Post by Demalion North on Oct 23, 2011 0:51:58 GMT -5
She was falling, and then she was not falling. A strange sensation ran up her spine: mostly fear of the unknown, secondly fear of the known, and just a tiny pinch of relief.
Once she opened her eyes, they widened in shock. She flew to her feet, spinning around in awe. She tried her best not to tremble in fear and wonder, but she did anyway. Her eyes darted around the grounds, unable to absorb her new surroundings. Her brown eyes flicked side to side, as if she could read the landscape and understand it.
Jumpy and confused, Demalion wrapped her arms around herself, as if it would protect her and bring her home to her brother and her mother and her father. But they had thrown her in. They were responsible for this. The 11-year-old was overwhelmed with a intense feeling of betrayal. It filled her lungs until her ribs pressed achingly into her heart. It roared in her ears like a great salty wave crashing over her head. Her vision blurred as her wild heart seemed to press into her spinal chord, her throat unable to pull in enough oxygen.
It was the worst she had ever felt in her life, and she started to cry. Not the desperate sobs of someone who still had someone to cling to, the tiniest sliver of everything would be okay. She couldn't even think of any stories to fill her head in this time of stress. No, instead, she was crying gently because it was the only way to release some of the pent-up betrayal and confusion. Every so often, she would swipe the back of her hand across her cheeks, as if to dry her tears, but her breathing was choppy and irregular, her cheeks red, eyelashes damp and clumped together.
She could taste blood from the inside of her lower lip and something else. Something very bitter. She didn't know what it was, and she didn't want to find out.
And then Demalion took a few moments to really study the place besides the green and blue and trees, there were actual trees, and noticed the people. Some were smiling, some weren't, but they were all staring at her. They looked down at her from windows, and corridors. She swallowed back, shrinking into herself, this new development drying her tears to replace them with a dry-mouthed nervousness.
Someone was approaching her. Mal's muscles tensed, but she didn't run. She puffed out her chest, just slightly, as if it would make herself seem bigger and more intimidating. This girl with the brown curls that shown copper in the sun, and tear filled eyes. This girl with the torn stockings and askew hair ribbons. She felt like a tiny fish at the bottom of the ocean. Except it wasn't dark here, and she wasn't really a fish.
When they approached, Demalion gathered her courage in her fists and kept it safe in her pockets. She asked a question. One question before they could even speak, or shake her hand. Distantly, she could feel the eyes of other students boring into her body, but she was focused on the one standing in front of her, hands in pockets. Her words sounded watery and fragile, though growing stronger with each syllable. The letters fell off her lips, organizing in the air between speaking and hearing and understanding and responding.
"Where am I?"
Word count: 586
Once she opened her eyes, they widened in shock. She flew to her feet, spinning around in awe. She tried her best not to tremble in fear and wonder, but she did anyway. Her eyes darted around the grounds, unable to absorb her new surroundings. Her brown eyes flicked side to side, as if she could read the landscape and understand it.
Jumpy and confused, Demalion wrapped her arms around herself, as if it would protect her and bring her home to her brother and her mother and her father. But they had thrown her in. They were responsible for this. The 11-year-old was overwhelmed with a intense feeling of betrayal. It filled her lungs until her ribs pressed achingly into her heart. It roared in her ears like a great salty wave crashing over her head. Her vision blurred as her wild heart seemed to press into her spinal chord, her throat unable to pull in enough oxygen.
It was the worst she had ever felt in her life, and she started to cry. Not the desperate sobs of someone who still had someone to cling to, the tiniest sliver of everything would be okay. She couldn't even think of any stories to fill her head in this time of stress. No, instead, she was crying gently because it was the only way to release some of the pent-up betrayal and confusion. Every so often, she would swipe the back of her hand across her cheeks, as if to dry her tears, but her breathing was choppy and irregular, her cheeks red, eyelashes damp and clumped together.
She could taste blood from the inside of her lower lip and something else. Something very bitter. She didn't know what it was, and she didn't want to find out.
And then Demalion took a few moments to really study the place besides the green and blue and trees, there were actual trees, and noticed the people. Some were smiling, some weren't, but they were all staring at her. They looked down at her from windows, and corridors. She swallowed back, shrinking into herself, this new development drying her tears to replace them with a dry-mouthed nervousness.
Someone was approaching her. Mal's muscles tensed, but she didn't run. She puffed out her chest, just slightly, as if it would make herself seem bigger and more intimidating. This girl with the brown curls that shown copper in the sun, and tear filled eyes. This girl with the torn stockings and askew hair ribbons. She felt like a tiny fish at the bottom of the ocean. Except it wasn't dark here, and she wasn't really a fish.
When they approached, Demalion gathered her courage in her fists and kept it safe in her pockets. She asked a question. One question before they could even speak, or shake her hand. Distantly, she could feel the eyes of other students boring into her body, but she was focused on the one standing in front of her, hands in pockets. Her words sounded watery and fragile, though growing stronger with each syllable. The letters fell off her lips, organizing in the air between speaking and hearing and understanding and responding.
"Where am I?"
Word count: 586