Day: 26. January 2012

I stood up and grabbed my sack. My face throbbed in pain. I took the pins out of my hair again and went to the marketplace. I yelled, “Guards! I need your help! I will reward you generously!” The guards who chased me before came. I explained to them what happened and what the boy looked like. They saw a boy who looked like him, chased him, and wrestled him to the ground, just like they did to me. They grabbed the tiara and part of the money that I took that I didn’t even know was there. This boy must have really searched around in my sack. They returned to me the money and the tiara.  I decided to pay the fruit-seller from whom I had stolen previously, when I didn’t know that I still had a large sum of money hidden in the bottom of my sack. I counted the money. It was an extremely large sum, and I would be able to pay the merchant and still have a lot of money left. And so I paid the merchant.

I pinned up my hair again and walked. I had absolutely no idea where I was going. I must have looked rather awful, since a woman spotted me in the crowd and came over to me. She put her hand on my face. She smelled of perfume, face cream, and face powder.  She had a beautiful dress on and her hair was braided. She appeared to be of the high-society. I think I may have seen her a few times at balls. “Oh, you poor darling,” she exclaimed. “Somebody must have beaten you quite badly. Come with me to my home. I will give you comfort, food, and shelter,” she said sympathetically. “B-But,” I stammered. I had plans to take a coach to the country and perhaps find an inn or an abandoned shack to stay. “I will not take no for an answer. You must come with me,” she said dramatically. I supposed that if one is willing to be so charitable, I should not refuse. So I joined her.

We walked along, her skirts rustling as we walked. “Who did this to you?” she asked, almost angrily.  I did not feel comfortable telling her the full story, so I simply replied, “A boy selling papers. He wanted to steal my sack.” We walked in silence to her home.

The minute we got to her home, my suspicions were confirmed: she was part of the high society. Her house was almost as grand as our palace, with gorgeous balconies and buttresses. She led me up the spiral staircase. She opened a door. “This is where you’ll be staying,” she said. “You can’t stay in those rags. Let me give you some of my son’s clothing. How old are you?” “Twelve”, I replied. “Perfect.”, she said. She went and came back with a stack of clothes, a wash basin filled with water from a stream down the road, and a bar of soap. “Here,” she said, “wash and change your clothes.” I washed and changed my clothes. The woman knocked. She came in with bandages and such and took care of my wounds. “What shall I call you?” I asked. “Mrs. Peabody. My son’s name is Caleb.”, she answered. “Now lie down and rest.” I lay down. There was a stack of books on the bedside table. I picked one up and started to read.

There was a knock on the door. “Who is it?” I yelled. “Caleb. Caleb Peabody.” a rather manly voice for a boy of twelve answered. “Come in.” A tall, strong-looking, rather handsome  boy around my age, with brown hair and blue eyes came in. “Hello.”, he said, “You’re rather small, aren’t you?” He struck me as rather pleasant, so I decided to reveal that I am a girl. “It’s because I’m not a boy.”, I said as I unpinned my hair and the thick blond hair spilled on to my shoulder. His blue eyes widened. “You’re Princess Catalina!” he exclaimed. “Yes. Yes I am. But let’s keep this our secret.”, I reply. I then tell him the whole story. He looks at me dreamily. Then he leans in. I’m confused. He kisses me. I kiss back.  That was a big surprise. I actually like him, so I don’t mind. After he breaks away, I say, “A bit young, aren’t we?” He shrugs. I take a paper and write down the address of the palace. “So you can send me letters or visit me. Momma and Papa won’t mind, since you’re part of the high society.”, I say as I hand the paper to him.

We walk downstairs. Mrs. Peabody introduces me to everybody. When she introduces me to Caleb, I say, “I’ve already met him.” and wink at him. We both laugh. Mrs. Peabody looks bewildered, but she doesn’t question why we’re laughing.

They wrestle me to the ground. I’m breathing heavy.  The guards get off of me. I stand up. One guard whispers to another, “Thing looks like a girl.” I hear them, take the pins out of hair, and yell,”I am a girl! I’m Princess Catalina!” The guards laugh. “And I was knighted,” one says, little bits of saliva flying out of his mouth.  “No,” I yell, close to tears.  I take out the thing that I put in my sack that Momma and Papa say always proves that I’m royalty: my tiara. They see it and start asking tons of questions.  “It’s a long story,” I say. “But if you don’t tell my parents and let me take the fruit, I will make sure that you are rewarded.” That calms them and they go hunt down other beggars and thieves.

I pin my hair up again and set off, sneaking between alleyways. A boy in a hat, selling papers, comes up to me. Pointing to my noticeably heavy sack, he says, “What do you have there?” “Nothing.”, I say. He pounds his fist in to his hand and says, “Nothing valuable enough for me not to steal it, eh?” I’m frightened, but I stand my ground. “No. I got lots of money yesterday while begging by the markets, so I was able to buy lots of food.”, I state. Next thing I know, I’m lying on the ground bruised and bloodied, most of the contents of my sack still there. I notice no glimmer and gasp. He took the tiara!

I was so frustrated and tired of the same thing every single day. I needed to break free of the grind. Tomorrow night, I would be going to a bat mitzvah party for these twin girls in my class. Maybe that’s what I needed to get out of my rut

The next night, I got dressed. When I got to the party, my friends were already there. So we’re talking and hanging out, and I’m making sarcastic comments. Then the most obnoxious kids in my class arrive, one of them being my beloved companion from math. (I later found out that they actually crashed.) Okay, breathe. They don’t acknowledge me. Brief sigh of relief. We sit down to eat. Once again, we’re eating and chilling out. Then comes a moment that will go down in my personal history as the awkwardest moment in my life: the squeeze. (Cue the dramatic music.)  Yes, one of the obnoxious crew, actually squeezed my shoulders. One moment I was talking and chilling, and the next minute I felt a squeeze. I turned around, and yelled, ” You jerk! Get off- now!” Then came the sorrounding of our table. The rest was just a blur of sarcastic comments and the few moments I remember are my beloved companion asking for a dance and a fist bump, another kid asking for high-fives, and the discussion of how jerky the boys are. The rest of the night-dancing.

I basically got what I wanted- a break from the daily grind.

The door swung open with ease, as if someone had oiled it recently. Not a nice thought. Paul looked around. There were lots of dusty vases, and even a stuffed panther’s head on the wall. He walked through the threshold, into a long corridor with lots of doors. Okay thought Paul The staff should be easy to spot. I mean, there aren’t that many time-controlling staffs around. But the search proved harder than he thought. Door after door he opened, and each one filled with nothing interesting, just dry, old books and relics. After two hours, he was confident he had searched the house from top to bottom, without a trace of the staff. He was about to leave in a very bad temper, when something caught his eye. There was a very small crack in the floor, half hidden by the carpet. He bent down and lifted it up, to inspect the crack. But he realised it was more than just a fissure in the wood. It was a trapdoor.

He had climbed into the narrow space and found himself in an almost completely bare room. At first he thought it was empty, so his heart ached with disappointment. But then he noticed something leaning against the wall behind him. It was a staff.

I crept down the steps slowly. I still hadn’t changed out of the torn, dirty rags that I’ve been wearing for a week. My cat, Tabby La Roux (The French are fascinating people.), crawled in to my lap and squealed. “Shhh,” I whispered. “You musn’t make them aware that I’m here.” I saw my friend Annabelle, her father Andre, who was a member of our household staff, Momma, and Papa sitting on the couch. Momma sat looking stricken. “I-I just c-can’t und-derstand,” Annabelle sputtered.  All of the sudden, Momma snapped out of her catatonic state. “Ah!”, she exclaimed. She recalled an incident before a ball, while the maids were lacing up our dresses in which I, and I quote,  her “mild-mannered” daughter, told her that she wanted to be a commoner. After recalling this incident, she burst in to tears, stating that she didn’t know that I would actually do it.

I picked up my dear, dear Tabby La Roux and climbed up the spiral staircase. I went in to my sleeping chambers and sat in my lovely canopy bed. I sunk back and started to recount my travels.

I stand up and brush the pebbles off of me. The pebbles had pressed in to my hand and made little marks.  The marks were like my life, scattered, unexpected, and sometimes out of order.

The next day, I walked in to homeroom. I sat down and got out my stuff.  Our teacher gave us time before the first period bell to just hang out, go to our lockers, and get our stuff out.  A girl in my class named Anna came up to me. Immediately, a big neon sign saying “UH-OH!” flashed in my head. I had a history with this girl. You see, in fourth grade, I used to be friends with her. Until I wised up and realized that she was using me for homework answers and so that she could spit back whatever I said to her “real” friends and use it as gossip material. I dumped her like a hot potato. In fifth grade, she came back for revenge and bullied me mercilessly. I learned to ignore it becuase by the end of the fifth grade, I found my real friends and finally learned just to be myself, even if the real me is different. In sixth grade, I gained the admiration of the boys, who I sometimes liked, becuase they were less judgemental than girls, but sometimes hated because they were annoying, teasing jerks. Anyway, this girl came up to me. That day, I wore the llama shirt my sister made me. (Confession: I have a llama obsession and my sister sometimes is nice.)  She asked me a few humiliating questions. By the time she finished her interrogation, I was gripping my book so hard I thought I would rip it apart. I yelled at her. She acted innocent. Typical.

Fast foward to sixth period. I’m sitting in math. I’m ready to kill the kid that sits next to me since he stole my eraser and won’t give it back. Jerk. SO typical.

Fast foward to five P.M. I’m talking about my day. TYPICAL!

GRRRRRRR!

4 Hospital

I woke up and looked up at a white roof that seemed a little to bright for comfort. I expected a feeling of pain or at least an upset stomach but strangely I felt… normal. It was almost like it was all a dream. I sat up and found myself in what looked like a hospital room. Was I sick? Did someone find me and saved me after I blacked out? Or maybe it was a long time after the men… Now the feeling of pain in my stomach swooped in and I managed to grab a trash can before throwing up until I was coughing dry heaves. I was a bit wobbly when I got out of bed but it was nothing to serious. I saw a simple white arrow pointing down the hallway and I walked down the strangely empty hall. It seemed as if this place was abandoned but is was in a pristine and clean shape. And everything was white, almost too white. I finally saw a counter with a man in white cloths, shoes, and hair relaxing at his white desk and mindlessly reading a white book. I stopped in front of the desk and stood there awkwardly while he was reading. I cleared my throat a little and he looked up. I stared at me for a second and his jaw completely fell open. Then he yelled out loud and threw his book up in the air. It seemed to have disappeared into thin air but I told myself I was just hallucinating. Probably symptoms of whatever I’m in here for.

“Um, sorry to bother you but I don’t really know where I am and I need some help. I would like to go home.”

“Oh God help me.” He made the sign of the cross and looked at me. “Ok um. Sorry I haven’t been working in a while. Uh well this is going to be a bit hard for you to take and for me to say.” He began to pace behind his desk, trying to figure out a way to tell me what ever it was that was so important. He finally turned to me. “What is the last thing you remember before you got here?”

“I remember being in a dark ally downtown. These drunkards came and closed me in. I’m glad I don’t remember the rest.” I shivered at the thought but only because I had nothing in my stomach to throw up. He did a quick search on a computer (That was also white) and nodded.

“Your here: That’s how it says you…” He cut off and left the sentence lingering like he wanted to tease me.

“I thought doctors weren’t supposed to keep secrets from their patients. Now if you don’t mind, I would like to call my parents. Do they even know where I am? Is there a phone I can use?”

“Your parents aren’t here.” I looked at him for a second and then he slapped his head. “Of course!!! All those years of training and I didn’t think of it before! Come here. Maybe you can draw a conclusion of your own.”

We walked down the hall and turned into an unlabeled room where a few unimportant objects sat. A box of dirt sat in the corner and he poured a bucket of water into it, turning the dry dirt into wet mud.

“Put you feet in here.”

“Um excuse me? Is that a normal medical procedure?”

“No but it will help you answer all the questions you’ve been asking. Step in.”

I shrugged my shoulders. What harm could a foot mud bath do? I stepped in and felt its squishy texture squeeze in between my toes. I sat there for a second until me grabbed my hand to help me out.

“Walk around.” So I stomped all around the room and knew I was getting the floor beyond dirty. I wondered why he wanted me to do this. “Now look at your foot prints.”

I turned to look at my handy work. Only problem was they weren’t there. The floor was a white and spotless as ever. I looked down at my feet to make sure if they even were dirty and they were. But when I slid my mud-caked feet on the floor, no mark was left behind.

“Ok, what is this stuff. It is really cool.”

“It’s not the mud that’s the problem. It’s you. I mean you aren’t a problem but you can no longer leave foot prints.”

“Why?”

“Come here.” He brought me towards a mirror across the room and I stared at my self.

“Ok? So what am I supposed to be looking for?”

“Look at your feet really closely.”

I looked in the mirror and saw my normal looking, bare, dirty feet standing out from the white background. But when I looked closer I saw how they weren’t on the ground at all. I nearly fell back from the shock of thinking I was floating in mid-air. I crouched down and felt my feet  to make sure they were still there. Then I stuck my hand in the air between my feet and the ground. They weren’t that far off really. I could just fit my figure though it was squeezed between my foot and the floor. It confused me. A lot. It felt like I was standing firm on the hard floor but there was proof right before my eyes that I was floating in the air even though you wouldn’t notice unless you look for it.

“I’m floating.” I somehow managed to find the words.

“Yes you are.”

“I’m–I’m floating.” I didn’t seem able to get over the fact.

“Yes. You said that already. So what do you think this means?”

“Am I? Am I no longer…alive?” he nodded and the wind flew out of me. The doctor grabbed a chair out of thin air but I didn’t pay much attention to that. I couldn’t breath. Actually I literally couldn’t breath because I was…

Dead.