It was a completely normal day. Nothing was amiss. I was writing my newest story, when my computer crashed.
"Aw, darn it. Now I have to write it out by hand."
I rummaged through my drawers, looking for a pencil to write with. I came upon a postcard I had sworn I had thrown away as soon as I got it.
I got angry. This was from my Father, who left when I was 7, and only now wanted to contact me. What about me for those 8 years alone? My mother died in childbirth. I had to grow up in the system, shifting from foster home to foster home. I almost shredded the card, but thought better of it. I retrieved a pencil, and started writing.
"Once upon a time, there lived a young maiden, named Kai, with an extraordinary secret. She could control the water. She watched the moon push and pull the tides, and copied the movement. Every night you could see her swaying with the water, pushing and pulling in such a steady rhythm, that no one ever thought it was out of the ordinary. One day, her little sister found her by the ocean, and scared her. The ocean drenched her. The sister was frightened, and almost told the elders, but Kai stopped her.
"I can teach you." Kai said, and the sister smiled
So each night, they would sway together, pushing and pulling in such a steady rhythm. The sister, however did not have the talent of her sister, but was content at learning this new dance. They called their secret dance Hula, and they taught their daughters and granddaughters, hoping that one would have the gift.
Alas, none showed signs. They only learned the dance. The whole family became skilled dancers.
When people saw the dancing, and asked about it, the dancers would reply, "Go down, go down to the ocean, go and see."
The art was obscured until there was no trace of the woman who created it. In the world now, if someone shows the signs of being gifted like Kai, they are ushered away, never to be seen again. That is what the corrupt have done."
"Perfect." I said, checking my work. It captured my life in a few paragraphs. I loved to write, and I was really good at it. The only difference was that my foster "sister'', Diana was not so supportive. I burned all of my stories and my novel that I had just written, about to be sent off to a publisher. Then Diana hit me and told me that I would never be able to live off of books. Bookworms don't last long on the streets, as she said.
I was going to prove them wrong. I wouldn't end up on the streets. I would get everyone in the foster home off the streets. Even Sabrina.
I was writing something no one in my home ever got to see a glimpse of. A book of NEW fairy tales no one has ever heard. Created by myself. I called it When Children Give. Children everywhere gave our world what it has today, with their talents, their gifts .
I carefully placed a stamp in the perfect position on the box containing my story book. I wanted to make sure I looked as professional as possible. This could be my ticket out of here.
I skipped along the road, when I was grabbed by large hands, and shoved in a van. A blindfold was tied to my eyes.
"Please let me go! What did I do? Oh, Lord help me!" I cried. It was happening. I was going to die.
My blindfold was ripped off my face. A very large person was standing in front of the door.
"This is a dream, isn't it? I'll wake up and I'll be back on my bed, back to my boring life." I prayed that it was true.
"Don't you wish that?" The man said wickedly. His accent was flat, and I could not see his face. He brandished a rather large knife, that glimmered in the light. It had some fancy writing carved on the handle. On his shirt was a name tag that said "Hello, I'm Smith".
"You see, miss, I don't like to have to do this the hard way. I'm going to ask you once, nicely, and you are going to answer me immediately." Smith smirked. He ran the knife's dull side across my cheek. The cold metal sent a chill down my spine "What do you know?"
"I'm not sure I'm following you, What do I know about what?" I was scared and confused.
"You know what." He whispered into my ear and ran his arms down to my waist, still keeping a firm grip on his knife. I felt sick to my stomach. "Otherwise you would not be writing about it, hm?"
"My fairy tales? That's all they are, aren't they?" I said frantically, as Smith touched my chin with the knife, "Please let me go. I promise I won't write them anymore."
"Well, if I let you go, that'll be no fun." Something passed across his face, a greed, a lust almost. "I don't think so. Let's have some real fun, Amaya."
I screamed, then everything seemed to happen in slow motion. A coffee mug lifting off the table, and pouring boiling hot coffee on Smith. Him yelling in agony, and something tugging on my arm.
"Don't you want to live? Don't just stand there!" The van door opened, and a bunch of teenagers ran in. There was a girl that was muscular, a normal looking boy, a girl with… FIRE IN HER HANDS? There was also a prepubescent boy that was standing there with a smirk on his face.
I did the thing any logical person would do in my shoes when all of this happened. I fainted.
