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Moving Blues
Faye Karington is a country girl. She has lived in the country for as long as she can remember. She’s never been good at that socializing thing. It’s always good with her. People wanting to be her friend would have to come up to her in order to do so. Otherwise she wouldn’t care if they didn’t. Her friends were the teachers.
Evona had eventually reawakened, feeling sick. She was leaving her world of safety. She would no longer go to her favorite teacher. She would no longer have Mrs. Ross to give her drawings and science homework too. No longer could she walk dawn the corridors with their brick walls, marble floors, and big heavy wooden doors and the sounds of students relived to be out of class yet dreading the next and principal Boone yelling because they had just stepped a toe over his fragile line of right and wrong. Which if he had his way talking and breathing would be wrong. But now… but now she doesn’t even have that to enjoy anymore.
No more frolicking in the woods like the Nymph the closest neighbor says she is. All she can do now is to let lose her pets and bid them ”‘farewell” as they run back into the wild. Then proceed to packing her thing in her room. As in the books from the bookshelves, her easel, other painting equipment, pencils, paper, fifty binders, sketchbooks, and notebooks, candles, and clothing. She started with the bookshelves packing one book at a time from science to mathematics. She made sure not to damage the books for they were precious to her. When eight had rolled around she had finished the books and moved on to the painting equipment. She folded up the easel and placed it at the bottom of the box. Then moved on to the canvass' and put them on top of the easel. After rapping a rubber band around the paintbrushes. Then she set those into the box as well. Then, after rapping each bottle with bubble rap, placing the paints gently, one by one, into a small box, which she had gotten just for that purpose. Then closing the box, placing it to the side. She then moved on to the stuff on the drawing desk.
(A short story I wrote when going to high school. It was for 10th grade.)
© A.R.Kicinski
Evona had eventually reawakened, feeling sick. She was leaving her world of safety. She would no longer go to her favorite teacher. She would no longer have Mrs. Ross to give her drawings and science homework too. No longer could she walk dawn the corridors with their brick walls, marble floors, and big heavy wooden doors and the sounds of students relived to be out of class yet dreading the next and principal Boone yelling because they had just stepped a toe over his fragile line of right and wrong. Which if he had his way talking and breathing would be wrong. But now… but now she doesn’t even have that to enjoy anymore.
No more frolicking in the woods like the Nymph the closest neighbor says she is. All she can do now is to let lose her pets and bid them ”‘farewell” as they run back into the wild. Then proceed to packing her thing in her room. As in the books from the bookshelves, her easel, other painting equipment, pencils, paper, fifty binders, sketchbooks, and notebooks, candles, and clothing. She started with the bookshelves packing one book at a time from science to mathematics. She made sure not to damage the books for they were precious to her. When eight had rolled around she had finished the books and moved on to the painting equipment. She folded up the easel and placed it at the bottom of the box. Then moved on to the canvass' and put them on top of the easel. After rapping a rubber band around the paintbrushes. Then she set those into the box as well. Then, after rapping each bottle with bubble rap, placing the paints gently, one by one, into a small box, which she had gotten just for that purpose. Then closing the box, placing it to the side. She then moved on to the stuff on the drawing desk.
(A short story I wrote when going to high school. It was for 10th grade.)
© A.R.Kicinski
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