Poet loved living in Montana the wide open air, the soft blue skies, she loved the way her long dark brown locks flowed in the cool breeze of the wind, so when her father told her they would be moving to Japan because his company needed him there on a five year program for the new software he designd she wasn't as happy about it. She was 17, young wild and free. To leave the rolling hills of Montan and open spces she wasn't to plesed. In fact she ws so distressed and for good reason. She would miss her friends, her home town and most importnanly her Horse. Poet had a beautiful horse, his name was Goldie only for the fact he ws an all white stallionwith the most beautiful gold eyes. Not a brown color but a real warm liquid gold. She pouted bitterly and as the months in Kapan flew she tried not to think about it.
Poet was in her tree house, which was a large lmost extravigent thing, it had two sloors and looked like a comfy house sitting in a very large tree. It was brought from home. She adored it, the tree itself was a large shade tree and hid the tree house easily unless one was looking for it. Poet was currently in the tree house her hands holding thick paintbrush she was speading the color over the cloth in a manner in which only a mster artist could make, her soft hands coated with paint streaks. She had on a long sleeve white button up shirt covering her gangly arms. She wore jean shorts nd a purple undershirt, she was barefoot, her usual tanned skin was pale because Jpan wasn't as warm and sunny as Montana. Poet didn't nedd to crouch she was short for her age mking her seem younger then she was, but her face nd her body said otherwise. Poet looked with bright eyes at her painting, her soft lvander hues brining a vision to life, her body coursed with endorpins ntural high she received when she painted, or sang or danced. Poet never had a reson to experiment with illeagal substances, she could derive pleaseure from life itself. Her long darn brown hair held up in a messy bun. She wiped a bit of persperation from her brow leaving a white paint mark on her face. She was so into her cretion. So into her art and her world she didn't realize her father had been calling her in for dinner. It wasn't until he was physicaly there that she noticed his presence.
"Poet"
She looked upi at him and stared his deep green eyes smiled at her, his face wethered and warn from his work, his shoulders hunched foward due to constant slouching at a computer desk. His neck had an anterior drag to it, and he would often get neck pain and had hard times turning. His dark blonde hair smiled at his only daughter.
"Poet its time for dinner"
"Oh sorry dad"
"It's ok I invited our new neighbors over"
"Oh ok"
She said and placed down her paint utnesials and walked down.
"How are you feeling dad?"
"Im alright im glad your home"
"I aint going no where"
"I know and with me working all the time in havnt spent any quality time with you"
"Really dad im fine"
Poet said going inside, she went into the kitchen and headed to the first cabinet on the left, it was a large place, soft off white and marbole black kitchen, it was modern for Japan not triditional at all. Poet mostly spent her nights alone eating ramen, or popcorn. Dad wasn't much of a cook, and Poet didn't eat much, she wasn't skinny, she had some curve and baby fat, but she was the type that preferes a bacon double cheese burger slathered in fried onions and a plate of greesy hot fries over a salad. She hated vegitable absolutly dispised them. Healthy food was often filled with worse chemicals then the burger. So shed rather have a heart attack then ecoli. Poet set the table, the plates werent fancy just bowels and plates most of them were glass and had pictures of daises and roses on them. She set the table which hadnt been in any use since they moved in. mot of the time her father was eating late in the office or not home at all. It was clean because she didn't do anything to dirty it simple, dusting and cleaning.
"How many are coming?"
"Well a friend from work, his wife and two kids"
"pluse us."
She said and set the table, Poet didn't care about meeting new people, she missed Montana, most of her drawings were of home, she placed the ornaments for holding hot food on the table, her father had made his famous homemade speghttie and meat balls. With cheesey garlic bread and a freshly tossed seacer bacon salad, which Poet wouldt touch and made sure to keep far from her side of the tabble. She went into the kitchen and washed her hands to her elbows and stood there watching the running water, she had been zoning out lately, time had been slipping from her she would stare at a small crack in the wall, or even a speck of durt on the floor and when she looked up four hours had passed. It was beginning to nag at her but she wouldn't let her father know. He would worry and the poor man was fragile as it was. At the moment she stared at a water stain it was small and almost a white ring, she stared at it a blatnelt blemish on a flawless chrome finish. Poet stared and jumped when her fathers hands touched her shoulder.
"Poet?"
"Dad"
She said and smiled he looked at her slightly concerned she blinked people suddenly filled her kitchen, she blinked at the, and shook her self.
"Im sorry I was thinking"
She said and turned off the water, when had they gotten there? She smiled giving her fathers hand a reassuring squeeze, she smiled at them
"Poet this is Heritio he wroks in my office, his Wife Sheori, their sons, Kokoda, and Suichi"
Poet smiled waving at them her fingers were in the beginning stages of pruning, she was there for awhile as she looked at the time she realized it was about to be six, where did the time go? She menatlly wondered if a small gnome was running around in tights stealing peoples times from them, she knew that was unlikely but as a child her imagination flurished and that's what she invisioned.
They all sat down.
"Poet what a lovely name,"
"Thank you yours too Sheori"
Poet said but she didn't want to mention the fact that she didn't know any Japanese and had no idea what the name meant in english.
"How old are you dear?"
"Im 17"
"Oh Suichi just turned 18 not too long ago, he's single you know"
"Mother"
Poet stared at the blushing red head she ahdnt realised their appearences until that moment, she stared he was almost feminine something about his presence reminded Poet of a feline, he was slender, tall, with long red hair, it looked to red, she stared it was natural and that was hard to belive her observant eye found his red roots and stared, either he had an amazing colorest or that was all him, his gree eyes were bright vibrent and reminded Poet of the fresh green hills in Montana she got solomn thinking about her home, and the companion she left behinde. But she left Goldie with grandpa so she knew he was safe. Poet was always easy to read but was hiding it well lately.
"Do you attend the University of Tokyo?"
"No I am going to an arts school, I don't know how to say the name without butchering it so im not going to try, its three trains away from here"
"Oh how lovely"
Poet smiled Sheori was kind charaismatic, she lured you in with her charm and her loving gaze, and as the evening came to dessert Poet found herself revealing more to this woman then she should have.
"This was such a lovely dinner, please Poet come to the house anytime"
She said and leaned in as if to whisper.
"Suichi is home most of the afternoon, I know he could use some company"
She said causing the red head to match his hair.
"Yes I will think about it, Thank you Sheori"
"Your welcome dear, im home a lot as well."
"Please mother you need your rest"
"IM fine Suichi"
She said and walked out with them while the men talked modems and processors. Poet cleaned up urdgeing her dad to go to bed, she was done with the table and on the dishes when she looked outside she head something, she turned off the water and walked to the window she stared, looking at her tree house it was dark the same as always but something about it was foreboding, like that feeling one gets when realizing your alone and your body becomes more aware of its surrounding. Poet stared she closed the window locking it and stared at the tree house never leaving its gloomy aura. She blinked and then something beebed she looked up and stared it was close to 3 am she sighed finished what she was doing and headed up stairs to try and sleep.
