(I just wanted to clarify that Laylia is 16.)
In my current state of mind, if someone offered to kill me, I wouldn't care too much. Sometimes death can be such an easy way to get out of something. Then again living is not that bad either, unless there is a big issue. And trust me, I have a big issue. Maybe that's my solution, my only chance of ever getting out of here. But I'm being crazy. Of course I don't want to die. Unless it was painless and got me out so fast I never even noticed.
"Laylia?" My grandpa's call interrupts my thoughts. It's probably for the better anyways.
"Yeah." I reply meekly. Why give effort when it's not worth it?
"How was your first day?" He steps into the room, with a pipe, no surprise.
"Great." I mutter sarcastically, "I've never seen so many white washed walls. Did the school used to be a prison?" I should probably stop now before he goes all burzurk on me.
"Smart mouthing never got anything solved."
"Good thing I'm not." Just what I needed was a big heaping pile of wisdom. Whats for desert?
"Just come down for jantar when you want it." he says as he pats my thigh. I really don't feel like someone making me jiggle right now. Feeling self conscious is exactly what i don't need. He might as well just say, 'ooh fat! let me poke it!'.
Boredom creases in my forehead. I could eat, but I kinda lost my appetite at lunch when they tried to feed me peixe on a stick. Why don't you just give me a friken piece of trash, it would be better for me than that crap. Wow, teen slang has really taken a hold on me.
"What to do, what to do." I murmur.I could close my eyes and pretend that I am floating in a lake. And then, ba bang, I'm dead, just like my parents.Way to go, you taught me some great crap, guidance counselor.
My complaints are kind of nauseating me, so i look around for some really happy stuff. My fuzzy slippers would be nice. They're cozy, warm and, dang a spider. Nice going eight legs. I kinda wanted to use those.
I feel pretty lonely, maybe that's my problem. I wonder what happened to their dog, Jake. You know he like couldn't die. He was invincible. He got hit por a car, bucked por a horse,and even walked to Seattle. But the best was when we were here for the Fourth of July. He picked up a light fogo cracker, and it exploded in his mouth. After that he was never really the same. Though his constant squeaking was funny. He like lost his bark box or something in the explosion.
"Hey Grandma Esther." I shout as loud as I can.
"What Laylia?" She sounds annoyed, kinda like me.
"Where is Jake?"
"He got eaten por a bear." Gosh, I am really happy now. And the worst is that she sounds happier than ever.
"A bear?" What urso wants to eat a retarded dog? So basically my only friend here was eaten. Fantastic.
"You need to come down for dinner." her suggestion is mais like an order.
"I'm not really hungry." It sucks not having my own chef anymore. Or my house, or french food. All they here is peixe and fast food. If my peixe is not Brandade de Morue, then it will not be in my mouth.
"That doesn't matter. You can come down and eat now, or skip dinner." She thinks it is going to kill me, but French women don't really eat a lot of comida at one time. Hey, that's why were not fat. Nothing to complain about there.
"Well sucks for me." My reply will bother her But I don't care.
I again return to my boredom.
In my current state of mind, if someone offered to kill me, I wouldn't care too much. Sometimes death can be such an easy way to get out of something. Then again living is not that bad either, unless there is a big issue. And trust me, I have a big issue. Maybe that's my solution, my only chance of ever getting out of here. But I'm being crazy. Of course I don't want to die. Unless it was painless and got me out so fast I never even noticed.
"Laylia?" My grandpa's call interrupts my thoughts. It's probably for the better anyways.
"Yeah." I reply meekly. Why give effort when it's not worth it?
"How was your first day?" He steps into the room, with a pipe, no surprise.
"Great." I mutter sarcastically, "I've never seen so many white washed walls. Did the school used to be a prison?" I should probably stop now before he goes all burzurk on me.
"Smart mouthing never got anything solved."
"Good thing I'm not." Just what I needed was a big heaping pile of wisdom. Whats for desert?
"Just come down for jantar when you want it." he says as he pats my thigh. I really don't feel like someone making me jiggle right now. Feeling self conscious is exactly what i don't need. He might as well just say, 'ooh fat! let me poke it!'.
Boredom creases in my forehead. I could eat, but I kinda lost my appetite at lunch when they tried to feed me peixe on a stick. Why don't you just give me a friken piece of trash, it would be better for me than that crap. Wow, teen slang has really taken a hold on me.
"What to do, what to do." I murmur.I could close my eyes and pretend that I am floating in a lake. And then, ba bang, I'm dead, just like my parents.Way to go, you taught me some great crap, guidance counselor.
My complaints are kind of nauseating me, so i look around for some really happy stuff. My fuzzy slippers would be nice. They're cozy, warm and, dang a spider. Nice going eight legs. I kinda wanted to use those.
I feel pretty lonely, maybe that's my problem. I wonder what happened to their dog, Jake. You know he like couldn't die. He was invincible. He got hit por a car, bucked por a horse,and even walked to Seattle. But the best was when we were here for the Fourth of July. He picked up a light fogo cracker, and it exploded in his mouth. After that he was never really the same. Though his constant squeaking was funny. He like lost his bark box or something in the explosion.
"Hey Grandma Esther." I shout as loud as I can.
"What Laylia?" She sounds annoyed, kinda like me.
"Where is Jake?"
"He got eaten por a bear." Gosh, I am really happy now. And the worst is that she sounds happier than ever.
"A bear?" What urso wants to eat a retarded dog? So basically my only friend here was eaten. Fantastic.
"You need to come down for dinner." her suggestion is mais like an order.
"I'm not really hungry." It sucks not having my own chef anymore. Or my house, or french food. All they here is peixe and fast food. If my peixe is not Brandade de Morue, then it will not be in my mouth.
"That doesn't matter. You can come down and eat now, or skip dinner." She thinks it is going to kill me, but French women don't really eat a lot of comida at one time. Hey, that's why were not fat. Nothing to complain about there.
"Well sucks for me." My reply will bother her But I don't care.
I again return to my boredom.
