#222-Me

I've been beyond busy lately! And I'm liking it quite a lot, though by the time I am free, I am so tired I don't feel like writing. Or I'm occupied by JulNoWriMo. But I managed this today. : )

My name is Aria. I’m eleven years old, and I’m the shortest kid my age. I was born a Vossnian, which is the biggest sin anyone can commit in Desmonda. To top it off, I’m a girl. Basically, I’m a burden on my fellow Vossnians, and a blight to Desmondans.

But instead of being concerned with games, studies, and curfew, I’ve got something huge to deal with. Last week, I was captured by Desmondan officials. I was taken to the wilderness and left to die by wild animal attack. Strangely enough, it didn’t happen. Instead, I met up with my great friend Castor. He’d been sent to die as well, the week before me.

He didn’t die either.

Instead, he found this tribe, a group of resistant people: the fabled Burkharts. Known for their strength, generosity, and immense nosey tendencies, they seem to be our only option for survival. I don’t know how they plan on making us repay them for their hospitality; I’m assuming I’ll become someone’s servant and I expect Castor will be a storyteller, just like in our old town.

Today, we met this man, his name is Seamus. He is the chief of these people, and he’s absolutely gigantic! I mean, he’s not fat, he’s just really tall. He and Castor spoke for a while, I don’t remember what about. I just rested my chin on my hand and daydreamt. I dreamt of Mama and Dad again. I miss them, sometimes. But I can’t write about that.

It’s not important anymore.

I got this notebook and pen from a nice lady; she told me to have fun and draw some pictures to pass the time. It was nice of her, but I don’t like to draw. I’m a terrible artist. My people always look like balloons on strings with squiggles drawn on the balloon part. I prefer to write. Though I’m not creative. So I just write about my surroundings, or whatever is on my mind. And right now, what’s on my mind is what’s going to happen to me.

Castor says the Burkharts haven’t granted us asylum yet, whatever that means. So I have to stay in this tent until he comes back. Which is terrible, because there are so many kids out there, just playing around. I want to play too. But I can’t. I’m not a Burkhart.

Will anyone ever accept me for who I am?