ridyi
I looked down at the little piece of paper I was handed. This was my schedule for my freshman year of high school and it looked awful--Geometry, Physics, French, PA. I didn't even know what PA was. It sounded like some form of PE, or a typo on said word. This was ridiculous. The only thing that I wanted on there was ballet, second period. That, at least, would be fantastic...
I never thought I had much of a voice for jazz, but I could at least belt. It wouldn't hurt to audition, and it would be a fantastic opportunity if it worked at all. Sure, it would suck if I got chorus, but it would be nice to at least tempt to sing Roxie. When else would I get the chance? Probably never after school, that was for sure.
I looked at the waiter. She was a pretty girl, reserves, very fair. This couldn't have been the right job for her. She really did not seem like the type to enjoy talking to people. But a lot of the girls in Itsir were like that--I was already used to it, no matter how unsettled at first.
I licked the back of the postage stamp and stuck it to the letter. Hopefully it would reach my brother, because that was to be the last time I spoke to him. I would probably never get a reply, I would never look for one. Maybe someday Prescott Prep would get a return letter, but I never would.
I watched the clock. It was ticking the slowest I had ever seen it move. Seconds, minutes, hours. They all seemed the same. Except for the ticking. The tick of the clock was incessant, unbearable, obnoxious. It was tedious, ridiculous--the only thing left to focus on was the pain in my leg.
I lay down in the large bed, staring at the ceiling. Certainly we were cared for. Cared for better than at Prescott Prep. My leg was on the mend, we had servants bring us food, the food was of quality. But I was without so much. I was without Cecilia, lost in the world, wandering. I was without dance, and probably would be forever. I was without everyone. Everyone but Kamaru.
I looked around the dance. It was extremely formal as promised, an almost perfect mimic of a legitimate masquerade. I looked down at my own dress. It was almost too much to walk in. I couldn't recognise anyone. Everyone had taken great care to hide their identities--hopefully I wasn't an awful exception.
I entered the inn. It looked like a cheap motel at best, with everything battered and ripped apart. It didn't have quite the air of the same filthiness that a bad hotel in our world would, at least, and didn't feel like one might get an STD simply from breathing in the air, but rather a feeling of traveller's weariness, a smell of dirt and sweat.
I cast around to examine this new landscape. Certainly there were no buildings, no roads, no lamp posts, or anything else to say city. No, instead there was light grass and a few scattered trees, boulders and dirt; it all smelt so clean and fresh, not like anywhere I had been before.
I looked up to see a glint of delight in his eyes. The light reflected off the green surface to create a stunning effect. The most amazing part was that I caused this, that I was the reason he was lighting up the room, that a simple, childish, high-school-branded phrase such as, "I like you, too," could make this happen.
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