I'm really stupid, starting another story. *Shakes head in shame* But I want to do this- the more I think about the idea, the more I want to write it down. Anyway, enjoy.
I love cats- they're so cute. To be one...that would be unlike anything imaginable. Think of all the advantages! Being able to see in the dark, land on your feet every time you fall, nine lives!
But, of course. Who am I kidding? As seen by the world, I am Aiirelle. Yes, go ahead. Laugh. Call me names. Whatever. So what if that's the name my mother gave me before dying? So what if I don't have a father to change it? I don't care. I like my name. It separates me from the world. I'd rather be just who I am. The quiet girl that reads and obsesses over an animal, making no effort to fit in. Do I want to fit in? Sometimes. I have no true friends. Sure, there are allies that I can turn to- but that is all they are. Nothing more.
Someone knocked on my door. "Aiirelle?" the voice called.
"Come in, Meredith." I've been at the orphanage long enough that I know Meredith well enough to call her by her first name. Every one else calls her 'Ms. Smith'. Rather boring, if you ask me.
"I thought you might want to come to dinner," she said. But still, after all these years, Meredith still doesn't understand the fact that I don't eat all that much. I don't have a disorder or anything. Food just doesn't appeal to me- unless it's fish. I LOVE fish. Not sure why. Just do. "We're having crawfish, all the way from Louisiana," she said, trying to persuade me. Now, does that sound good.
"With the potatoes and corn?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. Crawfish are good. True, not as good a fish, but I love all the spices the cajuns put on their food.
Meredith smiled and nodded.
"Alright," I said, getting up off my bed. I have a sudden urge to dance my way to the kitchen- I'm weird like that. But for some reason, dancing is nestled into my heart and soul.
"Oh," the orphanage manager said, remembering something. "There's a package for you- came in the mail while you were at school. Sorry I forgot to tell you earlier."
"That's alright," I said. Probably just another of those stupid art club thingys. They send me books that I would have read three years ago, saying that if I want the sequel, I need to join the club. I hustled down the stairs towards the kitchen. We're a small orphanage- but I'm the oldest. The closest person to my age is an eight-year-old boy that likes to pick the lock on my door, then jump on top of me in the middle of the night with this stupid Yeti mask that he wore for Halloween last year on. I'm fourteen. And I hate the Yeti. Don't ask why- stories like that have just never appealed to me.
After dinner, I grabbed the box that was wrapped with brown paper and dashed back up to my room. The thing was heavier than any of the books that ever got sent to me. And it had my exact address. Like, my room number, too. Those stupid clubs just put the orphanage address with my name.
I ran upstairs and locked the door behind me, knowing that it would only work for three hours at the most. I set the package on my bed- I can open it later. Besides, Mr. Day assigned ten pages to do out of our grammar workbooks- oh, how I loath grammar. And that man. Glancing around my room, I realized that my small stuffed panda was missing.
"Nathan," I all but hissed. I ran back out into the hallway, dashing down the hall and into the bathroom. Ping is always in the same spot- in the little cupboard above the toilet, ready to fall out into the toilet when the next person opened the little white doors. Putting the top down, I carefully opened those little doors. And grabbed Ping before he could hit the toilet- even if it's closed, I'd still rather my little buddy stay sanitary.
I rubbed Ping's head, thinking about the first time Nathan stole him from me. Lucky I ended up opening the cupboard, instead of someone else. I walked back to my room, turning to the right to settle at my desk and do the stupid grammar. And that's where my breath disappeared. There- it's sitting there! The box! I know I put it on my bed- I know that. I am not going insane. If I didn't go insane two years ago, I'm defiantly not going insane now.
You know what? Grammar can wait. Today's Friday. I have tomorrow, and Sunday. I just want to take care of this box- before anything else weird happens. I picked the thing up and almost carried it to my bed again. Deciding to just do it here, I got out my scissors- Meredith says only ten and up can have their own pair- and cut the string binding the package. I ripped the paper off, then used the scissors to slit the tape.
Carefully opening the flaps, I peered inside. There's a note-
'Your wish has been granted.'
What the heck does that mean? My wish- which one? I've had so many. What a rip off though. And how can a not weigh that much? Wait a second. There's more.
I dug into the box, pulling out a clear plastic makeup kit, lined with soft black leather. There's a label on it- HOLY CROW! BEN NYE? Seriously? The best make-up ever? Wait a sec- IT'S NOT MAKE UP! IT'S FACE PAINT!
Did I mention that I've always wanted face paint? I've designed numerous cats- and I have one in particular that I love. I've always wanted to have face paint to put them on. Lemme see what colors I have.
Black. Dusty gray. Pale gray. White. Silver. And pale pink lipstick. THE COLORS OF MY FAVORITE DESIGN! Not to mention some black liquid eyeliner. And another note.
'To be who you wish, midnight is always right'
What does it mean? To put on the face paint at midnight? That's probably the only time I'd be able to do it without getting started at, or have one of the little kids walk into the bathroom while I'm in the middle of doing it.
It's midnight. I decided to be a good girl and do my homework anyway. Now, should I use the face paint, or wait till it's light?
.........
To heck with light! The moon's full, and the little window in the bathroom lets in a pool of moonlight. I like moonlight better than sunlight, anyway.
*-*-*
I've finished. The design looks even better in face paint then it did as a sketch. And for some odd reason, it seems to fit my face perfectly. I'm going to go look at the moon. I don't know why, but I feel like it's the right thing to do.
Author's Notes:
So, what did you think?