Story plot. Yes this story has a plot . . . kinda . . . sometimes. Not a very original one but what can I do about that now? I generally don't just start typing willie-nillie without a view of how I'd like it to turn out in the end, but then sometimes I do . . . Well this one had a plot. I'm rambling now someone stop me. I have a story to write!
Aryll arrived home just in time to see the tax man leave, and a good thing too. She didn't want to deal with that right now (besides, she didn't think she could go on living in that house without her mother and she had used that month's tax money to buy a horse and information) all she wanted to do was open that drawer. She had never been more cerous as to what was in it than now. Merely weeks before she suspected a secret candy stash, now she was sure that such a ridiculous notion had to be incorrect. But then, her mother had been known to hoard odd things such as simple beads, broken bottles and old horse shoes . . .
She patted her new horse, suddenly nervous for some reason. What if it was something bad? Her mind flew to a distant memory of when she broke an egg. Perhaps her mother found out and had her punishment hidden away in there? She turned the key over in her hands, it was a simple key, though old and slightly rusted on the handle. No mysterious designs were carved into the handle, when turned this way or that, it did not look like any mythical creature representing something-or-other. It just looked like a key. No matter how simple a key, she could not shake the feeling that she held the beginning of her destiny in her hands.
She looked nervously at her own front door. "What do you think?" Aryll whispered to her horse. "Do you think I should open it?" The horse blinked at her, slightly nickered and nodded its head as if to encourage her. "You think so, do you? You wanna know what's in it to, huh?" The horse stamped its hoof and nudged its head against her neck. Aryll smiled at this seemingly affectionate gesture. "I like you, what should I call you?" The horse looked her in the eyes expectantly. "Hmmmm . . . I'll call you . . . May!" The horse nudged her back as if to say 'Get going!'.
Feeling oddly comforted, she started forwards. She breathed in deep and opened the door. Nothing had changed, all was the same as was when she had left it in the morning. The small cramped space between the sleeping quarters and kitchen was still small and cramped. The window in the back was still covered by thick curtains. The drawer was still locked and mysterious. She squeezed the key in her hand, apprehensive again. Hands shacking, she inserted the key into the lock and turned. She opened it slowly, her suspicions greater then her curiosity.
However, when she opened it, she found only a letter and some ruppies. She could read, her mother had made sure of that, probably just for that reason. She opened the letter with haste, hands shacking worse than ever.
'Aryll,
If you're reading this note, then I'm either dead or dying. I'm sorry for that. I know this probably isn't a time for any more shock, but you must learn this. You have a brother Aryll, I, as you know, am not your real mother. I can't tell you how much I regret the happenings of this story or how muck I'd like to change about it. You must know I love you all the same, please forgive me for what I have done . . . '
As the story progressed, the sadder she became. She felt like she had lost her mother twice that day. No, two mothers in one twenty-four-hour period. The one who raised her and the one who birthed her. She left her one time home with her head hung low. She just didn't know what to do. Her mother had given her instructions, 'Find your brother Aryll', but where to start looking? Why did this matter? 'I want you to have a better life and home . . . ' What was wrong with the life and home she had been living in? Just because she found her brother doesn't mean he'd accept her, or believe her, or take her into his family anyway!
She stopped to kick the dirt. Stupid. She thought to herself. This whole thing is stupid. Her horse trotted along side her making little clucking noises every once in a while. She yawned. The sun was starting to rise again. She heard some coocoos making a racket, triggering a learned instinct to feed them. She almost laughed, a sad smile perched awkwardly on her yung, round face. Here they come again, stupid tears. And sure enough, small drops rolled down her face. She mounted May and sighed.
"Take me away . . . " were her only instructions, and the horse understood.