There were very few foods Kaya liked. Pasta was one of the few. She ate is slowly, and trudged up to her room.
Things didn't used to be like this. Kaya used to be happy. Ever since she moved though, things had been bad. She spent all of her time writing and keeping to herself. Her mother died the year before, when Kaya was 13, and her and her father had moved. She left her friends behind, and now had only her dad.
The small girl with wisps of brown hair grabbed her brush. Kaya's hair rarely changed. The thin brown strands hung around limply. They followed her motions and swept the air, but never had any purpose. Somedays, she wanted to cut it all off. Somehow she managed to talk herself out of it. She brushed it slowly looking at the mirror. "Only one more day of this life, and I swear, I'll kill myself." She mumbled. She didn' mean it though.
Kaya set down her brush and changed for bed. Once she was ready, she climbed into her bed and wrote in her journal. She always wrote in ehr journal. It was a small pink notebook with a ribbon tied around it. The ribbon was frayed, and the word "Journal" could barely be made out on the front anymore. She finished her writing and tossed the book and a pencil on the floor and went to sleep.
The ground was piling with rain drops. The rain was coming down so hard that it almost looked like someone was pouring buckets on the city. Everything was soaked and water was running off of all of the buildings.
A small girl ran down the street, ducking under roofs to avoid soaking her shirt. She had her school work in her hands and she could see her homework running on the pages. She scrambled to the corner and waited in desperation for the light to change.
"Need a lift?" A man yelled from his window as he pulled up to the curb.
"N..n..no," The young girl said shaking. She stuttered to get the word out and ran across the street as soon as the car pulled away. Her shoes were clicking on the sidewalk as she ran and her one wet shoelace was swinging up and tapping her ankle. She hated that broken shoelace. Her shoes never stayed tied.
As soon as the girl reached the porch of her house she heard her father call "Kaya, where have you been? It's nearly 10:30 at night and it's pouring outside. You didn't come home for supper." He sounded stern, but with worry in his voice.
"I...I..." She didn't want to tell him that she had been in the forest. That she had been writing stories there again, even though she knew it was dangerous there.
"Supper's on the table." Her father said returning to the chair where he had been sitting. It was an old chair. The green had slightly faded, and the leather was torn in random places. It no longer reclined like it had when Kaya was younger. Kaya's father sat on the chair and stared at the television, watching what appeared to be, the news.
Kaya sat down on the red kitchen chair and kicked her feet back and forth. She picked up the fork that had been placed on the table and began to eat her cold pasta. It really lacked any taste, so Kaya covered it with salt.There were very few foods Kaya liked. Pasta was one of the few. She ate is slowly, and trudged up to her room.
Things didn't used to be like this. Kaya used to be happy. Ever since she moved though, things had been bad. She spent all of her time writing and keeping to herself. Her mother died the year before, when Kaya was 13, and her and her father had moved. She left her friends behind, and now had only her dad.
The small girl with wisps of brown hair grabbed her brush. Kaya's hair rarely changed. The thin brown strands hung around limply. They followed her motions and swept the air, but never had any purpose. Somedays, she wanted to cut it all off. Somehow she managed to talk herself out of it. She brushed it slowly looking at the mirror. "Only one more day of this life, and I swear, I'll kill myself." She mumbled. She didn' mean it though.
Kaya set down her brush and changed for bed. Once she was ready, she climbed into her bed and wrote in her journal. She always wrote in ehr journal. It was a small pink notebook with a ribbon tied around it. The ribbon was frayed, and the word "Journal" could barely be made out on the front anymore. She finished her writing and tossed the book and a pencil on the floor and went to sleep.
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